P H I L O S O P H I A

Saturday, February 01, 2020

#DontCrashNow #SonOfA #WeWillKickYourAssassin #Tree is what my pops used for #3....also, my mama's name, #Tree..... yo, yo! 1,2,3,4....

TREE OF MY FAVORITE EARTHLINGS

Richard Joseph Stephan · Saturday, February 1, 2020

We all only got what we give, what we gave may not have been enough if we’ve got it, nothing

I’m right behind y’all on the way to the end of the road where nobody gets off on a finish line

Taxes every year on the labor of you and yours, paying for only the Power of One knows, jinx

Pretenders following the leaders into the Black Hole where angels fear to go, age of a sphinx.

Dreams in a form of music that plays sounds of notes of scales without being seen, air waves

Interpreting the given into the style of the way of your beasts of burden and your saddle bags

Carrying things and memories you can’t forget from the cradles to the graves, deep in a sink

It may be true or false but nobody can come back to tell us one way or another, truth is Pink.

It’s a musical philosophy, words and rhymes and beats and riffs and runs up and down scales

In the middle of it or on either end, the infinite line has no being in angular, triangle squares

In the cubed heads above the necks of 200 bones, less the cranium, headless horsemen know

Where and when this thing itself is presented in egg, matter of DNA stardust-form, it’s a go.

You get what you got because it’s a return on what you gave into the genome, evened Stevens

It’s all there is between the essence of the matrix and your own id and superego, I am the sins

All of it, every single atom and charm in the struggle on Us, in the Void for a karma kid’s ear

No way to know and one way to find out, hit home runs is what we do, one, done, outta here.

Below a bronze statue of an immortal bunny rabbit, still got the music in you, teens grow up

Just a minute ago we were hidin’ from papa and mama, now we’re goin’ solo or duo stuck-up

Kicked my arse in for no reason other than to shame the unknown, the last One to even hurl

Neither you nor me, myself or I, not your betrothed spouse or your steady friend, a #boygirl.

r j j stephan, i

c. February 1st, 2020 A.D. @ 1:11 AM PST

{ Drafted in moments while listenin’ to some #DreamersDisease #YouGetWhatYouGive by THE NEW RADICAL 激進份子zzzz on youTube link @ https://t.co/bI1GRLZjm0?amp=1 }

FINIS

W.W.A.R.D.?

#IsThisMusicInYouOrNot #SUPERBOWLSaturday

FEBRUARY, SPELL IT RIGHT LEFTY

Richard Joseph Stephan · Saturday, February 1, 2020

- - EGOISTIC GNOSTIC PLATO- -

Jig was up about a hundred years ago, back in the days of grandma and grandpa depressions

Of the men and the rats who ran the streets in the alleys full of trash and the men who pick it

Highly paid for takin’ the trash to the dump for the minions to crawl about and find the gems

Thrown out accidentally, white trash and brown grounds and black ashen dust of her hymns.

God had no loins, that’s why we’re here to show off the creation of flesh and bone from Space

Matter in the hands of nobody you know, occult, magical effects from spells of a wizard’s face

Crumbled bones, dried up blood ready to be wet and flowing once again, dead but never gone

What moves you, moves us all remains alive when you die, it’s a tour de force, all too human.

Now in this presence of Time in this Space, recollection is everything, never forget the Truths

Cause is One First movement in the middle of nowhere, inside of the cosmic egg of a dark Ho

Hard to get in and easy to get out, that’s the way love is baby, narrow way it’s always been too

Fathers of mothers who make sisters and brothers from just a shot in the darkness of Fruits.

In the garden of Eden I had a thought, I was hungry for food to move through my upper GI

Tract of my beer and pretzels, mustard, catsup, pickles, lettuce, tomatoes, Super Bowl Brie

Dips into the gullys of the chips and celery sticks, cream of the dill or the garlic bulbs, I win

Bet on it, the team that wins has the realm of football gods above, y’all promised to Star in.

It’s over when it’s over, it’s said by many since grandma’s hands tucked me into a revolution

Rapid pace of days & nights, increasing the gods’ fizz, darkness overwhelms cosmic sloe-gin

We run, we walk, we crawl and we roll slow or fast when we step on the gas, burn mortal sin

From Hell-fire, Super Bowl Holes & White Dwarfs come divinity’s bet, holy defecate, I win!

r j j stephan, i

c. February 1st, 2020 A.D. @ 5:55:55 AM PST

{ Drafted #SuperBowlXIV Saturday before the Light of Dawn spun into my window while listenin’ to #GrandmasHand by Everlast on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/4f-PVsqtzVU }

FINIS

W.W.A.R.D.?

Friday, January 31, 2020

#FearAintHere #DreamsAreDyingInTimeAndSpace

GOD’S DAMS & GRAMMA'S HANDS

Richard Joseph Stephan · Friday, January 31, 2020

---------------- #BabyStepSOS ------------------

Y’all know what y’all can do with this bowl of mean and ferocious men who want to win It

What It is is an unknown, it comes and goes with the annual wind of change, nobody’s fit

All unfit for the trip around the world’s presence of being, evolutionary trip around a star

Burning the hydrogen and oxygen and pollution into the vague, amorphous Void of Dada.

Features of the creatures who worship their only option as a creator, whatever is #Ups

Never, ever what is down under the ground to the open-fire center of the planet’s crust

Nobody knows anything about the reason for being but these holy hominids think of It

Miraculous beyond a wild thought of being in a SuperNova or a starburst’s Singularity.

I’m no Einstein or Kant nor Socrates or Plato but I’m alive and they are not, trump fans

In the game of life they lived and said their piece of this #TooMuchTime on the hands

Grandma’s hands and grandpa’s sweat and tears put me right here and now, grati pal

What I do with it is not their fault but to their credit, without them, I don’t exist, et al.

Back stronger than most to carry the load of the debt that yo’ mama owes God for mortal sin

Come back to paradise when it’s all over, Time and Space don’t last past the 21st new century

It will be done as you see, it’s all you got, everything in the One thing you call it all, me me me

When you know the Truth it won’t hurt but you will hate it, it’s hard to handle it, I am All In.

Now we move from the happiness of having it all in a ball of confusion, embraced my milk

Teats of mama to put us on the lonely road of consternation, possible annihilation with ilk

A mere hundred yards either way you look at it, field goals for three, extra points for none

Championship Football kicked and thrown post to post, offensive line that’s defense’s fun.

Nothing attracts flies like the worms of the Earth’s skin and bones of animated sunlight, US

Oceans and dust of the crust leftover from a Big Bang’s song of lonely-ass freedom to Be done

Loads of the matter turn into the energy flow of your rivers in your mind’s eye Twilight Zone

If and only if you get to the end alive and can look around 360 degrees and see Truth, Zeus!

r j j stephan, i

c. January 31st, 2020 A.D. *Happy birthday to my grandma XOXO in Jesus’ HANDS, R.I.P. Josephine Lipuma-Alfano 1-31-1909”

{ Jammed this out of thin air this AM with nothing but my grandma’s hands that lifted this baby into the universe’s cosmic dust, #GrandmasHand #LonelyRoad on youTube links @ https://youtu.be/4f-PVsqtzVU& @RLBurnside @https://youtu.be/jhKqqYuV9MU }