the thought of death is an uneasy thought
in my case it's a ****** nightmare

on the 16th day of May, 1967, Mr Youngblood took his 6th grade class to the playground as he always did, every Tuesday after lunch. The kids spread out to their usual positions. Some played catch with Mr Youngblood. A few, like Roger and me went to the basketball net and several played on the monkey bars, both of which were part of the big asphalt square. Just opposite this area was the soccer field and then some good distance between that and the Middle School. Lots of open space for a bunch of suburban kids to have fun. The Sun was bright and the wind was light and the temperature was right around perfect. We had been playing for 10 minutes or so when the wind picked up and clouds seemed to move in out of nowhere. We all thought it must be a storm coming...and it was. A distant laugh froze everyone. At first no-one saw him, but then we all saw him at once. He was walking across the soccer field towards us, long deliberate strides with long thin legs that seemed to bend once slightly below where the knee should be and again slightly above, making each stride awkwardly horrifying. Where he came from is a mystery as there was nothing but open land behind him for several hundred yards. He was tall and lanky and as he approached us, I noticed that his face was contorted and discolored...a pale, almost painted white and he had jet black hair combed back, long and greasy. His lips were thin and black and his eyes bloodshot and almond shaped. He wore a black suit, a black shirt and candy apple red tie. He looked like a mosh-up of Curry's Pennywise and Ledger's Joker, only I would have traded for either one of those ******* right now over this guy, ten to one. He came to the edge of the concrete square. Johnny ****** his pants and Charlene fell from the monkey bars, landing awkwardly on her left side and causing a compound fracture, her radius protruding from her skin leaving her hand dangling like a dead fish. She did not scream either because she was scared it might draw his attention or she was going into shock...or maybe both. He took two more steps forward and then began laughing as if he'd just heard the funniest joke he'd ever been told. His teeth looked as if they'd been replaced with shark's teeth. I swear there were rows of them and his mouth stretched inhumanly wide. His laugh slowly winded down to a snarl, and he gave a long look to each one of us, as if he was burning the faces to memory. And then he spoke..."You children just go on having lots of fun! Well, except for you Johnny...didn't your Mom just rip you a new *** for ******* your pants at Grandma's? shame, shame!" And Johnny was off...tripping twice before he got his feet under him. "You run home and ...Ha Ha Ha...oh my...change your pants, you pathetic little ****!" Mr Youngblood picked up Charlene and started to carry her inside. By this time her pretty pink dress was soaked in blood. The freak addressed him. "Nice man...but you can't save them. In a few days they will all be mine." He laughed again and every kid ran for their lives back to the school. I was the only one who stayed. To this day I'm not sure why. He turned and walked towards me slowly. "What have we here? The little man isn't running with the others. Are you not afraid Billy boy? Afraid for your life?"...and he leaned in close...close enough that I smelled a foulness that cannot be described. "Because that is what I'm here for...your life!" "Who are you?", I asked... and with that his dark black and pointed eyebrows raised and he straightened up. "Who am I...Who am I? My, my the boy has a backbone. The nerve to question while others lose control of their bladders. Well, I'll tell you who I am, child. I am God's worst nightmare. I am every ***** little secret thought you've ever had. I am evil in all it's forms wrapped up in one little package and sent to collect the souls of the innocent. All of you here today will be mine tomorrow. Roger will fall down the stairs off of his front porch and break his neck. Charlene will die from infection due to that nasty little accident and Becky will be hit by the school bus Thursday morning. That will be most nasty! Almost a decapitation. I won't bore you with the rest, but they will all die. Hmmm...you know what Billy... I like you, so I'm thinking, perhaps...yes, I'm going to make a special offer to my new special friend. I won't take your soul until you die from natural causes. What do you think of that idea? At that moment, when your family is gathered round your bedside after suffering that...well, maybe you don't want to know the details... you will see a bright light...but you won't be going towards the light Billy...at that moment I will place my hand on your shoulder and that light will slowly fade into darkness and we will meet again, and you will become my apprentice. So, what do you think of that, Billy? Do you want to be my apprentice, or do I **** you now? Come, come...I haven't much time!" I tried to answer, but my mouth was as dry as cardboard and I could only manage a weak gasp. That laugh again and he turned and walked away in the same direction..."I'll take that as a yes. Remember, you are mine upon your death, Billy boy!" The wind died and the Sun appeared again.
By the end of the week, every child on the playground that day had died...exactly as he stated they would.

