#BONAROO @ZZTOP & @ACDC #SOULSTRIPPER TIME

BROKEN CONCRETE & ICED CAFE

by Richard Joseph Stephan   *   Wednesday, July 18, 2018

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If I tell you that I love you, that’s just common cents but I will call you just a friend to feel

Probably not but there’s no harm in asking, just in case you were lookin’ for such a real deal

Something to sink your teeth into, as an animal does when they really like some form of god

Sculptures of clay and granite, paintings, sketches, poems, stories, novels form this hot rod.

Stuck into the fire and burned until piping, white hot as the sun above the darkness squeeze

Flowering matrix of being, omnibus full of passengers on the way to nowhere’s empty skies

All of it moving in perpetuity to avoid stagnation and annihilation of Being itself, dying guys

Perpetual loneliness of the feeling of Oneness within the horrid and the lovely moon babies.

Picked up all of the pieces I could find scattered about the continents, set foot upon the decks

It’s just a ton of broken concrete askew in a neighborhood of sharp dressed, pregnant ducks

Putting one foot in front of the other and fighting for the rights and privileges of a monarchy

All One present descendant’s DNA coded syllo-gism of cloned DNA, a Hole, Trinity’s divinity.

Moved from restfulness itself, absorbed in the feeling, the concept, an idea out of space-time

Production of evidence that Nothing matters and if it did, who would care to drop the dime

On me or on your mother, your uncle or maybe right on top of your own head, goddaughter

Years and miles from the final departure, ashes back from the stones of this rocky saltwater.

Nobody’ll be left to dream about it, eventually when the species becomes extinct, it’s a tease

Will it be me or you, stranger not even born yet in 2018 AD, maybe 3030 AD, still gittin’ loose

Do not beam the messenger up to the UFO just yet because the message IS a concrete noose

Pussycats in a cup of jacked up white juice, you need it, I need it, iced nuts spiked, yes please.

by

r j j stephan, i { *header is the Cheshire Kat on something like H & 2O, WhiskeyVodka or just plain ole’ #BlackJack Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey }

c. July 18, 2018 Mercredi @ 11:11 PM PST

{ written while listenin’ to ZZ Top LIVE Bonnaroo Music and Arts Festival back in 2013 link @ https://youtu.be/-uZinAmZtJg }

W.W.A.R.D.?

You Are My Kind

W.W.A.R.D.?

"STONES LIPS ON ROCKERS"

STONES LIPS ON ROCKERS

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Feeling rocked but not stoned and falling off of a cliff in Big Sur, I think therefore I was there

Amazing that I’ve forgotten my name, my social security number, my address, my identity

Everything swallowed and digested, recycled into the past from the future, skippin’ presents

Yours and mine, all of us, we are “The Them” our mothers and fathers warned us about, see?

No good bad guys and gals, grew up either in cities or in the country, raised by miscreants’ ilk

What is left over fodder from the Big Bang’s refuse, blown-up star particles, without purposes

A cell’s animation or multi-cell civilization’s paradise in the Void, spun homegrown, cow milk

To be you or me or not to be, that’s not the only inquiry of alien intelligence’s common sense.

The rest is the history of the universe whether a PhD physicist or blind prophet, rock hard Ra

It came from nothing we can name, we came from what we agree to call the “Thing” of God

Mainline for the brain and the mind, to think about the things, places, sheep who go LaDiDa

Maybe better that I don’t but I will give y’all seventeen cents old buddy, hop in my ole hotrod.

I came from good folks and hung around the worst neighborhood boys I could find around

Looser than you when you got a buzz-on, I fell off of the wagon and drank a tub of Jack D

All alone now just like the day before I met you, it was just the way it was, happiness’ sound

Buy me a boat, a truck to pull it and get to the Lake by the Rock, oh Folsom let me be free!

Back down, I ain’t ever gonna do it, I got my point and I know I got my own back, I am One

Whatever you say, whatever you think about this that or the other things, I do not GAS, son

I am floatin’ with the river current downstream toward the mouth, where the blue sea hums

A hundred degrees but I’m fixin’ drinks again, waitin’ to BBQ, got more ice, sippin’ 151 rums.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. July 17, 2018 Tuesday @ 9:11 AM PST

{ written while listenin’ to some @ChrisJanson #FixADrink & HITS @ https://youtu.be/-_Op0bQfMoo?list=RDmAz9iq3VFTo }

#WWARD ??????????????