Anybody out there...?

cuz mine aging rickety

foundering ship of state

(fleshy bonafide skeletal skiff) bellows ahoy,

where silent movies of mein kampf

initially project yours truly as a little boy,

who exuded evident joie de vivre spark,

which got plugged, gummed,

and blocked up with strong emotions

upon advent when

prepubescent self of mine

engendered, kindled, and wracked,

exhibited predominant characteristic

of being exceptionally coy

withdrawing into bedroom

coping method I learned to deploy

within familiar four walls

supposed solitude I did enjoy

pretending to play

with - imagine dragons as friends

tamed courtesy by Little Lord Fauntleroy

green with envy

by his doppelganger Gilderoy,

whose shock of dark hair

similar to that of Donald Hoy.

Thus I provide an attempt to describe the mental health crisis (ease) that waylaid this wordsmith, which may appear as utter gibberish and subsequently incurring absolute zero sympathy, which goads me to switch places with the devil.

Age of precocious innocence recounted yours truly (me) mirthfully exhibiting tomfoolery with Shari (ye), whose near identical physique ofttimes confounded family and friends mistaking us for Bobbsey twins. At some juncture, I succumbed to severe dislocation of psyche, yet (try like the dickens) impossible mission to retrieve exact turmoil that cleft my being asunder and consequently severed our sibling syzygy.

Nevertheless, the total incapacity to function found all mine systems stopped up generating the equivalent organic human breakdown (me) similar to that infamous disc operating message "Abort, Retry, Fail?" (or "Abort, Retry, Ignore?") an error message found in DOS operating systems, which prompts the end-user for a course of action to ... DOES NOT COMPUTE!!! the essential bottom line.

No genuine heartfelt attempt from father, mother, nor reaching out from either sister found yours truly ambitious to broker family relations, rather the absence of presenting emotional accessibility videre licet by barricading myself secluded within bedroom, or remaining deaf and mute to any desperate overtures prevailed giving the impression that I happened to be a bajillion miles away stranded within the outer limits of the twilight zone, where dark shadows signaled the edge of night over formerly sunny disposition.

Unlike yourself or Amelie, I never shared minor or major issues that festered within me noggin, nor inquired about the welfare of Harris cohabitants housed at 324 Level Road giving the distinct (understandable) impression that nary a whit of concern existed towards kith and kin, especially at onset of protracted or sudden unexpected psychological crisis invariably affecting me such as when our papa got laid off from General Electric (despite being a stalwart employee for most of his working life) while us kids happened to be attending either middle, junior or senior high school at Methacton, which name considered a Native American word that refers to a hilly area in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania. The area extends from Eagleville in Lower Providence Township to Fairview Village in Worcester Township. The name is believed to mean "windy hill".

After being duped into one dubious fly by night venture after another courtesy selling a slick ruse (for gobs of money) and netting a poor sucker hook, line and sinker, I do not remember myself reacting in any supportive way, nor boosting morale of dad during that stint where we worked at Collegeville Historical Society helping to refurbish said structure during the bicentennial summer (and giving him our earnings - yours truly grudgingly concurred), whereat I donned a makeshift hat to prevent plaster falling into my hair.

Does the husband and wife team (name Frank and Barbara??? Nancy??? Eld), the proud parents of a two year old daughter ring a figurative bell?

No matter, a substantial chunk of the nest egg dad squirreled away (after he served a storied career as an aerospace engineer envisioning himself subsequently working about two more decades then at age sixty taking early retirement, when during those so called golden years, he meant to live a promising long life where financial security for himself and mom a vouchsafed moot point) until his accrued savings got wiped out (bilked) cause predacious thieving yahoos zeroed in on vulnerable souls like papa being easily vulnerable and analogously lured toward one after another cheap trick, which super tramps of skulduggery drew the attention of (correct me if mistaken) one news investigative correspondent employed by NBC 10 News named Bill Baldini able, eager, ready and willing hit the ground running Monday through Friday up to his retirement in December of 2006. He joined WCAU in 1964, and is the longest working television reporter in the city of Philadelphia yes? Do you recall?

One final marked event (before emailing this mishmash) included ectopic pregnancy experienced by mom and luckily expelled, albeit naturally aborted, which came by way of surprise to their solitudinarian son, who happened to be approximately eighteen years old, and dad made an off hand comment inquiring (prematurely ejaculating) my potential newfound role as surrogate father to baby brother.

Many future ruptures awaited Matthew Scott Harris as he plodded along the boulevard of broken dreams, a song title on American Idiot album, which thanks go to Billie Joe Armstrong - lead singer of the punk band named Green Day.