#ricoSacto

Tuesday, February 13, 2024

#SillyGeeseRock #RicoSuave #HeyHonky #TheGoodeFamily #JusticeIsButAHamSandwich

COMMON GROUNDED UFO BASE
Certainty of the fools who expect justice where none exists, here, now or evermore
Once existence becomes the issue with the living and the dead, then the gods score
As if there are UFO’s flyin’ around the solar system, galaxy or universe at warp speed
This ain’t no star trek or star wars chit-chat about pretenders’ worlds of divine greed.

Unknown “x” factoids are given as the premise for an honored blind faith conclusion
Skipped the facts about the dead skin and bones of our kin, friends & foes, all are in
For the Rest of the Peace, nothing gets to avoid returning to the dust of the star’s burn
Nothing but the ashes on Wednesday in Lent to remind you of your immortal return.

4 and 20 blackbirds baked in a pie, mixed with the cherry red fruit of the holy scat vine
It grows deep inside of the hypothalamus’ pine shape, which gunpowder factory is a sign
You need that for the fire in the hole, snap your necks of the elders & babies between us
Precious babies regenerate the species’ fool chain of invisible spirits, souls & idle minds.

Full of the bottom lines of the ends of the common fields we’ve occupied by accident
On purpose, we’ve caused a chain reaction of Fate’s electron activity, I’m heaven sent
Below or above the polar opposites of this and that, there’s nothing more nor less than
Almighty Void Black Hole Singularity, we sacrifice our herd up to you all, the Word.

Fools brought back the games to pass the time until the rigor mortis claims dead meat
Disrespect due to the liars & cheaters who knew the Known but kept Truth Top Secret
Strategic isolation of the prize of the holy seats of the undercover lovers of stupid scat
Manufactured by dead philosophers, poets & politicians who killed what they shat.

Civilized clowns and numbskulls who open cans of worms & then complain to the fish
Offering up the squirm on a hook, in the mouth, down the gullet & it’s on for The Ride
Jumping up above the surface in the belly of the beast, a moment flying, diving down
To fathom depths allowed before the final jerk of trouble, lost all fight, get outta town.

Surface to air, there’s water and rocky dirt, the entire remains of a Big Bang of Cool
Outerspace farther and farther from the center, no doubt about it, mama raised no fool
It’s a stretch of liberty to feel that you own freedom to behave without any regulation
You are consigned to morals, ethics & modifications of being all too human, a mortal sin.

Apparently, the first human born to the first pair of humans was a mortal sin, that’s a fact
Look around you, free country, fifty states, millions of citizens & an undocumented stack
Preface by total soundless silence, per-conception inside darkness, mother’s womb tomb
Brought forth what thrives a second or century for no reason,, just a lunatic on a broom.

Meaning without wings you can’t fly without being in the atmosphere, wingless angel
I think I’m a thing, I’m not nothing as might be expected, the whole shebang’s one Void
Forget about it all, every past event with every individual involved got disconnected
Suffering the whole boatload of terror before my eyes, I put God’s holy pain back to bed.

Media communication of data dissemination keeps the world turning, we see what it is
Without pain and suffering we can survive until the bell tolls, release sometimes is caput
Special needs adults living life by whatever goes #TikTok or even if it don’t, up the clock
Where the mouse went after beginning Hickory Dick or Ree Dock, you cause the flock.

Sheep as you are or the angels who interdimensionally Zen smack us on our two knees
One outer skin is so thin that it’s nearly invisible yet it’s beyond good and evil screes
I used to but I don’t any more, speak out loud as if someone cared, the Truth don’t hurt
Not me but it may harm the ones who haven’t read the reason & rhyme of my heart.

It dripped and flowed freely at my will, my whim of desire and need, I cherish my love
She flows upstream to the hatchery and stabs me in the soul & heart, below or above
On top is fine, laughing out loud (LOL) but I have done It, what will have been done
It’s all a come-on, quite a thermonuclear show, as if a sunburn means nothing but fun.

It’s a reminder that you’re mortal, a fool if you live thinking you will live when you die
For the sake of your species if not for your own progeny, if any, you best STFU yo’ mouth
Daughters of the sons of the fathers who all died without their egos & ids deeper south
Here ye, here ye, read all about it, headline is all you need to read, spell it & you’re Fly!

