#WhereDoYouThinkYouCanGo? #NowhereIsCloseEnough

A PRINCIPAL WITH #1 PRINCIPLE *

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Thursday, March 7, 2019 

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March on, during the “Ides” I learned Francis Bacon was Shakespeare, he hacked the whiffs

Another Bill of lefts and rights, uppercuts and roundhouses to knock out the conscious stiffs

A quip or two to persuade my father that I was that smart-asse all kids and adults fads’ trends

Systematic dissolution of conscious thought and bodily extinction and decay, #Good offends.

Not just because I love to shock monkeys and make ‘em uncomfortable in caps of coonskin

But also because I myself, need to focus upon it a moment, an asteroid-spawned, fool’s mate

So here we are the 48th year after the booze-fest of teenage angst, drafted in a monkey’s bin

On a mission for the head or tail of the human putsch from the continental drifts, atomic fate.

Proof for the indefensible, undefinable and unbelievable, only you know like I know, misters

Not for a small reason, a big deal, this is a big, big deal, so what, who cares, not me, you do

Long stem roses are all history, no more flowers once in a while, once a year anyway, boo

Not something I’ve thought about much but I’d say I’ve traded gold for a thousand flowers.

Go out on the weekends until you need to go drinkin’ on the weeknights and drink before 6

Or after 6, AM or PM, amazing how the fire in the water becomes One with your DNA’s #Six

The exit and the entrance remain closed to the denizens of this Twilight Zone, like it or not

You’re stuck for nine innings, four quarters, three periods or just the duration of God’s plot.

They said we inherited this from the First ones who muffed up the perfection of blood rips

But why the progeny must pay for the sins of the fathers sounds like Slavery, indenturement

Standards for society of the twenty-first century written on the basement of pyramid crypts

Out of sequence in chaos’ disorder, I’m in Time’s Space, Will of asteroids the Big Bang sent.

by

r j j stephan, i { *Happy Anniversary to whomever may have had a #FalseAlarm in 1973 }

c. Thursday, March 7th, 2019 A.D. @ 1:11 PM PST

{ drafted while #Grovvin inside of the womb of the Void where #Wiseguys fear to go & listenin’ to the #YoungRascals #AllTheBest on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/-OJlfgSBNkY }

FINIS ECSTASY

#ComeAndGitYourLove #RightHereRightNow

RAINING, SNOWING, CRYS O’ SKIES

by

Richard Joseph Stephan · Tuesday, March 5, 2019

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NIMBY is the WORD of the day and that is what will be done from yesterday to tomorrow

Huckleberry Fin would have just moved on as the cartoon would have you believe, a low blow

On a factoid which may, in fact, be a gleaning of #FakeNews muscle cut to BBQ on the pyres

You and I know nothing more than anyone who has ever lived, as much as the unborn fires.

I gave it all when I did not want to give any at all, there is no will to power, it’s arrhythmical

The magic, the occult, the digital unknown left off by silicon valley UFO backengineer pals

Little glue sniffers who used to make plastic airplanes, cars and boats, high on glue you fools

Nobody told the 8 or 9 year old why he acted crazy as a loon, no psycho-analysis in schools.

Swearing to the slaves and the masters that this is all there is, there is no doubt that it’s true

Blind faith in the lizard brain inheritance of the evolved amoeba from the swamp’s residue

Upon the social media you and I pray to the gods that the server doesn’t crash into Katmandu

All there is left at the point of no return is Nothing but what you see, blinded by bloody blues.

Perfectly interesting pumping the sewers to ream through the pipes of the excreted groceries

Gold under the ground, stinking to high heaven, ferment what the bones shat into the ground

Love of pure air, pure water and your mother’s milk, the stuff inside the teats not the tin cans

Always subtract from perfection one way or another, I’ve once again stooped pretty low man.

I’ll die free, a man alone, married twelve times two, on a northbound train to the Yukon gold

Without ice and hot rocks that make the world go around, rollin’ country in the city’s house

Drawin’ lines in the sand, puttin’ fences and walls up higher than the goats jump, so I’m told

Wind and rain are what makes the world roll, our home’s skies cry, on a maggot and a louse.

by

r j j stephan, i “....if the tears roll down like rain....well then......you know......let her be!”

c. March 5th, 2019 A.D. @ 4:10 PM PST

{ drafted while listenin’ to Darius Rucker on youTube #LetHerCry & HITS youTube link @ https://youtu.be/WB5iDs-kxUw?list=PLME6FOIvldEW9Re-1NIKNpaClci359xdx }

FINIS

#FromA2Z #INeverBeenToHeaven & #IveBeenToOklahomaAndArizona

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