#EverythingIsIndeedBroken #CheckItAndSee

 

WORDS ARE BROKEN, SO FIX’ ‘EM

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Wednesday, September 4, 2019

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Intelligence quotient is divided by the multiplication of the added to subtract a buck back

Where the rubber met the road there were only skid marks, nothing but ol’ burnt pine tar

Coming right out of the twilight zone to show you that I’ve got no tongue or spooky tooth

Everything is missing, old men broken and it’s always been that way, tanned, whitish black.

To be or not to be a snob or a slob, that’s the honor of having a free will to choose spirits

Either the good, the bad or the ugly haunt the world, the Earth, other planets and stars

All of the alpha and the omega in a tizzy fit over who is in charge of the whole shebang

It’s not you nor I, in our humane capacity to drool and drill the innocence out the Tang.

Astral plane of smoke, all too human tractor-trailer jockeys, ebb and flow on Jersey turnpikes

Highways, freeways, tollways and back-roads all contribute to the ape-men flow of old kikes

Where all of the linguistic certainty flows out of the empty Void of a tiny, universal lost mind

Inside and outside there is no such thing as after, all’s here and now, I got your six past nine.

No skin is black unless it’s dead skin, eyeballs are all too human and they’re blind to vision

Think about the language and the culture given to the babies, in utero through college pain

Justice is not what you get it’s what you take from the deal, it’s a Big Deal, it’s an Art, hotrods

Walk away when you know that you can get more favor in the mix, negotiate with holy gods.

If and when the pleasure comes from the pain you’ve lost on the way to the Void’s depository

Squeeze it tight like it’ll never leave your hug, inhale deeply, it’s the mighty fog, broken to be

On the grounded being, dirty dice roll sevens, microbe to star, paradise struggle under a sky

Hold on for dear life’s fear, thieves always bet with the house, snake-eyed dice, scroll and die!

by

r j j stephan, i

c. September 4th, 2019 A.D. @ 1:11 AM PST

{ drafted listenin’ to R.L. BURNSIDE “Nothing Man” & HITS on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/mVUIasMNdt4 }

W.W.A.R.D.?

THIRD OF SEPTEMBER, A DAY I'LL ALWAYS REMEMBER...MAMA'S BIRTHDAY September 3, 1923 AD RIP MAMA!

DOG IS GOD, BACKWARD, EH? *

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Tuesday, September 3, 2019

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Stars and stripes mean more than thirteen bars of red and white in a solar field’s scarlet blue

‘69 Chevy with a 396cc engine, four on a bald headed floor, dual carbs, header-glass pack fool

First heat and the last drag race of the storm, I win, I see, holy pretenders are really uncool

Some guys give up and start dyin’ little by little, some just go in a blaze of crimson glory too.

Blown away under their seats when I clocked that 9.2 1/4 mile, a Camaro tease, oh wetter T’s

No, I never let the word or the world get me down with the rest of my enemy-friends, race me

If I bet I win, if I don’t bet I win, it’s a #WinWin situational ethics type of deal, props to Boss’

There was one, was a hog and there was one risin’ in the back alley, mean street mental floss.

It’s a major revelation to shivering homeless boys or girls with no shoes, God of a Dog, yeah?

Dancin’ barefoot with the dead and buried memories of who used to be here and now, today

Yesterday came and went, today’s goin’ fast and tomorrow may never come for some to play

Forever past the last day, the sun won’t ever set again, it’ll never rise again, it’ll be fine, OK?

Recollect that day you were born into this windy, wet world but you can’t, weren’t present yet

But now you are here and now, fresh from the past, wild eyed and bushy tailed, deep in debt

Sinning before birth, just for trying to multiply DNA, drilling the soul for infinitely long trips

From the rocks and dirt, concrete and steel, supersonic jets, skyscrapin’ steel kissin’ two lips.

