#ShookdownRueDeSpeckle

55 WATERS, MYTHS, GOLD EAGLES*  

Wednesday, Seven-Eleven, 2018

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There is a fortune in mythology, the knockers know and the followers revere Deity’s stealth

It is this way because it must be to avoid the chaos of the troubled Cro-Magnon family dunce

Looking up in the empty space at night-time when Darkness imposes upon the living dance

Coming into the wisdom without the desire to comprehend this Truth, causes instant death.

Punch in the solar plexus ought to do the trick, believe me, it’s second only to kicks in a groin

Some know the feeling of 2 family jewels of their clique gettin’ royal kicks in a cache, #Bitcoin

Other half or more of the population have no idea but it matters not a twit because it’s moot

Point to be made of epic proportions, human DNA should not exist on planet Earth, forsooth.

Pretending that you won’t die like the rest of the bodies you have seen come and go, just do it

Alternative is remaining alive thinking and believing that Life within you is all accidental spit

Excreted from a supernova/nova in the middle of gravitational collapse/expanse, USA, USA

Secret of the actuality will never be known by the Many, don’t ask, don’t tell, what can I say?

Now then, this matters and I’m not going to write it down twice, there will be no repeat on

Once it is known, nothing else matters, how long One has gone on, All in #Punks’ faux-con

Just a chore of forgetting and remembering while hemorrhaging an effulgence of space-time

Brought into divine paternity, here and now, seventh or only son, One under a spell’s #Dime.

I don’t know anything, it’s safe to say, therefore there’s no point in claiming I believe in God

I believe in Nothing, like the vision I have when I look out into the Space around my soul-bod

Just because you have the blind faith you’ve committed to doesn’t mean you live after D-days

Supernova-busted bones and dust in a cup, a cache of bovine scat, no heaven’s or hell’s gates.

by

r j j stephan, I { *inspiration from here & now @ http://humanorigins.si.edu/evidence/human-fossils/fossils/cro-magnon-1 #WhoThePhuqsInCharge? #DontWorryBeHappy Freemasons #AskOne }

c. Seven-Eleven of July @ 4:44 AM PST

{ drafted while listenin’ to #SpillTheWine & HITS of WAR THE BAND #Anthology1970to1994 youTube link @ https://youtu.be/espD_-Z-SaY }

W.W.A.R.D.?

Grateful Dead - Shakedown Street

W.W.A.R.D.?

#HoneyBeeBuzz #Creepin'

 PURPLE LOTUS, #ENDS #BRINGIT

by Richard Joseph Stephan·Tuesday, July 10, 2018

One, two, three four, A, B, I see it’s all in the stars above, buried in the dust and rubble below

Breathin’ the natural gas comin’ in and out for free, no tax on that yet, followin’ ebb n’ flow

In and out of the trouble inside this atmospheric bubble, so silly, nothing matters in the bowl

To you and yours, me and mine, us and them to nothing but the dead air, no life, gone soul.

Birds in the air and fish in the sea, snakes, worms, amphibians and terrestrials, the Time’s up

No more for me, feelin’ Ends of the whole thing approaching my face in this tiny, empty cup

From my head down to my ten toes, all 650 muscles tensing up tight, ready for hot-rod cars

Guilt and innocence out the window, blown away with the supernova, no wounds, just scars.

Who’s that slumerican chick walkin’ down the block, like she got a black belt in gang bangin’

Jerks willing to play, walk up and moments later, bleedin’ and wishin’ they would, they didn’

Nobody cares, crossed my mind in dreams, never came true before ending in smoked corpses

Filled the backrooms of the mortuaries and the morgues, crackers and punks, holes, sissies.

I wish a MFer would come git it, haters come down, ain’t hard to find me, nothin’ but chain

Cursed and blessed in One and the Same bag of bones, from heaven to go to hell, good pain

Perfect inside and perfect outside, no light in that Darkness, go there in the Rock and pretend

Hiding in a corner, disguise your presence, it’s over, you’re dead, you’re alive, hell, finis, End.

I’d take a bullet for her but she never has to know it, she forgot who I was, a hired hand Pop

No trouble and I really don’t G.A.F. much anymore, I wake up early and sleep way too late

But I still wake up every morning and walk the planet looking for trouble or comfort, both

Come to me in dreams and when I’m wide awake, ends in a purple lotus’ fire-smoke broth.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. July 10, 2018 @ 11:11 AM PST

{ written while listenin’ to #Jesus · Alexander King featuring Sonny Bama, Jellyroll & Gregg Fells · Sonny Bama · Jellyroll alter-RAP waffles with syrup link @https://youtu.be/m8AxTPEuNPU }

 W.W.A.R.D.?