#BabyBrotherAndMe #OnTheHunt @WARTheBand @LynyrdSkynyrd @SamAndDave

WHATEVER THEY BE...BYTES IT IS

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Thursday, March 5, 2020

-----------------  #GrabAndHoldOnForDearLife -----------------

Miss me when I’m gone, a secret that nobody else knows, here’s an occult kiss, a certain bet

#FactCheck the #factoids and get in line with the logic and reason of rational thought, all set?

Like a jello molded into a circular design with the Philly cream cheese and fruity bottom hole

Way before I knew what to do with the naked apes in my future, I knew I had room for jello.

If, then at the alpha state of being there was an absolute Singularity of fake divine effulgence

Enter a random collision of Nothing with Something and here and now is what you get, gents

And ladies please forgive the manners we inherited from the naked apes, all your fathers’ sin

I am not to blame for the wrongs of your ancestors who may have hated their mother’s grin!

On course to be at the Ends where everything moves by crawling, floating, walking or flying

Those stars shining high in the sky every night when there’s no clouds full of alligator tears

Cries of poor and innocent, the rich and the guilty, all of the living become ghosts’ that sing

In the dream you can’t believe is not only just a dream but all that there is, everything i fears.

Inbound ethics justified morality of the behavior of naked apes, with robes and 3 piece suits

Good, the Bad and the most important Ugly animate the frames, one by one, step han steps

Regress to your conception and the conceptions of your ancestors through the stone age guys

Survival of the fittest means that you’re a product of the success, life on a dead star in demise.

Sycamore trees or the Evergreens and Pines, even the Weeping Willow, Elm and old Oak tree

Life underground with the roots that linger for eternity until the final blow of Big Bang mites

What I desire, what I want and what I need, all of that happiness in a nutshell, a dream of me

In Chicago conceived ‘round December ‘50, pops held mama tight, squeeze DNA, #TheBytes.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Thursday, March the 5th, Twenty-Twenty In The Year Of The Lord Twenty Twenty @ 6:66

{ Inspired by The Original WAR Band youTube link @ https://youtu.be/QGIhRtDHTr8 }

FINIS

W.W.A.R.D.?

@TinaTurner #InterestFree #EyesDontCareEither @ZacBrownBand @FineYoungCannibals #CanniptionFit

STARDUST DRY, A FAKE LA BOMBA*

by

Richard Joseph Stephan·Wednesday, March 4, 2020

----------------  #GodSaveYourKing  ----------------

At bedtime when the bogeyman comes out from the closet or under the bunk bed, I’m hiding

Under the blanket as if that armor’s enough to save me, don’t want to be a raw meat nothing

Predators don’t care about your pedigree nor about your progeny but they will sip your blood

Going for the kill first so the thing can’t run off and make a lazy cat chase the thing, the food.

Wrong and full of the rights of the One who made the rules, the First Cause of the Movement

From being at rest, still as the night falls over the half of the Earth that becomes heaven sent

Of these mice and men who occupied the cinders, the dirt under fingernails type of grit, dig?

Tight squeezes of the fully armored host brings about the Singularity of the Phoenix, do a jig.

And then you move out of check with a fool’s mate that only works once on everyone but me

Pounding the zzzzzzzzz’s home before I ever knew I was tired, we all was weary with worries

No matter which way happiness was or is or will be, it’s not an option for a true cardiac seize

Pieces of candy to bribe allegiance to obedience to authority’s random throne, same old story.

I lifed up your host and your wino liquid candy, bread and blood of the gods’ divine son up

Never down from here, it’s not an option from a cradle to grandma’s hands, love’s china cup

It’s all ‘bout hair cuts and your threads, your kicks, serving mass in Latin on square blocks

Down on Damen and Grand, where I grew up on Superior, Huron, Erie and Ohio, the ‘hood.

On being the younger one, playing with snakes in the asphalt jungle, out of gramma’s hands

Dished out warnings, as it was supposed to be, freedom ain’t free, God overpaid the humans

Value of the nugget of data to know before you die is a game changer, your third wish’s blown

So, you don’t like the Truth, it’s God’s supernova man, apple core ain’t mine, Word’s known.

