#LovelyDayForPlayinComicCons @JoeSatriani #Squares & #ShreddedFretology

7TH SON, SUSIE Q & A BOGEYMAN *

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Monday, March 25, 2019

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

I came down to Bombay to save y’all from yourselves, got so hungry for my flesh and blood

Y’all almost ate everything born and raised on Earth, burrowing or flying could not get away

Future shock to know your presence is locked into someone’s empty stomach, a dope head

Playin’ along for the ride until you can figure out the avenue of escape from the water flood.

Hydrogen and oxygen have their place here and there, rivers run through land like bleeding

Around in circles around the brain and heart to show the minions the Way to Be, live to die

Like all of the rest before you and I, angels and devils all made up back of a widow’s tin cup

In the center of the forehead that puts the horses before the carts, makin’ irrational chit up.

Here is a pain for you in your heart, in your chest to make you think about the pain of Being

Alive and dealing with the pushers and junkies on the back and front streets near Sing Sing

A prison inside a super-fly skull to keep your mind in the prison where you think it’ll survive

A momentary lapse of our mother’s contraception, father’s lack of reason, therefore we live.

It’s all good and it’s too bad that what is good, better and best is just the invisible, ghostly one

Smokin’ and snortin’ the shots and beers like there’s no tomorrow, suddenly, you’re dead son

Time to reminisce about the time you spent alive, presence of the ego, repeating a wet dream

What hurts and causes the most pain is a stab in the heart with a girlfriend’s mocha cream.

Born in a nest, a bed of straw or stuffed sponge foam, maybe right in the mud, all to be alive

Pain and suffering of the host matters little but there is much of that to go around the hive

Where the honey is made and stored in the combs for the queen to munch durin’ the hatch

Cajun queens chasin’ hoodoo in the bayou near New Orleans, 7th son born in a swamp patch.

Sound off on the sweet words that make the little girls go out their adolescent, fat deadheads

They rock and roll, they groove to the rhythm and beat until the motion of the oceanic bleeds

Orgasmic twitch of the nervous system’s bad, ugly seeds, deposited goodness into the friction

Left in fertile quicksand, grounded in a secret microchip sucking me, #LetsRide original sin!

by

r j j stephan, i { *header is #VeronicaLodge from Archiecomics.com ready to shred her Fender Guitar and Amp Society! }

c. Lundi, March 25th, 2019 A.D. @ 2030 hours

{ drafted while listenin’ to Creedence Clearwater Review #SusieQ & Multiservicios ZztopHITS on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/6l3owsZJRAs }

W.W.A.R.D.?

Runaway June - Buy My Own Drinks (Live)

 W.W.A.R.D.?

#TurnTheQuietUp #ChiefEricChirch @ChiefEricChurch

 

NEITHER HAIR NOR THAR, 24 HRS*

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Monday, March 25, 2019

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In the middle of nightmares, sleep’s still on your mind, brain not firing at full ops in the fray

Just one more thing you’ve got to do in life, you’ve got to live it, you’ve got to go out to #Play

Like you’ve never played before or else you’ll lose runnin’ the jungle animates, lucky egg yolks

It is probable that this animation in front of our faces is all there is, at the end, that’s all folks!

Tomorrow though, you’ve got to get on with the art of living on Earth, avoid Death and Pain

Never been to heaven nor where I was before my mama met my daddy in bed or sandy beach

From Lake Michigan #LSD goin’ north to Wisconsin cheese, never any rain, #Sonny, for free

Cloudy and overcast from cement and asphalt to the antennae on concrete rock piles, use me.

My little brothers never taught me not to let others walk in my kicks, my shoe’s leather lasts

I ain’t confused about the nature of being and my own, I am the One I’ve always followed tail

In frequent trips around the ball of dirt, the world spins and I reverse it, future on to the past

Long cool woman or a short hot man mixes menudo to #PHILOdeRICO on a trip that’ll fail.

Because there’s a #FirstCause requires that their should be a #LastEffect, a merciful silence

Not a pin drop Georgia peaches, right at home and ready for a program from the #Void sense

Imagine nothing but emptiness around you, you can’t even see your own splendid, empty self

It is as it always was and will be, luck of the draw, you won and you’ll lose, put that on a shelf.

But your hair will grow as if there is no tomorrow, nothing can stop it but a baldness DNA tic

After skin, body and organs cease to function, hair grows forever, immortal follicles’ are chic

Bones left covered up become what the dirt of a dead star are, cream of this dream down a leg

Or up to the face’s holy entry of the matter, flowing unformed from the essence of the plasma.

It is in the blood, it is in the air, it is what we are without a personality, Blue on Black is It, All

In the course of the spin around and wobbling in place, a world’s mystery remains, a downfall

Above Star-dirt, ‘bout middle of tagged stars, space a pretty little lover’s index finger quiver

#Gold dollars’ll let you float down muddy water to #Eureka, it’s #Gameover, Hi Ho #Silver!

by

r j j stephan, i

c. 25 mars 2019 Anno Domini à 06h66, heure normale du Pacifique 

{ *drafted to Lynyrd Skynyrd #BalladOfCurtisLoew link @ https://youtu.be/71qaX05-ArM }

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W.W.A.R.D.