TODAY IS SUNDAY AT POPS - I GAVE YOU ANOTHER BROKEN

LOWER HOPES FOR ALPHA MALES

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Sunday, September 16, 2018

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssSUNDOWNssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

I ain’t the one so don’t look around here where I’m at, nobody I know is the one either

There may be only one One and I haven’t been introduced since the empty air blather

Strange and unearthly tales from the crypt of the foreigners who claim fake precedence

The Word’s in the ice chest, cold beer poured before the Truth for evermore, oh my leader.

Pain is the ignorance and the moronic, idiotic stupidity of the masses who follow tail

A bunch of mass in the herd that moves the thing itself, while I lay around in wait, hail

If it wasn’t for me there would only be some monks and nuns keeping the Word alive

Writers kill the Word, readers eat the Word and the vulgar ones come to mind, all jive.

What I am is the matter, the form, the movement of the symphonic rhapsody of my bones

Not just me but all of the things that originate to be here and now, to live and die on loan

From the beating heart of the unseen creator to the vacuum of empty Void, that’s all folks

Only the fools await another formulation of the given, standing in awe of the reality of jokes.

Discovery and judgement from the facts presented is paramount to becoming one who knows

This, that and everything else there is to think about with abstract concepts and real stardust

All of it is the flow from the bottle of grins the gods and their maker of moonshine, low blows

Kickin’ the events of the day around to the believers of bull scat, that’s the way of citizen zest.

All of it, to force the DNA acid to mutate and recalculate the measurement, holy ground zero

Place in space where there was never any time, not a momentary lapse of rationality to spare

Morons have eaten all of the men’s bodies and souls, left the shells of the idiots which remain

To govern the bunch of us that don’t appreciate commands from strange birds, a white stain.

Nothing more than someplace you’ve got to be until you figure out where to shed the 96 tears

Six feet four or seven score, the food you are doesn’t see itself as mastication of loathing fears

Chewing tobacco and swilling whiskey with a nervous reaction to the unknown, fight or flee

Beta females n’ Delta males produce burned-out DNA. a species’ extinction man, you and me.

by

r j j stephan, i { a byte of jack for the #Rednecks & #Panthers, bobbin’ heads, up & down }

c. September 16, 2018 Sunday @ 4:10 AM Time in Pacific Standard Space

{ flyin’ solo once again, drafted listenin’ to #FloridaGeorgiaLIne #UpDown & HITS on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/77qc4ZtufzM }

ufzM }
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W.W.A.R.D.?

#DeadMansHands #MyAcesNEights

#DeadMansHand

MY BONES AIN’T ALL ALONE

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Saturday, September 15, 2018

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Singin’ a song of joy that we are all alive and well here on the third stone from the altar boy

I call the altar boy the globe that burns above and all about the planetary system from the Ra

From Singapore to the shores of Folsom Lake, outside the maximum security from bad guys

Cheaper way to do it is take a ride out to sea and feed our gentle ancestral eaters of the bones.

All digested, all two hundred and eight of them, crushed, shredded and chopped into crumbs

Swimmin’ around in circles lookin’ to swallow more blood and bone sinkin’ into the deep six

No matter if it’s day or not, if the flesh comes, it’s eaten, if the bones come, they’re shattered

In frequent shipwrecks on high seas, Sharkfest shindig dance with drowned Sapiens’ DNA.

Your time in space is up when mine is because I’m takin’ the entire conscious mind I have too

That is the First Cause of my being and no doubt, yours as well, so get your affairs in order

I probably can’t live much longer than fifty more years, like all other mortals, fearing ends

The End of Time’ll come, syncopated kings, queens n’ slaves’ll become forced to yonder blue.

Until then, happy trails down the middle of the path for you, I wish you well, many blessings

From the emptiness of the Void to the bottom of your rollin’ stone soul, sun up and sundown

Nothin’ hungrier than an empty shark’s face, mouth agape for plankton, shrimp or gold, man

In a tank behind the clear glass, they swim awaiting your entry into a domain of liquid H2O.

From an Aquarium in Monterey to the bottom of Davey Jones Locker, who sucks? Dumdums

To eat whatever presents itself to the hunger, plastic bottles, cigarette butt filters, man’s scum

There’s no plan B, if we phuque this planet up, oops man overboard HELP, it’s over, it’s done

Nothin’ at all but a chilly, pitch black ice void in a supernova, 16 tons of creative goddess’ fun.

by

r j j stephan, i { #ThisAintYourMamasTrainwreck #SharkMeDown }

c. September 15, 2018 Saturday @ 10:04 AM PST

{ written while listenin’ to Tom Waits #16ShellsFromAThirtyOughtSix & HITS from the #RainDogs cd on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/0XLdxxJEB80 & a byte or 2 of AC/DC #RunawayTrain link @ https://youtu.be/dl65Qg-WELk }

W.W.A.R.D.?

Deanna Bogart - Love And Attention (Feat. Tommy Castro), AC/DC & WARtheBand

 W.W.A.R.D.?