And now you know why, even in my darkest days, I never, ever contemplate suicide.

the thought of death is an uneasy thought
in my case it's a ****** nightmare

on the 16th day of May, 1967, Mr Youngblood took his 6th grade class to the playground as he always does, every Tuesday after lunch. The kids spread out to their usual positions. Some played catch with Mr Youngblood. A few, like Roger and me went to the basketball net and several played on the monkey bars, both of which were part of the big asphalt square. Just opposite this area was the soccer field and then some good distance between that and the Middle School. Lots of open space for a bunch of suburban kids to have fun. The Sun was bright and the wind was light and the temperature was right around perfect. We had been playing for 10 minutes or so when the wind picked up and clouds seemed to move in out of nowhere. We all thought it must be a storm coming...and it was. A distant laugh froze everyone. At first no-one saw him, but then we all saw him at once. He was walking across the soccer field towards us, long deliberate strides. Where he came from is a mystery as there was nothing but open land behind him for several hundred yards. He was tall and lanky and as he approached us, I noticed that his face was contorted and discolored...a pale, almost painted white and he had jet black hair combed back, long and greasy. His lips were thin and black and his eyes bloodshot and almond shaped. He wore a black suit, a black shirt and candy apple red tie. He looked like a mosh-up of Curry's Pennywise and Ledger's Joker, only I would have traded for either one of those ******* right now over this guy, ten to one. He came to the edge of the concrete square. Johnny ****** his pants and Charlene fell from the monkey bars, landing on her left side and causing a compound fracture, her radius protruding from her skin leaving her hand dangling like a dead fish. She did not scream either because she was scared it might draw his attention or she was going into shock...or maybe both. He took two more steps forward and then began laughing as if he'd just heard the funniest joke he'd ever been told. His teeth looked as if they'd been replaced with shark's teeth. I swear there were rows of them and his mouth stretched inhumanly wide. His laugh slowly winded down to a snarl, and he gave a long look to each one of us, as if he was burning the faces to memory. And then he spoke..."You children just go on having lots of fun! Well, except for you Johnny...didn't your Mom just rip you a new *** for ******* your pants at Grandma's? shame, shame!" And Johnny was off...tripping twice before he got his feet under him. "You run home and ...Ha Ha Ha...oh my...change your pants, you pathetic little ****!" Mr Youngblood picked up Charlene and started to carry her inside. By this time her pretty pink dress was soaked in blood. The freak addressed him. "Nice man...but you can't save them. In a few days they will all be mine." He laughed again and every kid ran for their lives back to the school. I was the only one who stayed. To this day I'm not sure why. He turned and walked towards me slowly. "What have we here? The little man isn't running with the others. Are you not afraid Billy boy? Afraid for your life?"...and he leaned in close...close enough that I smelled a foulness that cannot be described. "Because that is what I'm here for...your life!" "Who are you, I asked" and with that his dark black and pointed eyebrows raised and he straightened up. "Who am I...Who am I? My, my the boy has a backbone. The nerve to question while others lose control of their bladders. Well, I'll tell you who I am, child. I am God's worst nightmare. I am every ***** little secret thought you've ever had. I am evil in all it's forms wrapped up in one little package and sent to collect the souls of the innocent. All of you here today will be mine tomorrow. Roger will fall down the stairs off of his front porch and break his neck. Charlene will die from infection due to that nasty little accident and Becky will be hit by the school bus Thursday morning. That will be most nasty! Almost a decapitation. I won't bore you with the rest, but they will all die. Hmmm...you know what Billy... I like you, so I'm thinking, perhaps...yes, I'm going to make a special offer to my new special friend. I won't take your soul until you die from natural causes. What do you think of that idea? At that moment, when your family is gathered round your bedside after suffering that...well, maybe you don't want to know the details... you will see a bright light...but you won't be going towards the light Billy...at that moment I will place my hand on your shoulder and that light will slowly fade into darkness and we will meet again, and you will become my apprentice. So, what do you think of that, Billy? Do you want to be my apprentice, or do I **** you now? Come, come...I haven't much time!" I tried to answer, but my mouth was as dry as cardboard and I could only manage a weak gasp. That laugh again and he turned and walked away in the same direction..."I'll take that as a yes. Remember, you are mine upon your death, Billy boy!" The wind died and the Sun appeared again.
By the end of the week, every child on the playground that day had died...exactly as he stated they would.

