Today Is A Good Day To Didactic

'I was born postimpressed,
a stillborn aesthetic.
Life has been l/ watching Death
warmedup undressing,'
bitterly bragged Peter Peters' guest,
monologuing w/ nihilistic pride.
Nabokovonymical host was engrossed...
streaming Kunt & the Chipmunks,

bluescreen comatose.' 93, his last GCSE
- Peter Peters had skinnedup &
saunteredout, legendarily.
But skidmark creep, shouse grinnows,
his flat's allover flow legendferally
foregrounds how Pete's really not been
living the dream since '93
to all but the autodeipnosophist.

'Such had-I-wist for pollyannaish
mannish boy I wasn't! Lad sans
wearish nebbish deathwish,
but had-I-wist, alas, it's gibberel,
                                     doggerish!'
the visitor wallowed outloud.
Steep existential vigorish,
a lifetime's Dutch feast, had already
  
reduced the host to dregs (& a revolvingdoor
for such loud loners
to his oftrevolving, everrevolting lounge).
Poor Peter Peters
was a radiorental sellospectacled rubicund ranga,
an overmedicated overselfmedicated 1/2dead deadringer
for a Chucky from 'Rugrats' maxi-me
wolves on meth had mostly babysat. Writhe writer
of ramblin' meanwhile only parsed

his own meridden merooned megarding
mequations, (m)egomaniac w/ no selfesteem
pootling & pranging & pillartoposting
negative value drivers,
l/ a partypooping
clay coupé in a recurs-
ive culdesac, Droste Close. No instressing
undents a jebends's deadend selfabsorption.

Rather he nudges terps down thought throat of Peter P
the grave drivel way, blahblahbludgeoning Pete further
& further away from echt entelechy
& nosce teipsum. Further&furtheraway from today's
gravel driveways, the ache of actuality,
hard paths smazed over by the dusttrail
mustygale decades post-'93.
Further, festinately faraway

from the melanic drillbits, boring corneas
of the boring, melanoiac, garrulous
para-
suicide, blithely ringside to Pete's real whitelight
highlightreel. 'I know, I know, having a
Jabberwiki complex myself, grybraking &
crocaby slobe it is too,' absurved
the windy imaginationbag, full of a life deadtotheworld.

Haecceity's bleeder, lastrites leadtime leecher,
whose inattention didn't even breach the
                     perimeter
of danaparamita, didn't even heed the
sallow buccal dimples when last chugpot wheeze, a
reptile's baked Quranic sigh won long breather
for swisscheesed bellows belonging to RIPeter.
A listener stricken by a strickling speaker
talking him to death, fatalism's forcefeeder.