ALPHA-HOOD KNIVES & SUBOORDINATE SWORDS

ALPHA-HOOD KNIVES & SUBORDINATE SWORDS

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Sunday, August 5, 2018

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Who in the heaven and hell do you think you are, monkey-man? You are hot dust

Nothing more than the remnants of a burned-out, holy host of the powerless rust

No imagination beyond the storage of images within the convoluted immateriality

Our mothers do this to us, all of the mothers on Earth do this to their love deity.

I’m not the one who’s been doubting everything to do with propositional, formal logic

I have recovered my faith in something immaterial, godlike in it’s informal rhetoric

A punk runs this whole show, there’s no doubt about anything at all, the soul soars

Beyond the boundaries of the planets’ revolutionary malfunction, goddess’ of #Oars.

Keep in mind or keep in the body, it’s all one and the same, we gotta keep ‘em separated

For the sake of the great, great grandfathers and grandmothers who surprisingly mated

With the studs who won the battles and wars of adolescence and kept it on the QT, salutes

A savior was nothing but a man who honored the swords and knives turned into the flutes.

Your opinion has no bearing on whether or not I’m right or wrong regarding my high horse

I do ride deep in the saddle with my booted spurs in the stirrups, a galloping, trotting force

If I succeed at persuading nobody but my friends and countrymen of which I have a million

I shall have become the first and only person in my family of immigrants to cancel the Sin.

Original One and an #OriginalSin of #Pride and #Disobedience to your daddy, your maker

Creator of heaven Earth gets perturbed and mixes up the Mother’s chilly air and dirty water

Yesterday’s troubles, tomorrow’s recollections of The Way, a path with a disturbing dilemma

Sun shines, then one foot in front of the other until The Boss’ epic finale, embed it, phuqnA!

by

r j j stephan, i

c. August 5, 2018 Sunday, August 5, Two-Thousand-Eighteen

{ WRITTEN WHILE LISTENIN’ to Papa Roach on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/Hm7vnOC4hoY & #ASL video to pop songs of the last SEVERAL years on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/_Sc4mxQE8Y8 & #BigSmo #MyNeighbors link @ https://youtu.be/DbfOXrQ0N84 }

#WWARD ?

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...& with the genie stuck inside the whiskey bottle, the demon asked, "W.W.A.R.D.?"

Last Resort (explicit) - Papa Roach

W.W.A.R.D.?

IT IS WHAT IT IS & IT AIN'T WHAT IT AIN'T - #EyeAintTrippin

WHO WOULD HAVE KNOWN

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Friday, August 3, 2018

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It’s my Chicago cap that rules the day in my world, didn’t have to catch a pitch or hit hard ball

Got it for a gift from my brother or my sister, sent it overnight service up the FedEx air ramps

I smoked my last cigarette in the dugout with #14 when I was sixteen, in the Colt’s league foal

Magical all stars moved in and out of a dream at an All Star game, where we beat the chumps.

Pardoned by the President and the Pope for the sins of hitting ten homeruns in one ballgame

Small bears moved around the diamond, steppin’ on bags around the horn, on the way home

The score tied or lopsided to one side or the other, maybe even a blowout without any blame

A pitching gem of a no hitting shutout game, perfect except for a batter hit in the bald dome.

Bottom of the seventh for a stretch when the leading run is on first, cleanup hitter, bags load

Fast ball down the pipe embeds it’s cork n’ skin stitchin’ into the Wilson’ wood, slam, explode

A homer or an ancient, elder male or female, soul food of the creator of two gonads’ monads

Peanuts, seeds, nuts to go in or along with the fruit, all grown for the Paradise sinner fads.

Amounting to little or nothing at all when it finally comes down to it, be a king’s fresh squirts

Into a queen who doesn’t mind a labor of love for jokers and thieves who love to be perverts

Parameters of the diameters and radii become the thing in the space, it’s dimensional blow

A Chicago Bear hungry for another Lombardi Trophy but a Cub can’t wait for #CommishTro.

Winning is everything and it’s the only thing worth while, losers lose the game, the race’s sin

Pummeled by the competition, the loser crawls back to the ranks of the homeless human race

Where the singles and hordes live to die without ever caring why, a non sequitur apostrophe

Superstitious glyphs on a dirt wall signals no free choice, all things are just to be or not to be.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. August 3, 2018 Friday @ 11:11 PM PST

{ written while listenin’ to a cornucopia of rockin’ stream like Marvin Gaye & HITS link @ https://youtu.be/H-kA3UtBj4M }

W.W.A.R.D. ?