And now you know why, even in my darkest days, I never, ever contemplate suicide.

Like every youngblood in love
I want to write something
that gets away from me,
the next Great American _,
sprawls like the city I live in.

Still these Northwestern scapes're contained
by rivers, valleys alike, and mountain range.
these lands are fertile, the soil tangible,
dig your fists deep, bring up handfuls,
the people tenable, shrouded in the times,
still waiting awhile whilst consumed with fever.
Feverous of injustice as done by Evil.

Amongst all these radicals and activists,
must wax progressive: hell, I can fix this.

Crack the can, a forty down to sixteen,
still the same American Malt I've been in.
No poems but my belly's getting swollen.
I don't wanna write no odes to bottles.
If I'm drinkin' in heaven I haven't the heart in
which to dwell upon our...

A sprawling poem leaves lines undone
to be penned in, in half-heart, without
a care that I gave them.

I've seen the best m-
Oh what have I seen?
What I knew, nothing new
just the cacophony of windy trees.
But'cha wait for these moments
when it's clear.

Hey everyone, what's going on? Why is
Everyone running around going nowhere fast?
Yelling into their phones, driving crazy-what's going on?

Yesterday seems like forever ago and
Other days seems like they will never come.
Underneath the stars, I sit, & wonder if people even
Notice the beauty around them or if since they're
Going to fast they miss ever little
Beautiful thing around them?
Life is short. Live for the present!
One day you'll regret it.
Once today is gone, you'll never get it back.
D**on't regret. Live for the moment. Love each other!

Curiosity got the better part of me as thine swiftly splaying fingers
typed Matthew Scott Harris (yours truly) into the google search bar,
lo and behold, and much to my chagrin and amusement,
others with mine namesake constituted roles in various walks of life carrying out their wonderfully wicked whiles and ways,
sans existence covered the gamut earthen realm
from administration of President Dwight David Eisenhower
the celebrity circuit, where his claim to fame and fortune
as movie Producer (born in Jacksonville, Illinois)
for silver screen cinematic debut enterprise finished regal Dimension far off beaten track pocketing a degree (from University of Illinois)
in Civil Engineering, After practicing as an engineer for several years,
a decision made to open a restaurant in Chicago
with nary a harbinger - After operating popular eatery for more than ten years,a whim directed destiny viz hit time to make movies
arced renown sent same nom de plume doppleganger
quest skyrocketing
analogous to aligning skill sets into stratospheric isobar
which exertion pitched head stone carvers to acquire vital context
where next of kin content with obituary hiz death
unexpectedly Tuesday morning, Feb. 24, 2015 of Loudonville),
tomb epitaph incorporated passion as avid outdoorsman,
who loved fishing, hunting, and canoeing. I aced as supervisor with telecommunication company, Telecom Towers Inc.
yet by some stroke of premature pronouncement,
whence during funeral the coffin lid rise a jar
scaring the s**t out the backsides per mourners,
where demise found sights drawn to undertake
a totally tubular career as graphic artist from Buffalo
(Educated at RPI), who constantly looks for work today, and to mar
row, out of necessity to pay bills, as prodigy with plugging numbers and spitting out calculations
attained plaudits as financial solvency ****, and par
for the course irresistibly tempted forging credentials -
with a self crafted faux pas star
re: expert as a fraudulent Loan OfficerNMLS # 240801 -
but Youngblood’s hired fretful dexterous dude for extra cash tip play *** tar, while police got tips from wagging tail, and unfortunately butter field bursar ruse landed rising star into clinker
sans Cook County Inmate at age 49
CB NUMBER 19043182, when arrest occurred Tuesday,
January 13, 2015 11:53 AM, and released the next day due to first
time misdemeanor plus absent recidivist incarceration possession
of 5000+ grams of Cannabis, which exposure to magical, miracle
and mystical herb set sites to become a professor
Clinician of pharmacology to help fight the so call "drug war".

hey im alright with opening up scars
if it means i can remember you,
buried underneath my skin, are you
red or blue?

