Mediocre Son Me Crafts Letter To His Papa

Mediocre son (me) crafts letter to his papa Impossible mission to escape end of life woe visit courtesy grim reaper inevitable for every mortal, whether he/she alive yesterday, today or tomorrow quintessentially senescence tabled upended wrested status quo belief, dogma, faith... (i.e. Unitarian Universalism) albeit atheistic to the core mine temporal perspective yes and no affects how I process death, afterlife mystery only googly dead souls know, yet intimation possibly presage consciousness prior to corporeal being given heave ho cashing in chips tantamount to omnipotent deity collecting his/her escrow, whether thee cremated or buried six feet below. Our short lived presence upon terrestrial firmae forces yours truly (me) to reconcile and address internalized emotions whereby decades elapsed when sole son (begat between thee and mother) found irksome offspring regarding shortcomings triggered hollow ultimatums begetting madness to flourish toward meek offspring inept at filial duties, who sought refuge within known solitude usually finding second born progeny holed up in his bedroom ofttimes fervently engrossed reading imaginatively escaping trials and tribulations + wishing he could magically transform himself far from irate parents, within their good graces he fell short short since January 13th MCMLIX. Methinks ambivalence towards papa (a nonagenarian widower) comprising mein kampf three score plus one year constituted ineradicable unseen wall, nevertheless impenetrable as any damn weir metaphorical barrier laid brick by figurative brick encompassed unilinear chronological invisible breastwork did snare nobody but thyself anomalous to grown man exhibited effeminate characteristics as young lad, though not *****, nor the least bit attuned and/or aware about sexual orientation, but simply introverted quite clear to any casual observer, a veritable outcast (of Poker Flat), i.e. cuz I experienced alienation everywhere at home (then 324 Level Road, school (Henry Kline Boyer Elementary) retreated to boyhood bedroom contrived make believe playmates courtesy overactive mental cog and gear named Harny and Dinny never insincere. Dear papa, your frail physical health disallows in apropos, callous, and egregious to trot out vindictive remonstration harkening back days witnessed by extreme grievances signalling caustic verbal brickbats lobbed squarely upon passive progeny unable to attain expectations, (albeit reasonable), I fell far short (physically emotionally, and academically) to acquire atta boy approbation rather constant browbeating frightened timid lad scared of his own shadow methinks yours truly shameful embarrassment whereby failure to accomplish basic income invariably congenital fait accompli linkedin with purported schizoid personality disorder.