Hymns sung by blind followers beaten by their parents into submission, power to be bums
Listen to the words of the music, the melody and sounds of wind flutes & tom-tom drums
When it’s time, you’ll know, be wary of false alarms of Time &Wall Street Journal tweets
Here’s what your life on Earth will last longer than, an air bubble, enjoy the backstreets.

Getaway from the scene of the crime, y’all never get a reward for the crime & punishment
Hide in a cave with the blind monks and insects that thrive without light, all heaven sent
To lay eggs, hatch them & reincarnate dead bugs we’ve annihilated just like the Goliaths
More than ever before, happiness’ painlessness is sacrosanct, happy lives or gimme deaths.

Powder is dry for the powers that be, that my friends is you and it’s me, really can’t mix it up
Dependent on the creators to get me back my bullets, nobody will get hurt, it’s self defense
Thing of beauty, the beautiful that contrasts with the ugly, malform-face of muted makeup
Far out man, it’s gnarly as usual, a gift to gab not wasted, Now, this Life all makes nonsense.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Mardi, 2-13-2024 Anno Domini @ 711 AMPST
{ Cached this out of the matrix while listening to @650KFBK @Armstrong_GettyRadio
Link @ https://kste.iheart.com/ }

F I N I S
W.W.A.R.D.

#FAT_TUESDAY

Sunday, February 11, 2024

SUPERBOWL SUNDAY #LVIII #58 #MakinBelieveLiesAreTheTruth #BetMe #LetUSroll #BADbrim #HipHats #CapsNoPops #KnowYouAreALoser

VOLUME OF A PROLATE SPHEROID IS:
 ( loser ) 
+y2 / a2
Even on super Sunday in the springtime, you can smell the pigskin bleedin' in ice turf beneath
I know what you know, it’s a finite game with an end in sight, no allowance for a sudden death
Touchdown after touchdown, safety after safety, kickoff after extra points ad infinitum, it’s a go
With no time left on the game clock, it’s less than a second left & the score is tied zero to zero.

Six for the touchdown, three for the field goal, two for the safety & one for the point after TD
Hips get hit from the front, back & sides, above a pile & deep below the late hits ref’s whistle us
Toots out of the air squeezed through a tiny whirlwind emptiness, the phase of a blown penalty
High or low hits count on the quarterback and the penalty to a tackler is five, ten or fifty minus.

Regular bowl games are one hundred yards of theoretical, prolate spheroids’ critical race theory
Kick the ball, throw the ball, hand-off the ball, run with and fumble the ball, it’s two for a safety
Mothers died bearing the boys who played games, some lived & got a new house on the blocks
Either way, we get one super Sunday every year, today’s the day, it’s on from zero to sixty rocks.

You had what it took to get to the money game, high school, through college & infinite practice
Professional because paid with gold and a plethora of rewards for beating the opponent’s dice
It’s a roller-coaster from September to January & then it’s on, the big Super game of man-kinder
Points more than the other gets a double ‘U’ (W) less points gives you the honor, you’re a Loser.

Find out the secret and then forget about the whole thing, as if you’ve begun again from scratch
Nobody knows you or cares about you, you’re an orphan without siblings, offspring or any mate
You’ll go home to the heavens in a metal-wooden box, just a porcelain urn, Form of God’s farce
Bottom’s up online, you’re gone & it’s like it was before conception, Dark & deep up one’s arse.
by
r j j stephan, i

c. Dimanche, February 11th, 2024 Anno Domini @ 333 PMPST #SuperBowl2024
{ Blown out of my keister this am on #SuperbowlSunday jammin’ to surprises at https://youtu.be/D2E7ahH8zts?si=SJyq8P9NgUwTACci }

F I N I S
W.W.A.R.D.?

#FakeFunkFade @SuperBowlLVIII #TODAY @KC vs. @SF #NFL #EyeRememberYOU

HELLO TO THE ONE & THE MANY, GOODBYE DADDIO
As far as I ever go, ME, MYSELF & LITTLE ‘i.’ are a worrisome fraction of living Life’s Dawn
One part of the whole shebang is what you’ve got under your hat, head to toe, buck, doe or fawn
In reality, fantasy is one and the same as being ignorant that you’re a Cause of Everything’s holes
Open your eyes then close your eyes, it’s here and suddenly it’s gone, under your total controls.