I am not the blithering, sad poet type.
With a foundation comprised
of bone dust,
brittle petals crumbling
at the first sign of danger.

Think of me
Fondly and fiercely
as Persephone's flower
Dreaming tenderly
upon a case of
aging dynamite.

- Rhiannon || Yeti Youngblood

make love to my tattoos.
kiss them, brilliant.
breathe into them the
elegant way that you live
easy, free, alpha.
my tattoos are
who i am
they are my insides as much as my outsides
i am turned inside out, even
lover girl, with flakes of skin
dusting  inspiration   windowsill collection
graffitied DNA   Physical sins
a wrist left heart broken
I lost
my eden somewhere
in the night counting
the flakes of
my dreams for tomorrow
that gather on the floor
alongside my memory foam coffin
in a clump of
yesterday’s skin.  


Yeti Youngblood

Re: ah... what better way to while away the countless leisure

hours,while coronavirus (covid-19) assails humanity across thee

globe? (covid-19) assails humanity across thee globe? he answer to

that question my friend... explained within attached gobbledygook

(safe at any speed to open without latex gloves, nor face mask)

courtesy - Curiosity got the better part of me as thine fingers typed

Matthew Scott Harris into the google search bar lo and behold and

much to my chagrin and amusement, others with mine namesake

constituted roles in various walks of life carrying out their whiles

and ways sans existence covered the realm from administration of

President Dwight David Eisenhower the celebrity circuit, where his

claim to fame and fortune as movie Producer (born in Jacksonville,

Illinois) for silver screen cinematic debut enterprise finished regal

Dimension far off beaten track sans degree (from University of

Illinois) in Civil Engineering, After practicing as an engineer for

several years, a decision made to open a restaurant in Chicago with

nary a harbinger - After operating popular eatery for more than ten

years, a whim directed destiny viz hit time to make movies curved

renown skyrocketed quest analogous to aligning skill sets into

stratospheric isobar which exertion pitched head stone carvers to

acquire vital context where next of kin content with obituary hiz

death unexpectedly Tuesday morning, Feb. 24, 2015 of

Loudonville), tomb epitaph incorporated passion as avid

outdoorsman, who loved fishing, hunting and canoeing. I aced as

supervisor with telecommunication company, Telecom Towers Inc.

yet by some stroke of premature pronouncement, whence during

funeral the coffin lid rose a jar scaring the s**t out the backsides per

mourners, where demise found sights drawn to undertake a totally

tubular career as graphic artist from Buffalo (Educated at RPI), who

constantly looks for work today tomorrow, out of necessity to pay

bills, and as prodigy with numbers attained plaudits as financial

solvency ****, and par for the course irresistibly tempted forging

credentials - with a self crafted faux pas star re: expert as fraudulent

Loan OfficerNMLS # 240801 - but Youngblood’s hired fretful

dexterous dude for extra cash tip play *** tar, while police got tips

from wagging tail, and unfortunately butter field bursar ruse

landed rising star into clinker sans Cook County Inmate at age 49

CB NUMBER 19043182, when arrest occurred Tuesday, January 13,

2015 11:53 AM, and released the next day due to first time

misdemeanor plus absent recidivist incarceration possession

of 5000+ grams of Cannabis, which exposure to magical, miracle

and mystical herb set sites to become a professor Clinician of

pharmacology to help fight the so call "drug war."

Freedom
Insane
Divant
Elementals
Love
Integrity
Thank you
Youth


Bravery
Ravishing beauty
Applying oneself
Value
Energy
Revival
Youngblood


Intelligence
Nuture
Tibetan
Evening wrongs
Great mother
Reading
Intuition
Techno music
Your mind.

