Wednesday, April 8, 2015

High, girly-whirly. Dunno if you write, but this’ll help immensely on your writing journey (Upstairs) and, believe-you-me, you’d want absolutely nothing else if you experienced what I did. So, why should you love our exploded plethora of produce which’ll plant the seeds for you to grow to great heights?? (truly, I sayeth unto thee, my just and fair liege, our lifelong demise is the most exciting plot of all precisely because we write the script). PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK:

Greetings, earthling!! Not sure if we're on the same page if you saw what I saw. While in a coma following our accident which Janet passed-away at seventeen not far from my house (they were going 70 in a 35; we were going to a debate), I was an actual kick-some-@$$, GirlsGoneUndefiled, no-holds-barred, shoot-from-the-hip, Jolly-Ringwall-'phalanx-experience' (<-- when you feeel eternal love on all sides) NDE on the outskirts of the Great Beyond at 15 yet wasn’t allowed in.

GrrrNephroblastoma (in a counterculture, other-side-of-coin-latitude and... NOW??? I gotta wake-up?????) I'm therefore gonna wanna share with you what I actually know Seventh-Heaven’s dichotomy’s gonna be like for us if ya believe/accept cuzz you most prooo'bly will NOT find our morphological, bawdy, Jeff-Spikoli [expletive] descriptions anywhere else so you may leap-upNgrab it with thy bucolic Converse: meet this intoxicatingly bombastic, ex-mortal Upstairs for the most blatantly, tastefully, incomprehensibly phat, large myriads of cogently-ironic-metaphors in obstinate eloquence, sheer endorphin-rush with massive pleasure-beyond-measure to boot, All-Star-Oxygen, Ultra-Firepower, [bleep]-thwrote till more! raise! ...Idyllic-Addiction in the Great Beyond for a BIG-ol, kick-ass, hot-wire, party-hardy, robust-and-risqué-play-station-voltage, eternal-real-McCoy-warp-drive you DO NOT wanna miss the sink-your-teeth-in-the-rrrock’nNsmmmokin’-hot-deal, baby. PLEASE KEEP HANDS/FEET INSIDE THE RIDE UNTIL WE MADE A CIRCUMFERENCE OF the OUTSTANDING, NEVER-ENDING, THRILLIONTH, RED-MARKER-POSSIBILITIES …with eXtra eXciting eXtroverts doing the most vivid, brazen congruents as flawless as pearls from the Toyster Upstairs!!! Quite a run-on-sentence… yet, Upstairs, U2 may push-the-hydraulic-envelope for endless exaggeration. WAIT!! THAT’S NOT ALL!! TELL’M WHAT THEY’LL RECEIVE, JOHNNY!! In that [in]sane landscape of tumultuous, thoroughbred metabolism high-above ’N faaar-beyond the paisley troposphere, with catch-22-excitotoxins falling on thy cranium, after countless new centuries, countless perennial virtues, we have an intensive-mojo-whoppin, jaw-droppin, PiL-poppin [originally, the SEX PISTOLS: after Sid passed-away, Jon formed PiL], lucrative and unlawfull wuckus, destined for the ones who follow the King of Hearts, destined for the oneRous, ethereal weality, the consequences of inevitable infinity, the intriguing disBURST of our meeting with destiny in our Mork-and-Mindy-isthmus Upstairs: total devastation, indescribable disintegration, just a drop-in-the-bucket in the many universes fulla audacious-innuendo-deluxxe. Wait! That's not all! Tell'm what they'll receive, Bonnie!! Yep. XTC squared: just the begining of your rogue ego. Far, far above the inevitable croaking time which must B-fall U.S. all, lockedNloaded as an impoverished BB gun on a B-flik; beyond the Heaven's so fairNbold, so staunch-as-God's-Almighty-Pen-echoing-through-the-ages, thar lies o'yonder, me wee lass, a 'par excellence' eccentric whose obsession, whose dynamic, Big-Bang-vibrancy isn't found here, as His deliciousNnutritious aplomb depicting quirky, exquisite entertainment suited just for you for eternity. Whoa, indeed. However (there's always the 'however'), confused withe conviction they're incoherent gods in this unrythmic world, the filthy rich seem to have an immense super-ego, controlling like a pyramid the peons: they deceit them own selves, brudda, with extraordinarily hypnotic, luxurious excercises which change the GODy, expiration date: they'll most definately croak, too WAIT!! THAT'S NOT ALL!! TELL'M WHAT THEY'LL RECEIVE AS A LITERAL DOWNFALL, Lonny: Compelled by the ominous quality of my expensive genius (outta my Pop's prodigious pocket), I'm at odds withe plastic reality of the present: I've ascertained humanity is quite incapable of perceiving reality for any length of time (I believe T.S. Eliot sed something similar). So, therefore, gain altitude, not attitude, and take front-row-seats, miss gorgeous, as the inexhaustible, irresistible intimacy from THE PowerPlayer shall blow-your-fragile-mind into zany peaces. Meet me Upstairs. Do that for us. Cya soon, girly.

