Futile Escape Out Clutches of Penury Rattle Tin Can Once

finds yours truly groveling along February third 2022, never linkedin - analogous to stray animal without being befriended, thus I don't belong survival instincts taught yours truly the necessity acting courageous and headstrong even if necessary to stare down King Kong, who actually shows me respect such that every now and again we play a game of ping pong and on a crisp night roast marshmallows kindle campfire and sing Kumbaya song. This tramp (which stereotyped caricature familiarly epitomized in countless Chaplinesque productions, Dickensian tales, oil paintings from artistic hands of great masters and others anonymous exquisite painters, et cetera) remembers practically nothing of me nine-month stay in utero birth, childhood nor early adulthood. My amorphous gauzy, hazy fractal memories solely comprise fractured, fragmented and splintered collection of miserable experiences, which characterize living a hellacious hand to mouth hard scrapple existence. Past wispy vestiges of wretchedness and now present woebegone existence seems a worse fate than death. The overpowering urge to survive and summon up one barely audible l’chaim utterance against the depredations of the grim reaper only found nothing but defeat. That daily dismal grinding away of last shreds of a purpose driven life fending off real and imagined threats sought salvation in a vividly encased jammed preserve of mine imagination an existence awash with ample trappings of comfort.