Mad archangel 2020 scam, dead weatherman noos report blam
                                               be live-r to the umbrella storms;
“Stiffen up, you needa chief more
                                                            ­      kid, you’re riffin’ with a
legend— as it is,
         it’s a sewage drain,a bed
                                                             Pan the pipes of dawn’s
crack;at end of the tusk,
                                     the silverback-gorilla camo on the lawn
          kept the rusted metal on a locket-chain
                                                    ­     hanging off his pocket;pocket-watch
                hang from his eye-socket;
.seed sewn,              from the cornrows
                                                                  in his carriage-patch,      3-wheeled rig and [a battery-pack
                                      lithium frame,        told him, ‘slow down black’
         —ain’t no money in that”
                                     magazine gass’ed up -let me hand em the curls;
code to the Source,name
              the names, bigstick for walking a sideways polemic
                                                         ­                   fortyoz forecast for
                  hisshadow stringed-up a harpwing tune
                                               the maddog politick;
Show ‘em on the map
                                                               ­            -where it rain tonight?-
                   (not that alley X the liquor store—sea the eagle
         swim gelatinmass of marvelous cherrylime-green sky;
posse told him to pass
                                               his flying colors, vomitspittle—
                                               Magnesium flare—was all his
                                                             ­     day in the dunya,(we all got’em)
                                                         ­         bent youngblood ear like a
                                                                ­                                     bloodhound:
                                                                ­  What’s the static charge?
Smash!pumpkin brain s-p-l-a-t,  rush to eat the seeds?
   all the sparrows scatter cuz the lights
is red,white&Bluuuue on L juice
          —Ah! Hell’s loose, call me a river and
                                                                ­                                       press
                                                                ­                              snooze.

once – oh – we were young
glorious an' burdenless
so sweet the youngblood candydness
heroic an' iconic
shouldn't that been written
down on leaves of gold?

tryin to reach the stars
dying in our skies
the purpose orphaned - and of less
than any kind of size

once – oh – I was young
ignoring good advice
called fate to arms & dice
and never and
to-none-the-less
the demons dearly died

the road of burning youngmanhood
so perilous and broad
the pride of lacking country,
ethos or a god.

stupidity! – oh privilege
a bashfool in his prime
i got a glimpse of my turn to good
  oh glittering prize
     oh heavenly burden of light…

At the LAUNDROMAT / the sign, all in Caps.
Time : Midnight at half past

It’s like a home for my home-girl
And that Chicano Youngblood
Cutie with his family duties /
in the lateness of tonight, doing laundry:
Folding his brothers’ Johns
His Tia’s Lacey skimpy's
Crumpled like tiny ****** / scrunchies.
He’s Methodical, his eyes don’t waver
From his work,
Tries to not notice mines

I feel like I’m in a rap video,
My chick being clocked by dark eyed,
She does not notice,
& while at tumble dry
I can’t quit ogling at ****
Hanes-shirt white,
Mr. homegrown boy / guy.
Headphone Speakers have his ears
Texting back at spam / females,
Smartphone shiny thick ‘uns
While I watch salivarily, licking lips
**** so Fine!
My muffled salutations—hot ****!
He’s Adjusting himself front faced
my window to
Things that makes you go hmmm...
I feel I should somehow
Cater to these wiles inside
Aquiver / wrought / A high
Willowing / body admonishing
the vibrations of deep bass
like hard hip-hop rap beats from
Impalas riding way low,
Tinted windows vs. blind faith
Reality vs. perceptions from our
Fantasy / briefly close shuddering eyes
Awake not a dream spared.
(Hello there!)
Midnight at the Laudromat,
This is some reality at that!
Home grown boys
And drool drops / swimming in thought
From the corner of mouths
Words are *****
Past the late of moonless nights
In the neighborhood of Twain and
Corona beers (hold the virus)
We’re all marked by the streets
And the big empty inside us...
The hunger pangs,
Homeless outside chitchat on black
Skittering past
City Wildlife
At Midnight at the Laundromat.
Yes ****** &
       Too **** at That
(In all caps.)

Happily Ever After
Alls well it ends well
Ending and beginning a different story, slightly less intriguing

than the last
Still there
Still charming
Just dull

Dull when hands swim in hair every night
When minds meld and eyes dilate
When your skin burns for theirs

And then it doesn’t
And then you sit side by side
Having the time of your life as your life passes you by

Staying sat and saving money
Making lists of things to do
And their name sits between laundry and dishes

When their kink becomes coupons
And your fetish is a foot rub after a long day
And you wash it all down chamomile and sleep

And you fall back into their grasp
Never having left
And still feeling far away

Youngblood with old souls
Barely a history to have had
Sorting through the things that happened when nothing’s

happened in ages
Still knowing this is yours
Where you belong

Carrying the torch to a fire unlit
But when embers never die
They must be nurtured

Through meaningful breath and dry brush
Until they sting your leg with a spark
And you burn them with your silence

As you climb back onto their lap
And smoke rises to your mind
And smothers your doubts

As you light a bonfire scented candle for the night
And for every night
Rekindling the spark and rolling over to read on your kindle

As September daze will soon arrive
recollections from a
psychologically checkered  past
loom large recalling  
tragic storied days of mein kampf.

