TRANSMOGRIFY YOUR HEADS
Surprising and magical in the manner of speaking and acting like you and I are the sheets
Of our mothers and fathers DNA bone marrow, inherited from the Father’s Son, a Ghost
Being nothing but an idea, a thought in the beginning before the light shined, gas-dust moved
Above and below, so far that nobody knows how far since the unmoved mover never grooved.
In the center of a dot is an empty black hole full of nothing but herb, smoking tetrahydracab
Without a mindful of hate and fear of devils and saints, who came before us and never flirt
With myths busted to be what they are, unreal past of ancestral heritage, cloned from a lab
In space or in gravitational attraction to the middle of life in a whirling, wobbling ball of dirt.
Once punked, always on alert for the heads or tails of a flip, begins the game as home or away
In the end, it won’t matter at all except for the momentary collapse of winning a losing game
Nobody ever born will ever be conceived by the genome, homo sapiens can become an array
Of evil and good, disaster impediments, career infiltration by force, all deception’s the same.
Do not cry for me or memories you retain within your recollected distortions of the presence
I don’t care and you don’t care, they don’t care and none of us do but we also lie in sense
Hoping you or I will do the right thing, as confidence goes, it smokes like golden white weed
Without investigation, sanctions, remuneration and flagrant power abuse, we’re bumblebeed.
Head in a manner of speaking is merely the brain container uptop of the unprogrammed, bar
Pedals to the medal, I’m gonna break the quarter in nine flat, burned a second of hot rubber
Traction pulled me ahead in a microsecond, as if I was a leer jet next to a Model T Ford car
But gettin’ some head, getting ahead or a buzz on means that you’ve mastered the blubber.
Unconditional perfection is what I knew was possible yet the probability factor was net zero
To be or not to be the creator or the created, but not both, mutually exclusive, one is One
Everyone else is the Many and that’s all that there is to it, everything else is blind faith woe
Feeling lonely about being alone with talent without pride, to transmogrify the warm gun.
r j j stephan, I
c. September 2, 2017 Samedi @ 1900 hours PST