STRUM OF STRUNG-OUT 6-STRINGS, A PHYSICAL GRAFFITI MIRAGE'S MIDNIGHT RIDE
There are no more than four, six or twelve strings of cryng sheep's guts in a symphonic hysterotomy
In this lit up world, as above this one & below everyone else's there's a reason for being here & now
Only one and one half hours to explain the nature of the cosmos to infidels with intellect deficiency
No way to explain the surprise at the dead end of information, before the garden of Eden's holy cow.
Divinity disapproved of the disobedience to the rule of law, the commandment to avoid the tiptap
From the knowledge tree's sap, gets you drunk so your own father doesn't know you, tip o' the cap
Hit those hardballs and the buckets for years from nine to seventeen, then the war of Da Nang got It
My time in this Space was not mine for forty five months and a basic training day, all on the GI teat.
Only won at the end when it felt I was losing the battle at the end of the war, wanted to AWOL chit
I stuck it out, in uniform and honored my commitment to God and my country, had a GI Bill party hit
Degreed, careered and retired from two entities who remunerated my Time with a stipend to die for
What you most probably will never know is what it means to be me, man, it's a trip if enter the door.
Transitory stages from pre-conception to post-mortem, has the a priori and the necessary a posteriori
For the propositional argument for the proof that what didn't exist in time can suddenly be created too
As if there's a painter or sculptor who creates a world renowned work of art & then disappears at sea
We're left with a master's piece in some 64 square chess board of first & last moves, stalemate blues.
Wandering around in the sand and stone garden parts that no longer are mastered by water's waves
Disappearing into outspace with the rest of the oxygen and hydrogen, leakin' out stratosphere caves
Little missies and the old maids and widows who outlive the naked skinned apemen, skinwalker's tea
I smoked it after I grew it and mixed it with the mushroom and the cacti concoction, surfin' Monterey.
Sweet and sour move the taste and smell into the holy, sweet spot that only you and I know, mai oui?
Or maybe not both of us but I do, can't explain it to the uninitiated ones who have not seen the lights
Being dead for a minute or two brings you where you wanna come back from but don't stay too long
Your time'll come when it's scheduled, it ain't random, it's all set but you've no clue & that's so wrong.
Confetti falling all around me, 360 degrees for some reason like gravity has no effect, dreamin' awake
Power to move stones and change minds from illogical arguments to the solution of their being woke
Culture creeps who were programmed by mean, ugly miscreants unaccepted by their own clan parties
Piercings everywhere from head to toe, hair sculpted to distract from the plain Jane or Juan tan faces.
Mortified by the Rastafarian symbolics, the streams of categorical imperatives, forms of Plato apology
To the society of men and women, who came and went before his screes in the squares with the elegy
To have been and to cease to be are all that could be downloaded into the dialectic for the sake of one
That one would be anyone who would not be scared stiff by the Truth about existence & eternity fun.
Live today, gone tomorrow is about all you can comprehend, forget about who told me & why I know
Now you know and that's all that's important, now you do what you wilt, the future is already, we died
Just like the Past, I kid you now, a momentary lapse of the Present, a reasonable time to need a blow
Of gods to save us from songs sung 'bout eternal suffering in a Nova cluster of Black Holes, let's ride!
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Mercredi, May 26th, 2021 A.D. @ 7:11 PMPST
{ Drafted jammin' to some #PhysicalGraffiti by @LedZeppelin from the @IrishO'African youTube channel link @ https://youtu.be/EH6I31ev1GM }
FINIS
W.W.A.R.D.?
