#StairwayToHeaven #OnTheWhisperingWind

FOR LOVE OF CHRISTOS’ CACHE

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Saturday, September 28, 2019

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You’ve got the back stage pass and the front row tickets to the dirigible concert tonight, HITS

From the sixties to the twenties and in between like the chocolate covered Oreo cream mints

Governed to become the extinct nature of the beast that evolved from the cavemen, the olden

Those (me) passed the power on to heirs by the Word of big mouths and pictograph scrollin’.

Artistic license painting lines on the cave walls, in living color without anything but firelight

All there ever was is everything you’ve received, of buried bones and headstones, we’ll all bite

Or nibble around the trouble hook, tryin’ not to get snagged by the artful dodger, the ‘header’

Catch and release except to eat a real meal without the dead, blood meat of cattle, elk n’ deer.

Protect yourself and survive longer than you would if you just gave in and gave up the light

It’s what the murder cells do, they kill the healthy dreamers who are fearless in the fight

Pork is the pig’s muscles that animate their world of rutting and looking out of eye balls

Light black and white, rainbow pattern distortion in a four dimensional warp, haiku awls.

On being nobody at home and all alone, it’s a ghost of a chance it looks like me or you

More like the gods you’ll never see, too much to hide inside your nutcase mind, be blue

Do not take this the wrong way but I’m really thinking that you’re as hopeless as harlots

Nothing to draw, neither pictures on the wall nor pistols from the holsters hooked idiots.

Feed the poor and eat the hungry who mingle amongst us, inside and out of this nutshell

Mind blown and body deceased, airborne spirit or soul, just an incorrigible, lead dirigible

Made of the very lead thing itself that you can trans-mutate into gold, a calculus dumbbell

Spirit, soul, consciousness of the May queen’s dream in a dream, a fade to black hole hehl.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Saturday, September 28th, 2019 A.D. @ 7:11 PM PST

{ drafted while listenin’ to #StairwayToHeaven Led Zeppelin on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/AvB5dTLvTDA }

W.W.A.R.D.?

#Battleships & #Chains

AT A MONTH OLD IN ‘51, US @WAR

RICHARD JOSEPH STEPHAN·SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 2019

Way back in 1951 A.D., heart and soul means, I was a month old on this day in September ‘51

So what? Who cares? Well now, that’s the attitude I’m lookin’ for, right here and now, bum 1

For the uncertainty of the principles you and I have been taught by the instructor cross high

Professors and preachers, even the priests of the invisible gods in the sky, all y’all gonna die.

Inside of this atmospheric bubble held together by an invisible gravitational force, my Face

I worship ground I walk on, I worship the gravity that keeps me anchored away from Space

I’ll get the Word soon enough as far as what happens when I die, when the Earth’s star novas

Like the asteroid belt surrounding Earth within this star system, can’t miss that magical bus.

Punks were like the Jets and the Sharks from a West Side Story of NY, I was immersed in blo

In another city with brothers and sisters from other mothers and fathers, minds all blown ho

I was there and so were you, one way or another, you’re beginning to get the drift, we be dead

Whispers and sayings of strangers and living lovers inside of my dream, all inside of my head.

A quick cruise to the state of being frozen-stiff solid and you’ll appreciate the spilled red wine

Just as if you’d visit a recently departed soul of a brother, sister, friend or parent, a silent sign

Becoming the essence of what you were before your folks met eyes, be there or be a square, Al

You and I can’t guess who set this system of ups and downs into motion but still, I’m magical.

The end comes naturally if there’s an origin, all of us here and now, then and there, go darks

Loss of consciousness or obliteration of the matrix which supports the consciousness’ quarks

Salutations praying to a darkness’ matter, fully non-sparkling, burnt atoms of hot collapsings

As if there’s a way to change the momentum of a Singularity’s force, hum hymms, bell rings!

Sixty-eight years these astigmatic eyes have experienced the foggy blur of Time-Space fate

Astronauts and the tiny, nearly invisible zygotes all will die in the end, mortality on a date

At the end of the day, just before or after midnight, Time stops and ends in my soft bedlam

Nights spent unconscious, under the influence of moonshine, inner and outer space Dam.

Earth catches up with the novas before anyone knows, on Ventura highway, the 1 or I-5 gates

One more silver dollar will get ya somewhere but it’ll be at night, ‘neath the desert’s darkstars

Forever and a day, in a desert or at the ocean’s beach, smell the future, full of fake news’ fates

Shared with you now, downloaded to your DNA, killer whales can’t be drivin’ fake solar cars!

by

r j j stephan, i

c. September 28th, 2019 @ 3:33 AM PST

{ drafted while rockin’ to Eric Clapton #LayDownSally & HITS on youTube link @https://youtu.be/9hQqP6RNnDE }

W.W.A.R.D.?

#Quarters #TwoBitsAPiece #TheThreeStooges

IT’S MORE THAN IT APPEARS TO BE

RICHARD JOSEPH STEPHAN·FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 2019

My mama met my pop at the Club Aragon back in the hood, long time ago, we all gonna sees

Big dreams and huge pussy cats in the drama tragedies and comedies of the extinct species

In the dramatic tragedy, the comedy emerges from the vacuum inside of the holy singularity

Suppose that the mothers have all been the parents of the mother phuqurs, man, humanity.

It is either all my fault or it ain’t any of my fault at all, I’m not responsible for the First Sin

I almost drowned when I was thirteen, stuck underneath a floating godamerican raft split

Anyway, here I am fifty-five years later, I had a last breath, I couldn’t breath, altar-boy In

Comedy and Tragedy, silent gas compression and emission, act three and a finale, no exit.

Punks, addicts and statesmen who need the doctors to keep them alive, they need the pills

A sinking feeling knows nothing without a man dreaming an infinite series of window sills

Fire, water, wind and this third rock from a white dwarf, a Milky Way fantasy, oh my sound

Pickin’ fights with giant guys in local bars and megastar music concerts, winning in a round.

Utter west coast bumps and bums who sleep three abreast near the dumpsters’ geriatric bins

Just because there’s nowhere left to go once you’ve failed at being a taxpayer in paradise inns

Hookers, sisters of our mothers’ great grandfathers were in on The joke, Time-Space’s classes

One in a UFO that came alone and left alone, left the seeds of Love and Hygiene, clean-fazes.

On demanded request, knockin’ cheese off of the Alamo, well I’ll be danged, apes like it all

Everyday and most every night here under this myriad of star stuff, smokin’ a lucky strike

Hundreds of the coffin nails I’ve in and out hailed, not bein’ a fool, just being a hood’s spike

Monkey inside of me and a naked ape in a dead bull ring, it’s the same only different, p’al!

Something’s in the Way, I will it to move out of my straight and narrow path, in outta synch

Two lane highway, eight lane tollway, East to West, South to the frozen North, pole of pink

I left and was gone before she even knew I was there in the first place, I left a whiff of musk

Care or not, It is what it is but I don’t know it’s nature, essence of the Void, embedded tusk.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Friday, September 27th, 2019 A.D. @ 4:11 PM PST

*Header is the Aragon Ballroom marquee in Chicago, Illinois where mom picked up my pop!

{ Drafted listenin’ to Daryl's House Club & Anderson East doin’ #ShesGone on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/A9TFNKPHQng }

W.W.A.R.D.?