#Ends #HereIAm #OnTheRoadAgain #UpOnTheStage #PlayinStarAgain #TurnThePage #BurnTheBook @ricoSacto #ricoSacto

A GOLDEN OWL & A BALD EAGLE

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Thursday, January 17, 2019

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When you learn the hard way, to put one foot in front of the other, you take it all, it’s granted

Unless you are born and raised to be a man or a woman who never gets to Do the locomotion

What is your purpose for being here and now, alive in the year we call 2019 AD, spin a dawn

Tell me what you’ve settled for in the history recollection of the minions, mercury spawned.

Boggling the mind with trivia and complicated astrophysical equations proving uncertainty

It’s a principle that men and women who learn about it must adapt to a primate controversy

Welcome the blind faith believers in the Unknown and a hope that the power is of the Good

Not the Bad or Ugly, as human beings have produced upon the 3rd planet’s crust, in a hood.

Flight above the surface, landing on the rock due to the force of gravity, holy, magnetic shoes

On fire causing the dreams, the evolution, the pretenders’ babble, fool’s golden Bubba Blues

Maybe it’s a mental distortion of the light, prism of the ultraviolet to infrared, my Soul Sun

Hold your breath, DNA atoms’ origin of an infinite dimension, is a mere parallax aberration.

Inside or beyond the forms of matter, atomic, molecular shapes combine claws and beaks

Becoming the flyers who hunt from the air, stalk and circle for the kill, before the buzzards

They wait their turn for the chance to pick at the carnage, no brave birds in the nest of geeks

Power of nobody in particle physics or metaphysical philosophy will aid in rockin’ the wards.

Rock and roll music as loud as it can be to the highest volume, I hate rock and roll would do

Pecans, walnuts, almonds, pine and the nuts we’ve grown and eaten, middle of Eden garden

Where children die and grow old in a third world, twilight zone of hyper-sonic mortality sin

Enter fire dragons! Divinity with no Word or Name, alpha’s omega, #Winnin’ & a #Spinnin’.

by

r j j stephan, i { drafted #FineWine mystical flow from below my belt, as above, so below! }

c. Jeudi 17 janvier, deux mille dix-neuf ans, Anno Domini, à 11 h 11, heure normale du Pacifique

{ drafted out of thin air while listenin’ to Stevie Ray Vaughan #PrideAndJoy & HITS on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/0vo23H9J8o8 }

 

W.W.A.R.D.?

#ForegoneConclusions & #ForlornLonelyAndGenius

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MOMENTUM AND THRUST, COO-L

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Wednesday, January 16, 2019 *

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Angels and doves can kiss and say goodbye because they know it’s only so long

Never goodbye because that is impossible not just highly improbable, like if 6 was 9

And then 54 would still be the same either way you’d multiply, adding to 15 or 69

Trouble is a slide into home and being safe, no doubt a score, a run on a hit song.

A bong along with a song and before you know it, Malibu and Oahu beckon the sky

Writing the word and the note to compose the repetition of chords and rhapsodies

An amazing fait accompli and a force to be reckoned with, not your usual kinda guy

No Popeye or olive oyl for the simple Alexander the Great salad, conquered eddies.

Black and blue on the green and yellow, orange and purple back down to red, #ricoSacto

Hunted and stalked for the sake of the herd’s health, tigers, lions, bears, fish, gators flow

All of the animated, living, killed for pelts and coverings over the privates’ party on Wayne

Garth too, the son of a farmer ‘s daughter, finds himself and me, upchucked Zomba glow.

Benign and positively, absolutely malignant at one and the same Time ala Space, pressured

On being the thing itself as opposed to the appearance of what the thing is, loved and adored

A stark reality in the middle of winter, spring too far beyond this twilight zone, just because

Some friends and relatives called you to be at their funerals but it was them at yours, #Cuz!

Dam A street blues on B street or E street, I can’t remember but it all felt like I got cheated

Paid for the saxophone and the bridge of sighs where whiskey flows over the fire, overheated

Billy or Richie doin’ what the bad boys do before they join the service to see the world US-ish

Before anyone knows it, you’re bendin’ over and kissin’ your hind end farewell, edit, publish.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Mercredi à 21h11; Un seize; Deux mille et dix-neuf Anno Domini *1-16-2019

{ drafted while listenin’ to #SlowRide by Kenny Wayne Shepherd band on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/b2FIpU3lgwA }

 

W.W.A.R.D.?

@TheRollingStones @Slash @BBKing #GatheringNoMoss #TheThrillIsNeverGoneUntilTheSingularity

#LightEmIfYaGotEm #DontStopMan

SLUSH FUNDS AND 64 SQUARES

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Wednesday, January 16, 2019

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Losers get it out of focus to disguise the Truth which is obvious and clear to the One above

Spirits of our ancestors or the origin of the species’ galaxy and universe, God of a banana

Awakened within the dream to know that this and that is but the hope of another, a love

What it’s like to be all alone? Jammin’ in memory of thin skin, I shreds my red bandana.

Changing the bushes and the salt water to be my canvas to be my artwork, a soup of glycerine

Movin’ the waves and tide because of the wobble and revolving around the planet’s orbiting

Star above, the sun of our origin, not Buddha or God or Guatanama or Zeus’ dad or mama

Pain and suffering a feeling or the nervous system, real until the brain turns it a Void drama.

In or out of a neighborhood, angry and charming, you see from the point of view of my screes

Punks, gentlemen too, ladies ahem, excuse me, there is no stalling when Scratch comes callin’

When my train’s gonna come is the day and the night you won’t see after sundown, capece?

My lights stay on all night long just in case I die during the night, someone will see my light.

It shines to the bottom of the rabbit hole and before it hits bottom, it disappears forth with

To be or not to be is never a consideration when survival of the fittest is the mantra of styth

It is always to be forever beyond the grave, beyond the dead bones and dried up black felt

Heaven above this planet surface but below down at the go-dang dying fire’s asteroid belt.

Too blinded by the light to ponder the sixteen moves upon the sixty four squares of misery

Got stuck in the muck and mire and couldn’t shrug it off, didn’t see it comin’ but a survivor

I was the Extinction and personal extinguishment of personality-spirit-soul function, clearly

Invested in the dream within the Poe-epic dream, appearances, forms, come and go Igor!

Bringing the life back into the dead dirt requires divine intervention, a Big Bang of red hair

Start from the fear of being eaten to the discoveries from fire to pottery to skyscrapin’ terror

Indulged for a reason or not, it becomes the harbinger of fathers coming to high heaven buds

In the foothill gardens and the High Sierra plateau, hops flowers bloom into green beer suds.

Emotional rescuing nobody but your mother’s souls and father’s fortunes, still out of control

Draining the putrid swamp of the deep, black water and the strangers show without a soul

No help from family, relatives distant or near, no friends or acquaintances, just the homeless

All alone on the corners and in the gangways, found on road dead, outside a city pool of cess.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Wednesday January Sixteenth, Two Thousand & Nineteen Anno Domini

{ OH Boy! ...drafted while listenin’ to the #StonesRolling #OutOfControl @The Rolling Stones & Derek Trucks & Susan Tedeschi & Ronnie Wood and Simply Red’s Mick Hucknall  #IMissYou #BridgesOfBabylon tour on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/CxlTx8mmJEA }

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W.W.A.R.D.?