#AsFarAsIBlowBelow

AS FAR AS I BLOW & A BYTE MORE

RICHARD JOSEPH STEPHAN·WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 2019

Perfection is in my personal repertoire, thank God for my DNA, mama and papa holy charity

For decades I have stuffed the turkeys annually for the sake of fake pilgrims’ sweet inner-city

My own love and hate is a thing itself expression of the Earth’s Wing and Fire, now we’re here

And now, the music bleeds order from every open pore of my eclectic corpus delecti fun-fear.

Catholics of Rome and beyond, Protestant protester’s and Calvinist orchard picker’s I-tunes

Dreams came true when they were false and the ones that never came to fruition, God goons

On the front end they got back loaded, high & tight like my flattop-cut above my chin’s nose

It’s so basic and technical, it is what it is, heavenly Hades, Earthbound inches and feet shoes.

Sweet and sour, delectable, even-odd roll of the bones, deadpan curves ahead makin’ me sin

Earth has no angels but they fly away from here, in due haste once a last breath is drawn zen

Visions and sounds of the blown horns, the sawed animal strings and kettle drum beaten skin

Love’s got so little to do with the explosion of gas pockets of a matrix, living life of dead men.

You wanted some shelter from the wind before you faded away but y’all yell until y’all fly-die

No disease was more than just a kiss away from your two lips and turned-up nose, eyes’ high

Angels and the demons that run the terrestrial show, expect nothing less than a holy mother

Between the sheets, on the frozen tundra, out on a limb, I knows the tree in open-sea, father.

You call it Knowledge and I call it Power to Be a survivor of this divine dream, shaboom kid

That ego won’t ever leave once it’s embedded into the flesh and bone, you’ll see how it’ll look

No sooner than much later, we all hope, immortal leaves of words’ compounded in the Book

Completely empty vacuum, no air, oxygen or hydrogen, myth risen Savior’s sorry game of Id.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. September 25th, 2019 A.D. @ 7:11 AM EST

{ drafted while playin’ DJ to the moron within THE bones, an eclectic blend from #Cielo #TheCrewCuts https://youtu.be/Q9G0-4TWwew #TheMcGuireSisters https://youtu.be/8ys1XYmL51A #DreamLover https://youtu.be/wVHAQX5sSaU #OhCarol https://youtu.be/4XHe6dSngt0 #BluesCousins https://youtu.be/3ctQiIPE2IA #ThePlatters https://youtu.be/3FygIKsnkCw #PeggyMarch https://youtu.be/jgPMYQTINNk }

W.W.A.R.D.?

#THINGSaIN'T...

THINGS AIN’T BROKE, GOT IT BUB?

RICHARD JOSEPH STEPHAN·TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 2019

There’s a whisker of a chance that the obelisk and an all-star are a bat and bawled out-liar

Play it cool and maybe you can choke up on your grip and maybe hit a bunt-ball sacrifice

Out to center field where nobody can throw it all the way home without a hot, infinite fire

Rounding third and on the way for the slide into the home plate, err on catcher’s thin ice.

Perfect game from the hurler and a grand slam by him to boot, won the game 4 by 2 three

All you need for a perfect game is one more out, 13th strikeout of the game, hard lot of sand

Sponsored dreamers and schemers, coaches and players, even the manager and the fans see

Nobody can beat the best there ever was in the best of five, seven, nine or a hundred grand.

What do the men do who are not only human but also divine sons of a universal creator God

No evidence in the black out of Space’s Time that there’s a man left on screens of cellphones

Here and now or then and there, past, future or right this very moment, it’s but a mega-flood

Bringin’ no tears of joy to the epitaph of yo’ mama but she flipped over her urn’s dusty-bones.

Do not bring on the finale until it’s well prepared for, ready for the ending, final curtain down

Ready for the bows to the crowd, salutes of the hands clapping together, whistles and a frown

From the bottom of their hearts, they want out #ASAP like it or not, exit to stage right below

Your guess is as good as mine, conceptual analysis of things and their perpetual soul’s blow.

