Prosaic poem of mine, who dislikes formalities, hence prose heeds with the following
Prosaic poem of mine, who dislikes formalities, hence prose heeds with the following.
Yahoo!...As an AOL member since the beginning of time...,
I now find myself (a googling messenger) in a severe (near penniless) financial quandary, (and welcome the altruistic, capitalistic, fabulistic, juristic, opportunistic...benevolent, cash delivery ending fiduciary grinding poverty), cuz yours truly happened to be strapped for cash (after being stripped of every red cent), and thus seeks ways and means to trim unnecessary (or superfluous) expenses, which would include discontinuing coveted magazine subscriptions to Mother Jones, The Nation, TIME, and Smithsonian, which progressive publications serve as the mother and father lode of events within the webbed, wide world brimming with burning man shuns as talking heads pontificated about how to trumpet big beautiful billeted Babes in Toyland, and meanwhile don the trappings of a supertramp courtesy a cheap trick doubling up as a Beatle browed beastie boy, and thus hired as a Renaissance man wearing bangles drawing attention among the village people with little feet.
Cypher punks tricked out as voracious pulchritudinous money managers named Davis Chuchpiller, Donald Coons, Linda Creque, Julie Leach, Miriam Smith, Philip Stevens, and Kathleen Witmer to enumerate just a figurative handful (which aforementioned first and surnames listed most likely pseudonyms for stealthy rapscallions to me, an amateur stalwart sleuth) feigning ignorance when linkedin with his trusty bloodhound immediately detects scents (and sensibilities without pride nor prejudice) sniffs out a susceptible and innocent cyber surfer (pulled into the virtual undertow and rip tides) then subsequently easily lured into phishing schemes and masterfully baited courtesy untolled (bell weather essentially as mean wealth usurpers) employing nefarious enticements such as asking the recipient to divulge her/his social security number, passwords, mother's maiden name, et cetera.
Years ago (about twenty six months ago to be more precise) yours truly got suckered into a money loosing scheme (courtesy Harvey Specter who made no pretense to vacuum up many Benjamins I withdrew from Citizens Bank (Trappe, Pennsylvania location) after deluding me with a doozy that fake colleagues of perpetrator linkedin among management claiming collaboration and collusion prevailed convincing (poor Matthew Scott Harris) that rampant rogues gallery proliferated at above mentioned banking institution, which he, (the spectre incarnate of dirty deeds done dirt cheap) attested criminal activity ran amuck and my anointed artifice best in show trained uber valued wiseacre (among jump/kick starting rash of X men) yielded best bang for the buck hit man.
Ofttimes told before (in previously posted bulletins of mine) as a Norwegian bachelor farmer from Lake Woebegone, Minnesota my kismet (way before conception between sperm and ova conducted contra aey fusion) already color coded for sixth sense, in tandem with extra sensory perception allowed, enabled and provided the write of these words a natural born (free and clear) killing instinct never employed to maim nor disable life or limb of another (even a bonafide, execrable, horrible and kickass miscreant), but much preferred win/win as conflict resolution taught to me courtesy the late Jean Dole (who passed away and wrote as an obituary the passing of one who affected (and I might add infected) and permanently inoculated me mind/ with the active listening germ helped me (to ask myself) how I can resolve when in this, that or the other bind/ by summoning a win-win approach, whereby e'en the angels on high did offer a grudging wink and helped the planets to align, just by some cosmic fluke (approximately two score and six years ago when she spoke at the Thomas Paine Unitarian Fellowship located in Collegeville, Pennsylvania), I managed to affect an impression if she bethought me a kook/ upon that first encounter -- at her home/ but perhaps being christened Matthew and not Mark, John nor Luke/ she took a liking to me/ and contributed to self actualization -- mainly thru venting via her so called self styled quasi-primal scream therapy, which helped this long time client helped him to some extent his inner travails to nuke! I will miss you dear Jean/ for being so tolerant and keen/ and ranking as some therapeutic queen posted within the storied within the Philadelphia Inquirer/Philadelphia Daily News May 23, 2007.
Copyright ©
Matthew Harris
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