I assay storied friendship with a quasi essay

I assay storied friendship with a quasi essay.

Hello embodiment of my aural, cerebral, general, et cetera senses. 

Thee whose invisible presence ye evoke binary bit of prestidigitation, and this wordsmith doth not aim for any tangible objective, but honestly to communicate the genuine flattery experience every occasion that finds me sharing another poem or vignette.

My humblest apology for declining any bold, daring, friendly, et cetera attempt to telephone me, a civil, gentle, literate, rational and zealous Homo sapien, albeit married these last twenty seven and a half years with two grown daughters to boot.
Let me preface synopsis of self with a COSMOFUNNEL, my poetic (side winding) epistle (hopefully such poetic license acceptable viz this non-friction category) before delving into the tumblr full heart (of darkness) asper this bipedal hominid, the apotheosis sans earth, wind and fire.

Upon metaphysically soaring into aerospace, a notice Hubble depleting air supply occurs, and whip lashing apathy annihilating will to live, thus forever suspending me as still (on the cusp of puberty) i.e. approximately thirteen years of age, and thirsting to taste and touch a youth untouched by fiery passion – so...

Even if an abrupt sudden cessation to steal visualizations from evocative missives of mine occurred, (perhaps because of a birth or death in the family, or disinclination to allow, enable, and promote contrived messenger acquaintanceship), an imaginary conversation with ye would still insinuate itself detected courtesy these figurative antennas of mine like tentacles of curiosity.

Hoop fully this personal blurb for genuine friendship, and gratitude from your simple (NON GMO gluten free) action clicking the virtual communication tab continues, cuz this contemplative, furtive, intuitive, liberal, opportunistic, rational, and unpretentious sexagenarian lad (of lxv years) doth avidly, doggedly, and gladly look forward to the telepathic attributes of a magical, majestical, mystical woman - you!

This humble intelligent literate fellow (not necessary Long) revels within ebullient flush of flattery, which psychically enervating compliments still finds me disinclined to shout out any priceless accolades, and methinks ability with crafting english language (mice hole - albeit cheesy lingua franca) improved as greater discipline about one poem written daily as the arbitrary quota set. 

Within the realm of prosaic evolution, this innate raw bitty talent, an ability unblinkingly predicated and linkedin to your prima facie based automatic mental processes (the first impression accepted as correct until proved otherwise) reacting from my fluency stringing (i.e. lettered building blocks) no more nor less than any other individual applying cognitive faculties.

Modesty decrees me to accept praise grudgingly and quietly, (stemming from the locus germinating hocus pocus lexisnexis modus operandi old noggin of mine) regarding gobbledygook as poor excuse for brilliant writing.

start here regarding messaging gals from facebook.
Gibberish posing as great prose stirs passion to share freely these uncensored spontaneous thoughts attributed to the joy of tapping out this, that, or the other embryonic wisp threadbare idea. 

A personal technique incorporates being mellow as possible versus trying to force (analogous to the not so pretty picture of an anonymous individual experiencing constipation), which easing of restraint (applicable to the former and latter) appears to liberate the creative process and generate sh*t no matter how wonderful yours truly (me) considers his philosophical rambling.  

Additionally reading (from a wide whirled web of literature plus NON "FAKE" news worthy publications) forever finds me spellbound, and even as a quiet introverted kid, the escapist ploy availed via turning pages fraught with anticipation absorbed leisure time.

The original style of countless authors informs my own trademark flair to recognize what aspects (pertaining to the fine successful strategies writers employ) as their gambit to hold attentiveness of some poor seer suckered reader forever inducing cerebral congestion of catarrh.

Lack of money birthed courtesy major mental health issues that jackknifed ability to succeed in the classroom and subsequently the workforce consigned me to qualify for social security disability.

Perhaps living in the aegis of near poverty prompts this perceptive papa to ponder luxurious splendor being proprietor of palatial place, which domicile would being nothing less spacious than a sumptuous suite to entertain high society with exotic soirees suffusing the air with sassafras, scrumptious side dishes like seasoned salmon, sushi, et cetera.

A pipe dream that this pecuniary challenged pensive politically liberal philosopher would ever witness such reversal of fortune (per his precarious penury position), but strumming away at keyboard no harm to let overactive imagination run wild with illusory bulls at my own internal Pamplona.

So the thoughts tear at lightning speed (in tandem with mine own concocted thunder hoofs) to conjure up elusive, illustrative, possessive avidity towards escaping from maws of despair thru wishful longing to latch onto the façade of luxury.
          
Within deep slumber, this temple mount becomes more manifest populated by rich famous folks whose mansions separated by near virgin forests housing not only missing lynx but also countless other fragile listed fauna and fauna yet safe from illegal poachers, which animals unknowingly breathe easy while ensconced within the perimeter of this estates.

Massive amounts of money delivered by the genie in the bottle or an anonymous rich benefactor, more so than daydreaming about the far fetched prospect to make millions of dollars via magical wave of wizard wand, would definitely allow, enable and provide the edifice complex to become a tangible goal.

I sure hope my rich uncle Sam reads this communique so he can bring deliverance to this lamentable life whereby Lucifer lurks around every catacomb and cackles with that maniacal laugh that very closely resembles...MINE.

Adieu...Matthew Scott Harris, whose wondrous, unsolicited, sage, quintessential, ordained, mature comments taken worth more than fine spun gold.