Circa early nineteen seventies:
As a mere slip of a shy lad,
(who knew nothing
about powder milk biscuits),
I experienced unfettered amorousness
toward an equally introverted lass
(conjured courtesy my imagination),
though both of us
barely out of our boyhood
and girlhood respectively
unfettered infatuation naturally
found me wedded to Anna Rexia.

Unhealthy relationship between us
left the writer of these words
with ****** dysmorphic  
skeletal elements of harried style,
swiftly tailored over
mine ensuing tweener years,
which pronounced after effect(s)
still linger approximately five decades
after existential crisis indelibly pierced,
scored and tattooed permanent
anatomical and  physiological characteristics
within windmills of my mind
namely delicately impressed psyche
communicated this August 30th, 2022.

Imagine yours truly post pubescence;
(no matter ye never met me)
all that life in front of one young buck
argh... precious time squandered;
I blithely would surrender
entire corporel being
lock, stock, and barrel,
whereby mine fractured mindscape abustle
with rattle and hum of compulsions
most time consuming innocuous rituals
slavishly buzzfeeding pet peeves.

Anorexia nervosa ranked
as thee moost detrimental
upon cusp of prepubescence;
I metaphorically teetered
and tottered on the brink
of deep analogous
Russian Siberian exile.

While awaiting piano lesson
(circa early 1970's)
collapsed unto the floor
Barbara McCall, née Youngblood
helplessly watched her student (me)
he flailed, garbled, hobbled...
succumbed into heart of darkness
softly wailing "I cannot live anymore"
or some such grievous plaintive utterance.

Long befuddled long dazed journey into night
began to hound my doggone noggin
while in the throes of puberty
voices dictated me to forego
first one meal, two, then all hunger pangs
eventually stymied, squelched, and silenced.

Dumbfounded family members
(father, mother, and deux sisters)
baffled, and thought
precious progeny and brother respectively
possibly involved with drugs
(an easier fix in retrospect),
versus shattered psyche (mine)
analogous to Humpty Dumpty mishap
only far more serious.

Even curious peers queried me
during lunchtime understandably asking,
whether non intake of food
nsync and/or linkedin
with particular religion,
which inquisitiveness answered
with shrug of shoulders,

cuz reason without rhyme
i.e. existential crisis
impossible mission to communicate
at that moment, whereby
all ears and eyes turned toward me
I wanted to crawl into
a black hole and disappear.

I felt absolutely zero joie de vivre
(no surprise stating the obvious)
essentially loathed being alive
when fellow students grilled me
(unspoken tongue in cheek retort
cheeses crust inaudibly uttered).

A short while prior
before anorexia nervosa got free rein
to ride amuck
analogous to red
(angry) bulls running roughshod
think utmost helter skelter
my mother acquired degree
as licensed practical nurse
courtesy local vocational trade school.

She crafted nutritious concoctions,
yet interestingly enough
did not watch me like a hawk
rather left her sole skinny son
with task to consume sizable quantity
without dereliction to pour
said healthy drink down toilet.

I quickly established routine sipping elixir
whereby yours truly filled
little plastic measuring cup
then painstakingly nursed
said tumbler size capful
down gullet - good to the last drop,
which inexorably time consuming process
found hardly any spare hours
for any other (necessary
or otherwise) function.

Eventually solid food intake
integrated with pureed secret ingredients,
yet even the painful prospect receiving
iron inoculations into bony buttucks
(punitive punishment gladly accepted)
without curbing appetite for self destruction,
which as an aside mother dearest
never disclosed constituent parts
comprising blended conglomerate
when, some few decades later,
she went to her grave.