Junk in the yards or liquid death injected with the humane venom the snakes blow in the nest
Parked in lot of A’s, B’s & C’s with a host of steel on 4 wheels in addition to the 2 wheel rockets
Introduction to the final end of the conscious mind in accidental termination of being the best
Champion of the gift, knowledge of the Truth about the reason for mankind’s existence, debts.

We owe somebody something, know who it is or not, the debt must be paid by kings or queens
Whomever is here when the landlord returns to Earth for the rent on the wind and the hot fire
Kept us alive, knowing how to make a fire when it’s freezing cold in the igloo and grass-hay hut
Apes survived, naked or hairy, evolution allowed the most fit, healthy as bloody gods to stay put.

All of the above and none of the below can be the supreme Truth but it’s not going to fly away
With your mothers, sisters, wives & their girlfriends permission, if not them, then who saves us?
Men have nothing, except the doom of all the ones who have the womb to keep the wick lit up
Taxes reaped descend into the bottomless pit, the gods pushed us all into the empty, gold cup.

Reaping what got stitched-in before I was ill-conceived, a notion that I’m the sewer of seeds too
Cork in the bottle to keep the air out since it turns the wine into vinegar rancidness turned blue
As I say that everything’s gonna be alright, it’s only because when I die, nothing will matter at all
My ego, super or just regular old Id is the fact of life that my father in heaven never confessed to.

Tin cup full of silver, copper & fool’s gold getting you off to a good start, a performance of Oscar
Heaven may or may not be higher or lower than the planet but either way, it’s a myth’s sick trick
Perfect invisible spirit just a fleeting thought essence of abstract nonsense making sense, by far
Woke or fast asleep for 24 hours every day, 6 days of working until the 1 day leftover for schtick.

Applied like sugar and salt needed for one dead plant or another animal, to disguise a megadeath
Deep inside the future excretion, there’s power to glean & absorb in the blood without the Meth
Speeding to death isn’t a bad way to go, it’s the only way we get to go, a hundred years in a snap
Protons, neutrons and electrons making up the atoms combined into molecular formation, slap!

Right across the face, a slap applied can jog the memory & cause total recall to manifest destiny
What the subject is, what the subject’s action is and it’s effect on the innocent and ignorant free
Gravity pullin’ it all down to the ground, unable to be admitted to the core, six feet under rocks
One granite rock-thing above ground with words that follow your full name’s judgement shocks.

Dancin’ in heaven, lowered below hell, innocent & not responsible for any body’s behavior et al
It ain’t a wild thing, it’s a well adjusted patron of peace, love and happiness, just a trip to free fall
As it is above it will always the same below, good that the bad & ugly are as low as you can go
It would be a thriller, a spectacle of what’s out of proportion with the peace and love backflow.

Boom voids atmosphere gets pierced by a supersonic, plastic-metal flying arrow, an F-4 or X-15
Express yourself because that’s all you have to show this world, these people what you’ve seen
Even if it’s nothing more than not-being like a Tibetan monk from Tibet, up near heaven’s gate
Prime or tertiary in the line-up for the payoff, a trade-off for your blood, sweat & tears of fate.

High or low, inside or outside the thing itself, everywhere an atom can fizz or fuse, I am FAME
Like a poker game that I can’t fold from, I have the bets, I call and raise until the losers put up
Future behind dry dreams is bleak, after all is said & done this is either a black hole or a GAME
You, whomever you are know what this existence on Earth means, life’s pet, a pet kitty or pup.

Goodbye to y’all, known and unknown for now, you won’t return the salute but that’s just fine
Coming into the triangle, hexagram or the squared, circular sphere, full of Space’s airless sign
Note cards are classified, here’s a secret I’ll share with you, they’re blank, the ink disappeared
High and mighty on the lower echelon of the stairway to heaven, you will like it too, It’s weird.
by
r j j stephan, i

c.  Samedhi, February 10, 2024, Anno Domini @ 1111 AMPST

{ Eschatologically examined ala @Baruch_Spinoza #CompleteGuideToLife on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/leoBccWOZfo?si=g3FxkZVPgzoEHKtE )

F I N I S
W.W.A.R.D.?