A Chip Off the Old Writer's Block

Strikes relentlessly thrashing (from all points encompassing me) assigned unforgivingly, vehemently, witheringly, blind ding figurative sight, then I finally craft a title, then subsequent lines of poem (or prose) defined incumbent to pay proper obeisance deigned then once a thread bare theme more or less defined unleashing skein of thoughts, (that barrel thru muss hike key) utterly entangled, enthralled and entwined rather then panic, a series of deep breaths decompresses, deemphasizes, and diminishes a near futile attempt (thwarting captivity, futility, and impossibility) to find even just a faint coalescence, essence, and furtherance pitting ma small nose to the metaphorical grind stone calmly try to temper onslaught of tsunami like brain storm, yet no matter how fast fingers type, a sinking sensation, sans pursuit to process this tidal wave sets me further be hind, this faux cat and mouse game, which forces bust ting thru out this scribe demand to answer himself with minor expletive, viz cheeses crust why the ƒ¨ç° must this doggone eventual dust, when staking claim on literary fame and fortune will no doubt entrust yours truly to pauper's grave (if lucky enough to garner gofundme monies or not bother, and consign any viable anatomical parts of this well kept body fussed over with copacetic delight, holistic insight, and magic night, where a strong gust of wind doth suffuse dreamy state permeating mine subconscious, where inexplicable exemplifications doth leap and prance, while aye obliviously repose in deep sleep, which may be the condition of an unsuspecting reader, whether an generic guy or...a Veep.