No matter Tuesday, November 5, 2024
still one hundred and eight days away,
(thank you Julian Date Calendar -
FOR LEAP YEARS ONLY),
I believe a foregone conclusion
that Donald Trump will win
based on the pathetic debate performance
between Joseph Robinette Biden Junior,
and Donald John Trump
in tandem with the stellar performance
of the latter at the Republican National Convention,
which appeared to surpass great expectations,
a gut reaction, cuz I could not stomach watching
the main star and near future dictator.

I may view some or all of
The Democratic Convention
scheduled to be held August 19 to 22, 2024,
at the United Center in Chicago, Illinois,
and by tradition, because the Democratic Party
currently holds the White House,
said convention will be conducted
after the 2024 Republican National Convention,
which was held from July 15 to 18, 2024.
Nevertheless, yours truly
will not betray his political party loyalty
to cast his vote for the former named candidate
and simultaneously brace himself emotionally
drafting gofundme site with catchy slogan
and image showing tin cup hand
for sudden homelessness
of myself and the missus,
the result of social security disability,
AETNA ADVANTRA MEDICARE,
and Medicaid being axed, gutted, slashed, et cetera
as well as many other socially progressive programs
unless this gassy, generic, gifted, and goofy guy
experiences an unexpected windfall.

Actually... another alternative exists
videre licet despite the admission,
I don't really feel ready to die,
and the spouse would **** me
if she finds out one bumbling,
doodling, fiddling, hemming
and hawing, jump/kick starting wordsmith
would dare leave, whereby
she would lack
her figurative rock of Gibraltar.

The idea to emigrate to Canada,
or just drive until reaching north
of the border dividing line much
more appealing, but no family or
friends linkedin to my network,
nor, cuz this solitudinarian can
call on nobody except an elder
sister living in Woodbury, New
Jersey, or a younger sibling (a
veritable globe trotter), she and
her husband call Bend, Oregon
their mostly permanent residence.

Yeah, I attest to be all talk and no action
envisioning myself made of stouter stuff
with the help of powder milk biscuits,
which gave me the courage
to acquire superhuman powers
which allows, enables, and provide
a guise to bedazzle readers
with my brilliance.

No other particular marketable skill can I avail
long story short mental health issues sabotaged
healthy development of body, mind, and spirit
evinced with difficulty similarly as challenging
as blind double amputee person learning Braille
when segueing from childhood's end to adolescence
experiencing puberty found me
fraught with emotional travail
vivid remembrance of things past

taking piano lessons
at the house Missus Eva Youngblood,
where her daughter Barbara taught
courtesy John Thompson's
Modern Course for the Piano -
numerous lesson books
helped yours truly learn
how to tickle the ivory keys
at some point, I succumbed
to severe grievous state
collapsed in a heap
on the floor and softly wailed
lamentably plaintively sobbing
pausing between weeping
to ******* “I cannot live any more,”
or some such sentiment.

Ted Goldberg, a psychiatrist
at Collegeville Counseling
did his level best to draw out
responses from a little boy
who remained mute,
and said degreed professional resorted
to play one or more popular board games
which choice of activity
elicited non verbal reaction,
and needless to say this approach
slowly but surely gradually
found with the aid of melirill -
(thioridazine HCl) an anti-psychotic medication
in the phenothiazine class
used to treat psychotic disorders
such as schizophrenia and elavil -
medication used to treat depression.
Amitriptyline belongs to a class
of drugs known as tricyclic antidepressants.

Both prescription medications eventually
bore figurative fruit,
and coaxed my tongue to wag.

Anorexia nervosa got nipped in the bud
before I literally starved to death,
totally undermining mental, physical,
and spiritual well being
presenting impossible mission
for this then seventh grade student
assigned to section 7B1
(if memory serves me correctly)
to assimilate lecture material,
thus scoring the lowest marks
with flying colors
(such as black, blue, and red),
and getting promoted

by the skin of my teeth,
with mine ancient history
adding up to being
a deplorable basket case
thru the remaining years I attended
Methacton Junior/Senior High School
actually at some arbitrary petticoat juncture
I gave up exerting one iota of intelligence
and adopted apathy, and honestly failed
at receiving an education,
cuz yours truly occupied a desk,
but never uttered a peep,
thus succeeded (as inscribed
on my curriculum vitae)
Matthew Scott Harris
did an exemplary job
taking up space and time.