#Psyche #ToxicWord & #Cosmos as nobody knows it! #Toxic @Toxic @CarlSagan @NeilDeGrasseTyson

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MATTER FORMA DEADMAN HAND

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Thursday, January 24, 2019

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xoxoxoxtoxicoxoxoxox

Cowboys when they were needed and Indians without a choice, great spirits’ spider-man sins

All of them moved the innocent to the bag full of valor carried until thin air’s forces go up, fly

Used to be the small babies and children, teenage fighting men thrown in dark ass dungeons

Turned toward the burning star’s sunlight, wrinkled and desperate to stay and afraid to die.

Aces and eights is all I’ve ever wanted little mama, was it askin’ too much, I think, I am, see?

It’s whatever it takes to win the hand and bluff your way to the victory, embracing inferiority

Tempted to file for bankruptcy of ethics ‘cause without justice there is nothing but what I got

Injustice of treatment by ne’er do wells who ought to have followed Golden Rules but did not.

Unless you’ve got four aces or trip queens, the one-eyed jack will have to do for an old maid

Wanting to travel in the mist with the misfits is over the top, on a trip, on a boat or on a jet

Mixin’ it all up in the menu-do of sensation and recollection from the ancestral history, I bet

No one will ever know that pain and suffering I had before the seventh day of a creator-creed.

Most valuable, least desirable, like bills and love letters in a mailbox out front, WTF goin’ on

Nobody knows but some of us care and we’ll get to the bottom of it, turnin’ upside down, run!

Dreamin’ and singin’ a melody that fits with the crazy causes of nutty effects, mellow funkin’

Sweet, warm, white or tan, yellow or black, skin tight over the couple hundred bones, bonkin’

Fools rush in where wise men fear to go and it appears that we’re flush with fools, all rushin’

Under north stars and southern borders’ walls and fences, babies born too close for the callin’

Miracle that your mother and father fumbled you into this matrix of crystalline, all my rules

Daughters grownup, awakened at the fork in the road with nowhere else to go, goddess’ fools.

Last breath, last movement of the concerto, of the rats and women who roam where I was

In and out of the holy caves and bottomless holes underground down to the core, she does

Captains and lieutenants are the leaders of the followers, corporals and private first classes

Dusted off the god and got gold, had an extra ‘l’ left over, slipped it to the gods’ gold asses.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Thursday January 24th, 2019 A.D. @ 5:55 PM PST

{ drafted while listenin’ to WAR THE BAND #SlippinIntoDarkness & HITS on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/RFSWW4O6QNM }

W.W.A.R.D.?

#WhoAreYou #YouHaveNoIdea #ricoSacto @ricoSacto #Ends

STAGES FAR AWAY, LUCKY SHOTS

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Monday, January 21, 2019

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Cowboys and Indians from first engagement, I want what you have, buy it or take it by force

There but it’s not there, yet it is when the time comes for action and safe resolution of melee

After the roadies have packed up the buses to get back to the airport, got paid and a divorce

Cowboys and Indians, everywhere USA and elsewhere on any continent, staged, on display.

Seattle to NYC, through the ORD and the MIA, over to DAL, PHX and back to the rat vat

Punched in the face by the lead loaded fists of the Tobors, only robots meeting gods’ sons

Not even one or two slip by, old big shots eliminated, one by one, us, priests and the nuns

We weren’t told the absolute truth, God or the gods didn’t help the sworn testimony scat.

I may get obtuse on you for a moment and try some metaphysical calculation of con-jobs

Get ready for the worst because here is my best for the old big shots, I don’t need any dogs

Voters for the parties of fools and sheepherders, barkers at the trees, all pi-quine, ho-slobs

I do not feel threatened by the sticks and stones thrown at my bones, call me pig to the hogs.

On the road again to set up another stage in another town until the end of the tour and girls

Back to fishin’ on vacation, just want to stay home by the concrete pond, shootin’ squirrels

Yeah, country boy from the city gettin’ the hunter plaid on, red on black, black on blue too

Whatever it takes and however long until the bitter end, surfin’ with aliens on cosmic stew.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. Monday, January 21, 2019 A.D. @ 13:13 hours PDT

{ DRAFTED WHILE LISTENIN’ to #TowerOfPower #YoureStillAYoungMan & HITS on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/exVwi9IhIik }

 

W.W.A.R.D.?

#Ends #BeforeWeGoAnyFurtherIWantMyEnds @FreewayOfLove

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A ROCK & A REAL SWEET ROLL, KID

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Wednesday, January 23, 2019

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Days like this, I wake up before dawn, shocked by light as it first shows the darkness’ shine

Absence of the star’s shadow dance, as the Earth revolves the mamas along a fake-ecliptic

Electronic circling of a nucleus, no answer, no question but which elemental bones are mine

Circle MY power that is the thing itself, the source of the moods of your spouse’s sweet wine.

Supernatural or not, as slick and smooth as the polished steel of your Acura SUV, love-bones

Nothing between the ears, in the mind, in the soul, no common sense, no reason to be loved

Specks of wasted, atomic fission and fusion in a holy void, mindless blind faith, yet flightless

Dream’s all over when you blink your final eye wink, omega gasp for your checkmate chess.

You might be a fool or a wiseman or a fool’s mate but either way, you’re a joker without beer

Serving your master is what you will do, like it or not, slave to the Earth’s gravity and blue sea

Businessman or decrepit ne’er-do-well all do it, serving the thing itself, the merge with a seer

Your rights are just your own illusion until they pop into the great #WideOpen, misfit to Me.

Just the result of gamete and egg DNA, that’s all the devil is, in the details, dream to be awake

If you don’t figure who you’ll serve, you’ll still serve SOMEBODY, greater or small snowflake

Every sound made by the atoms motion waves ringin’ the hearing, blindin’ the hindsight scar

All or none of it, Alpha, Omega mystic sea wind, yet still in a Jack Daniels’ vapor, jellyroll liar.

Get that sheet of ice off of The Lake, blow it across the LSD to Michigan Av where it belongs

Freezin’ the ear muffs and muck lucks off of the girls, keepin’ the boys’ hands full of wrongs

Catholic schools did no good for the bad boys and girls who found the hood was their home

Joined the service or imprisoned to get away from it all, abused children ruling class, shalom!

All of the tea in China and all of the gold in the Sierra Nevada can’t buy immortality for y’all

Nothing but a promise to take care of the invisible you, the soul of a human being, happy call

To be or not to be happy is the only important question that beckons the answer, to be a blow

Hating the not to be, the death of the friends and enemies, like the food we eat, come and go.

by

r j j stephan, i

c. January 23, 2019 A.D. Wednesday @ 7:11 AM PST

{ drafted while in #Alpha wave #Omega frequency listenin’ to Everlast etc, etc, etc ad infinitum, on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/qA1nGPM9yHA }

W.W.A.R.D.?