Psychological Gridlock

WD-40 resistant, cranky mental gears no longer appraised, honored, nor prized as a precision crafted tool never adequately utilized, when eyes stared blankly taking up space and time (sigh hence) during during twelve years of public school passively mute as a general rule ambivalent, whether I sank or swam during physical education time in the pool evincing being in somnambulant state giving top notch 40 ache curs and a mule a run for his/her money, plus also outwitting any motley fool nonetheless garnering huzzahs if challenged to silent duel despite implacable blackened barbs didst unspool assaulting me though vicious and cruel fast forward to Matthew Scott Harris at this present age once feigned numbskull, now deeply rutted, pockmarked, cratered, asper useful as fist size asteroid, which post mortem will not surprisingly, definitively, and conclusively gauge imagine dissecting my fifty plus shades of gray matter revealing analogously glommed together one severely gunked up bacteriophage, where once upon a time, when a newborn babe feeling warmth mother's chest, she long since passed away forced guest to attend masquerade hosted by grim reaper, a most nefarious, obnoxious, and pernicious pest intricately, handsomely, genetically her cremated remains freed to the four corners of the globe quest inert particles integrated within biosphere, she remains perpetually in motion, and never at rest within infinite void nonetheless...the spirit of (the late) Harriet Harris passed the electric acid kool aid test, and thus continues to sprinkle the world wide web with zest.