PS The 'Conscientious Objector', a philosophically inflamatory op-ed run by the New Joisey Xs, sez of me paragraph, " ...a collaberation of volatile savvyness in his bounty-hunter, sanitized chaos. Bravo! Brilliantly pathological." --- Yesterday, one from USA Tomorrow: "[A] mesmerizing vernacular: a curry-in-no-hurry-to-leave-your-tastebuds. Encore, Kold." --- the Baltimore Blacksun sed, "His personality extension makes the slide rule nonexistant" --- Confucius [???] sed, as I filled-in the gaps, "Grasshoppa, [your] antique, encumbered emotions, swaying [to the muzzik] in [an] elaborate [display of exemplary] pubescence, I couldn't help [but] wunder about [an] advanced degree [in mowing-our-lawn? calculus? ~translation's unstable~] Upstairs ...[yet] like [the] substantial, uncharted wilderness [of Star Trek?], [the] wilted bouquets [of Rip Tornado?] tok2me" --- "Wow, squared. A page Richard Kuklinski should read: POW!erful as a shotgun, point-blank, as an unpaved road... " -the ol guy from Repoman, wotshisname --- " mystifying as a pantOmime grad from MIT, yet minus the malwhere" -the 'Ad-Captandum-Vulgus' --- "Childish, Kold. Whimsicle maraschinos: gone bad, gone-in-a-second. Try again, dude" -a date I lost...   

Seriously, folks, as I stand-up here on this passing stage of our finite existence, cool isn't following the enraptured, enveloped whorizontal who's ambivalent in her mordant adroitness, girly-whirly; cool is following the Trinity in Her skillFULL genre of psychopathic accents, for the ultimate concoction of the VitChrist, the parody of non-friction-Ad Infinitum (Latin: without end), is to seek-out the unrealistic effectiveness of faith without croakin (then you may croak! you have my per/mission!): God can and will do anything - we gritty mortals do that very deed, too, that symbiotic endeavor through love. Yes, to escape the extended bionic atrocity, this litany of hypocrisy vibrating-like-a-tuning-fork leading U.S. down, I shall offer Maturity Classes to everybody who pays by wearing their hearts on their shoulders, rather than hidden-away within their stolid, stubborn, superficial chest where most of U.S. keep our feeble-weeble-wobbles.

"Yes, yes!" screamed Freud. "By Jeee-sis!! Yureeka!!" The zany, kooky, zephyr-like-mind is a kwickstop, a puddle of elegant quicksand to the protagonist, quickly letting allah those hard-won-vapors in the uselessness of college after a trauma like mine: am I seriously meant to exhume the Dukes-of-Haphazard from this charismatic abnormality? Am I meant to zealously engrave her abundantly gorgeous name on Hollowood's wokOshame? ...Nyah. What's below is devastatingly eviscerating to the with-it Mullahs: beyond the tiny window of our existence finite, the terrain of the doggerel ~woofwoof, baby (beyond the sincerity of my heart that is), comes two choices. One, a grotesque, copious misery which lasts till all the 'Mea Culpas' in their universe apologize ...which ain't gonna happen, son VS. second, which is totally guhroovalish, a frenzied perfection of generous-endorphanic-eternity, a choice between God's proclaming the indesTRUCKtible culmination of accumen like when the TRUCK hit us. I guess God sprouted legs with enduring, everlasting authority to integrate the inVITamin-SEEtable with my writing since age 11:

Just a savvy, lil' witty ditty
on why we ROTE our 25 blogs:
"Faith, hope, and love,
the greatest of these is love - 
jump into faith...
and you'll see with love"
God. Blessa. Youse -Fr. Sarducci, ol SNL
Meet me Upstairs where the Son never goes down…
1 John 15-17