I’m goin’ down, way down to the bottom where nobody ever goes, I’m already gone, so nice

You cannot burn me when I am already the flame, so hot that the iron’s frozen cold, blue ice

No sweat and no offense to you my friend but you’re out of bounds, lovin’ my huggin’ frown

Beatin’ my tom-toms, sixty pound stones carried up and down the hill, pops to throw down.

There was thunder on my road too, the lightening kept the way lit long enough to see the end

Across the porch, radio playin’ Bruce and Roy, tellin’ tales of the Man, lovin’ the Woman sins

No problem to get into the trouble of the historical survival of the fit and the lucky dogs fend

For them and their kin, for the orphaned souls, zip haircuts and bald, blue-red painted skins.

To the far side where every loser’s winner finds a hook, a saga of talkin’ heads, clappin’ hands

Crowd works and slaves to pay to hear the sounds of the music men and women of Peter Pans

Sisters and brothers from mine and other mothers of red-blooded, tough, dead roadies’ scree

Fools believed #PurpleRain’s Truth, hooks, lines, sinkers, reachin’ for a kiss, now, cover me!

by

r j j stephan, i * #BeenAroundATimeOrTwoToo - God

c. September 3rd, 2019 A.D. Tuesday, my mama mia’s birthday back in 1923 A.D. Happy birthday from my lips to God’s ears mama! “If you’re ready for love, I’m tougher than the rest!” - Bruce Springsteen LIVE LINK ON A THIN LINE @ https://youtu.be/HSNI0jwsZ9k }

 * * *

FINIS

W.W.A.R.D.? NOTHING AT ALL... #SootheYourSoulAnyways

DAZED YOYO’s WAR OF SQWAT

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Tuesday, September 3, 2019

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At the start of Fire, when there was nobody, no monkeys, gods or apes here, death pantheons

Not in China or anywhere else over here, God’s cosmic trip of a holy scrotum’s divine health

Putting Yin in the Yang is all it is, nothing more complicated than filling the hole’s in stealth

Brief insanity between lucidity of hopes and dreams of honey and taxes, happy ape-man sons.

It is all a mother and father could hope for, passing the gauntlet of pretender dreams of Pan

To the sons and daughters who inherit the faded crock of bull scat left over by an uncle’s fan

Big time music of rocking and rolling as if there’s no tomorrow, in the cloud, #Stratocaster’s

Plugged in the amp and reverb took over the hall of empty sound, nothing but hot air festers.

Out of the black and blue, night and day of the skies color, nothing comes of it but your tea

To drink or to smoke, never to eat in the sandwich or the flaumbet casserole of a witch’s key

Magic spell of words in a con-game of grafters and drifters who know squat about my papa

Why humans exist, why life exists for the gods’ den, a garden of Eden, oh Venus! Oh mama!

Paraphrased for the punks corroborating comprehensive apprehension, looky here, no hands

A puff and whiff of a jock strap in a pie hole, where things enter before sinkin’ down in Sands

Losing what the losers never find again, a second wind of the second city’s android i-phones

Out of the six feet deep ground below the granite headstones, inside aluminum foiled bones.

Squeeze all of your blossoming flesh, fat cells of your misshaped DNA into ringin’ dumbbells

Keep it all inside of the genome, there’s no other choice, it’s the nature of the hungry beasts

To eat, to drink and fill up holes with the squalor of Montezuma’s halls, food and scat of hells

Madagascar to Antarctica, Rio Linda to Oak Park in America and over to Timbuktu, at least!

It all rolls downhill because that’s where the graves are, underground no more than sixty feet

Where the animals and bugs cannot find you to eat you, only worms where you’ve been to eat

Rockin’ and rollin’ in the groove from the East to the West side of the Great Lakes, all over It

Just in time for the end, I remember it all, WAY down inside me, beautiful! I ain’t got Schit!

by

r j j stephan, i

c. September 3rd, 2019 A.D. @ 4:44 AM PST

{ drafted while listenin’ to #AllDayMusic LIVE The Original WAR Band on the youTube link @ https://youtu.be/n58Vdz67C1o }

W.W.A.R.D.?  FINIS