I Opened Thine Sigh Key, And Actual Front Door…
To behold hearing thee missus disposing thine strip-mined sanctified garbage (with my atheistic kosher blessing). Arch, how asinine bemoaning expunging fitfully, identifying justifiable mishmash nauseatingly quintessentially robust unkempt vermin welcome xing. Broad bundled disorderly filthy habitat jumbled laughably.
My outlandish obsessive-compulsive rubric quizzically tested through uncontrollable infernos. Fiery dogmatic (strong as Teflon Tefillin phylacteries) heathenistic (and loch ness haven), liberal Jewry screwy testament long a staple per this GoDaddy!
Minecraft (hoarding land fill materiel) distilled within thee psychotic, moronic and idiotic cerebral crucible transpired for many a long days journey into night. This burning viz zit pseudo effigy of past collections sans hodge podge, helter skelter, and riff raff-describing miniature mountains entrenched within the microcosmic Mariana of Matthew Scott Harris.
These bundled cruddy depositories functioned as an essential domestic dumping ground, which sloppy Joe of throwaway items sustained and found me keeping a watchful eye. Nobody but yours truly could lay hands upon these bulging plastic bags (not that anyone clamored to risk life and limb) ridding rookery chock a block full of various and sundry ordinary materiel.
Oh, do not let m forget various and sundry other ordinary pip squeaking scraps included hair and nail clippings, globs of same when I used to comb hair pain stakingingly spraying no more tangles to loosen gordian knotted follicles.
Also included amidst this detritus comprised disposable foursquare cottony felt icky lumpish pro lat tear rot. Well, a penchant to tidy that eyesore overcame untrue value of effluvia. I summoned forth-stout courage to detach emotional fixation to said blight, where tell tale signs of mice quite evident from jagged holes chewed thru non-biodegradable supermarket petroleum based plastic bags.
Thee entire quadrant within cellar matured and spread out fast spilling over into near knee high gook. Additionally and not surprisingly populated with mouse droppings.
Yes, that unhealthy presence would be reason enough for any sane person to dispense, heave, and liberate psyche, which action sans relinquishing, and saying fare thee well to (what I rationally understand to be utterly useless – and unsightly, yet psychologically reaffirming trash explained by illogical grippe of obsessive, compulsive disorder), and any effort via military forced to break loose (figuratively and literally) this unhealthy bond with riddled rodent refuse would occur when hell froze over crippling fingers into a gnarled stronghold on this odd behavior.
Hence a ceremony vis a vis literary adieu came to me mind, since writing tends to function as catharsis, emotional emetic, fantastic gallimaufry of holistic, and intrinsic magic. The better angel within this muddle-aged baby boomer rang loud and clear. Thus this quixotic predilection finally let go like Atlas shrugging a catapult into the Fountain Head.
Vamoose to the hefty baggage jettisoned like ballast.
No longer attached with concomitant doleful gravitas, heavily bogged down, a lamentable pang struck like tinder against weak timber.
The neurotic within begged crazily for recall of gross jumbled intended kindling to feed the psalm bur overture of pyromaniac within this chap.
No matter this pile (now practically cleared, would probably warranting qualifying for a superfund site with flying smudged colors).
Relief battles to outfox the nemesis of said unhealthy mindset. Aside from obscuring southwest corner of the basement before professionals attired hazmat suits called to remove cumulative rubbish (dated since residing here at seven twenty four railroad avenue, bryn mawr, pennsylvania – zip code – one nine zero one zero), a raw drilling, dull, and gut-wrenching stabbing sensation pierces this opened psychic body electric generating shocks that find me twitching involuntarily.
Modesty restrains adulation per self-decreed task mandated attention. We plan to move before the end of June, and unfair to the landlady Deva Ossig leaving a pile of approximately four year old plastic bags full of deleterious matter such as used tissues, dental floss, little bunches of toilet paper sealed with tartar or plaque from when this chap who still boasted of possessing just a few choppers.
This hillock of said waste materiel the pyromaniac in me wanted to watch in excitement go up in flames with my concurrence got trundled outside by the misses.
She did approve and favorably commented what rankled as a painfully excruciating event tantamount as if part of my physical being got ripped off with a tremendous yank.
I envisioned cracked fissures create spider lines of melancholia when under taking a clean break prior to our move to Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.
Maybe aye could metamorphose into a cephalopod, and merely groom each mull husk.
Yes?
Comments