I know and you know what it’s like to be all alone without a care, without a friend, battle blue

Just before the challenge of trying to survive in a hostile environment, hungry to eat old you

Whether dressed or gutted, it’s the chewing of the infinitely small to the ferocious dog or cat

Ripping the muscle-meat off the bone, raw as the living thing breathing fresh air, fly to swat.

Appearances allow no errors to formulate the equation of inequality, it’s the essence of the O

I ain’t a freak but I am a mutated genome of the original 32 genes of Homo Sapiens of blow

Tons of the cocoa leaf, chopped and pulverized into the power of powder, up a mainline rose

Compared to copulation of moments, causing animated conception, we’re light a heavy dose.

Down under or downtown MAGAlopolis, the water drains just like the Earth’s wobbling spin

Pink sky punked the blue, all of them just obscured deep, black space where mortals lips sing

Spin in a prison cell with no view, just light and air to enter for sustenance, midnight’s origin

In the corner because an ogre pointed the way and ordered the action, soon to be a blue king.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. September 24th, 2019 A.D. @ 8:53 PM E.S.T.

{ drafted while listenin’ to #BluesCousins #TheDream link @ https://youtu.be/3ctQiIPE2IA & https://youtu.be/HRJGVbMtzBQ now, #OpenTheDoor }

W.W.A.R.D.?

#EyesOnThePrize #SPRINGSTEEN

EYES ON THE PRIZE, FLY EAGLE 1

by

RICHARD JOSEPH STEPHAN * TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 24TH, 2019 A.D.

 

Living in the smoking groove of the platinum and quicksilver musk of the holiest holes, mine

I have seven of them from head to toe and it’s what has been given to me, free of charge time

Feathers grew from DNA forces I cannot see, inside of you and me, I cannot wait to eat food

I know this is a chore for you and yours but it doesn’t matter, it’s survival of the fittest, dude!

Counting blessings one, two, three then on the way to work in the factory’s’ garage, blindmen

Left me these pains in my heart to reproduce the passion of the spark of living blood, quicken

Fast as we can, we live and die in a thimble of deep space’s sewing kit, no eyes, no needle, no

But you have the ego and Id of your mom and dad, it’s all they had, it’s all you get, now blow!

You, you, you, it’s all about you, not me or them, just the thing itself you feed with dead leaf

Seeds from the radio playin’ on the counter, volume is turned up to the loudest noise, chief

Regrets fall one by one as the final gasps are stolen from the struggle of your mama’s popper

Pickin’ the marrow out the femurs and skulls, crossbones of Davy Jones and ol’ Jolly Roger.

I had to fly away from the nest to hunt for the unwilling who just chew the grass’ of my joy

Thunder and lightening strikin’ my motherland of chopped liver and potato pancakes’ jam

Flavor of the bottom feeders’ political spectrum of ethical melodrama and fictional flimflam

Pork, beef, mutton, fowl and holy God’s dogs, waitin’ at the 7-11 store, mocha java, oh boy!

Tracks of the drag strip dug deep in a groove that even a Chevy with a .396 can’t live within

Off to the war after the twelve years of school and the finishing off the rest of the world’s jin

Magic ain’t happenin’ it’s just the nature of the beasts and the matrix of mud, middle of Oz

No wizards in back of the curtain, it’s just you, me and the Holy See, Zen and dirty ol’ lies!

Now, I gotta tell you what you’ll never read or hear from your mamas and papas, I now speak

Of mice and the men who catch them in traps full of cheese and pig bacon, one chew & a snap

Struggle until the breath ceases, movin’ the hands and feet as if you can halt the progress #Ap

Here’s a model and there’s a corpse, beauty turns on you, reflecting dirty water of one freak.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. September 24th, 2019 A.D. @ 00:59 PM EST

{ Produced in the shadow of the darkest night of 69 years, no stars, no moon, no sunny day or garbage in an alley, just me and my blade cuttin’ Springsteen on Broadway fusion of #Jungleland South Jersey...whisperin’#FleshAndFantasy, https://youtu.be/lW1RAYYs8RI }

W.W.A.R.D.?