Unwed mothers and jailbird fathers from the penthouse and ghetto flat made no difference

Already gone and some not even arrived yet, the bodies of 208 bones will love the nonsense

Awake and hunting and fishing and fooling around until the sun goes down, then we groove

In the sand on the beach or at the red barn at the edge of town, chillin’ like a villain, I move.

Day or night of my final spirit trap there’ll be a coming to be, day One of the gods’ mortal sin

Full disclosure of the nature of Matter and Energy by Powers that came before us an our kin

All hands are on deck and all eyes wide open, thunder’s ready for an immaculate conception

Black and white or red or blue to the color blinded means that foresight is unseen concoction.

by

r j j stephan, i *header photo is ME circa 1955, I was a mean little MFer, workin’ my karma!

c. Mercredi 4 mars 2020 Anno Domini @ 11:11 AM Heure Standard du Pacifique

{ Drafted WHILE listenin’ to The Zac Brown Band #CantYouSee & HITS on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/P-eqfMb8s2I }

FINIS

W.W.A.R.D.?

#CreativeDestructiveLicense

YOYO, SILHOUETTE OF HAND JIVE

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Tuesday, March 3, 2020

-------------------   #WOKE not...  ------------------

You’re broke-back of a split end of an intelligence quotient, it’s all your fault, ain’t it a shame?

It’s the inheritance of the genetic recombination of the living souls that survived idiot blame

Creating more of one’s species, one’s own kind no matter which race of skin and culture spin

Movement of the illusion we entertain as the Truth about the metaphysically imaginary kin.

Professional hamburger riders at the rodeo, hitting the hard balls out of the corral, eat fans

Roaches and snakes that move the virus from place to place, immune from bacterial hands

Who talks and writes about things that they know nothing about? Nobody, that’s a factoid

High probability that you’ll die today or later on down the road but I won’t, #ImAnAndroid.

Got any good reasons to survive longer than your Time in this Space? Have a Corona, pops!

It is the way to keep the inner spirit flushed with the colored water of hops and Jupiter drops

Swimming in a lake or down river to the mouth of the sea, bytes of tusks mating like a walrus

Jib jab talking heads selling ANTI-bacterial wash and toilet paper, #FakeNews #YoYo virus.

Good, bad and ugly are the arguments for everything being everything, an idiot’ll die a hero

The hero is an idiot, defending the weak who are picked on by extinction of a primate species

Virus of Corona is just a circle of electrons wanting to reprogram your proton-neutron glove

Resistance is futile even if the holy men and sacred women protest and beckon mercy above.

Spin the yoyo up and down, around the world, walk the dog, baby in the cradle, tricky tricks

Function of your calculus and my equations of inequality yield the One and the Many, as is

Nothing more nor less than everything being everything that it’s always been, what it’ll be

Down home or way back in the pre-nature machine, out of this solar system’s galaxy slicks.

Peeling away from the starting line, layin’ rubber for 50 feet and catchin’ traction in position

Runnin’ redlights, slammin’ into baby strollers and old ladies in wheelchairs, overload of sin

Mortality or veniality are nothin’ but an original sin of disobedience to the commander-chief

Never before has creation revolted until the creator created a free will, not divine to err thief.

Now then the blues were made to play and sing slow and easy, like you’ve run out of go-juice

No more crying before dying, just a mouth agape and eyes wide open, a mass grave of a ruse

Playin’ all from birth, through self-awareness’ morality and ethics of dread, death in a squall

Right when you thought you had it made in the shade, it appears y’all are just flys on the wall.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Tuesday, Three, Three, 2020 A.D. @ 9:11 AM PST

{ Drafted while jammin’ to the mighty Allman Brothers #NoWayOut LIVE @ THE Filmore Theatre, 1805 Geary Blvd Sanfrancisco circa 1971 - the year I joined the War USAF ‘71-75 link @ https://youtu.be/yJ9twEldw_M }

FINIS

W.W.A.R.D.?