escape from the maws of being a pauper – my whet dream

this tramp (which caricature familiarly epitomized in countless Chaplinesque productions, Dickensian tales, oil paintings some from the artistic hands of great masters and others from anonymous exquisite painters, et cetera) remembers practically nothing of his birth, childhood or early adulthood.

my amorphous gauzy, hazy memories solely comprise a fractured, fragmented and splintered collection of miserable memories, 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 utterance against the depredations of the grim reaper only found nothing but defeat.

that daily dismal grinding away of any last shreds of a purpose driven life fending off real and imagined threats sought salvation in a vividly imagined existence awash with ample trappings of comfort.

yours truly dug deep within his bony strength in tandem with fantasy notions knocking around in my noggin like cranial carapace to muster every last ounce of strength he could muster in an effort to escape chronic confrontation with and endless street of bleakness.

although cursed with a most brutish, nasty nefarious fate as a measly looking human varmint, this grimy, grungy, rangy, et cetera looking besotted being clung with all the might within his five foot ten inch or so tall and one hundred and forty pound body to transcend terrestrial travesty and tweak the laugh-in fickle finger of fate in my favor.

I tapped into atavistic survival skills and summoned the willpower to stay alive and bear this heavy cross of dirty poor poverty.

no matter a hardcore skeptic at heart, this cynic plaintively called for divine intervention called to help this human piece of flotsam and jetsam to cope with living like a jean headache doleful junkyard dog.

in essence, this abandoned, ignored and shunned vagrant frequently raged against the Deus ex-machina and found figurative and literal lovely bones to pick with demons that tormented his psyche.

while traipsing along some litter strewn condemned boulevard of broken dreams, a torn and well-worn shoe kicked a couple of long discarded items. these weather-beaten hands reflexively bent down to retrieve said accouterments.

one comprised colorful jagged shard, that in a previous lifetime housed some cheap fermented liquor. nothing but crud filled the remnant of what like a booze hounds favorite drink.

although never drawn to drown out sorrows by turning to the bottle, cigarettes nor drugs (a respect for thyself existed), an automatic reflex grabbed this eye-catching drunkard’s lost memento and the wireless device.

the other entity (as iterated) constituted a dullish metallic object, which turned out to be a heavily damaged slender MOTORAZR phone.

out of some foolish embarrassed yet natural instinct, I cradled then rubbed this remnant once containing some amber liquid of the gods’.

against any rational explanation and in mockery against the cosmic consciousness, my mouth began jabbering away into the mobile phone.

no sooner did these chapped, coursed and cracked fingers slide across the unbroken surface of said bottle in tandem with parched lips uttering some pretend plea, a crackle, snap and pop delivered a lifelike being whose corporeal essence resembled nothing short of a goddess.

the mp3 player began issuing magically syncopated beats indicative per some favorite saved playlist tunes from the former owner of this electronic contraption.

without a shadow of a doubt, this vision and auditory music most definitely brought a sobered punch from Judy.

I clapped these nearly deaf ears and thence rubbed my gnarled hands across myopic eyes! these twin bodily motions executed just to dismiss any chance of experiencing a hallucination.

a maiden suddenly appeared in plain view, which disbelief found me pretending to conduct a make-believe conversation using the aforesaid cell phone all the while speaking in a matter of fact tone of voice.

she (in a hypnotic, lilting, melodic and sing-song tone) responded with casualness chit chat as if a genie appears (Alladin like) every day.

the general friendly conversation eventually ensued (albeit fraught with a bit of apprehension and self-consciousness) before the purpose of her presence became made clear. an intuitive understanding took place akin to an acute telepathic Sikh sixth sense from yours truly.

the immediate difficulty arose to think of even one wish to abet grievous humiliation and immersion in misery. penury could be abrogated once and for all with immediacy by the simple syllabic voicing of wishing for a pile of crisply minted money.

yet, rather than blurt out the immediate favorite offering for untold material commodities and/or resplendent riches, surprised me and communicated a desire for female friendship.

a gamesome, genteel, gentle gal who would surrender herself for cries and whispers seemed more important than any pile of wealth.

awareness and self-actualization about my utter decrepitude appeared as an immediate deterrent toward attaining a bona fide sincere relationship! this ordinary and reasonable ambition appeared as a lofty goal.

self-absorbed in this rambling longing of the body, mind, and heart, I quickly became oblivious to this imaged or real corporeal presence who spurred such an outpouring from this ostracized and unwanted vermin.

eyes remained closed while loosening the tongue in an effort to picture the escape from pernicious malady and crushing blow of an abominable existence. lips shut tight also prevented the woebegone loss of what appeared as some divine trickster who conjured such a muse out of thin air.

upon winding down this unrehearsed recitation, a painstaking effort got made to open the eyelids very slowly.

lo and behold when this manifestation in the actual guise of a gorgeous gal stood still as a statue and remained rapt with attention.

provenance and providence found pleasure in my prattle.

a promise got uttered from this lovely lass to remain a permanent die-hard companion no matter that many considered this writer nothing but a wretched pestilence of the earth.

this groveling gremlin of a human felt like a beast alongside one beautiful (bay watch) type babe who came across as genuinely modest and passionate to promulgate profound sharing of that body, mind and spirit triage.

homelessness and pennilessness mattered not a whit to this literally spellbinding goddess, who seemed to materialize out of the heavens in the form of a likeness sans Betsy Ross.

the question per how and where I wondered did this muse render herself to appear out of thin air? such puzzlement and quizzical curiosity assessed and gleaned no matter not one word uttered.

thus, the necessity for verbal conversation seemed superfluous for we both seemed able to converse just by a mere auto-suggestion of this, that or the other query! I (by the way) seemed to be more intrigued by this angelic spirit come to life.

those comedies of errors that punctuate done anonymous life with angst king lear riddled tragedy suddenly took a most pleasant unexpected turn and found that all’s well that ends well with this leery king.

Matthew Scott from southeastern Pennsylvania possesses great expectations by dickens no matter the field of whet dreams populated with Slim Pickens.