j68skijo9 | Poetry Vibe
j68skijo9
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THIS ACCIDENTAL ARSONIST

CATEGORY

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Both parents possessed pedigreed panache

(But especially my father – the renowned Chemist

B.B. Harris and to a slightly lesser extent

The late culinary cuisine queen Harmit Harms

Kuritsky - the gal whose troth thy now octogenarian

widower papa pledged, while holding some

bubbling sinister looking flask in hand while

both donned a trumpeting finessed affianced

doctored formula to marry, when both partook

of a blind date. This combustible trans union

link analogous to their representative first electric

kool aid basic laboratory litmus test date), which

took place without a hitch, and telepathically

encouraged begetting a retinue of revered sons

and daughters, whose ken hopefully burned with

the passion KRISPR incubated, inculcated, and

incurred that genetic outlook ideally transmitted

to prolific brood of begotten babes. This kid felt dis

embers crackling, popping, and snapping with a yen

that burned from within and without buns sin burner

of this cingular earthlinked son. No matter tentative

to experiment willy-nilly (wonka like) with rather

explosive materiel, I received truckloads of ammunition

(in tandem with benevolent benediction) to foster

dare devil and derelict pyromaniac precocity.

Those initial awkward formative forays assaying,

assessing and carefully calibrating this, that or the

other liquid or powdery substance found me meticulously

measuring and weighing the substances using kitchen

midden malodorous kid gloves. Frequent disappointment

arose from yours truly as well as momma and papa when

the net result (of these early attempts to blend powders

and/or liquids) merely fizzled and self extinguished into

a near inaudible poof. Continual daily practice (would

lead the way for me to enter Carnegie – Mellon ---- Hall)

after countless travails, trials and trolls i.e. uber vaporous

wisps yawping banshee like holograms, or the equivalent

of 10,000 maniacs) eventually bore successful fruit in

the form of near perfect results. Success in the hotly

contested field sans Pyrotechnics requires a striking

resemblance to any other vocation. One must be able,

eager, ready and willing to maintain that burning passion

no matter unforeseen setbacks or heat from objection

able source. Yes, there would be an errant conflagration

(sometimes set purposely by an adjunct professor) as

an object lesson to master usage of fire extinguisher/fighter,

a vital piece of equipment and evenhandedness for getting

hold instantaneously jetting kickstarter live matches)

to contain any runaway flame. I do sheepishly admit

that on occasion the outcome went awry. Nonetheless,

they prided their potential fire branded wizard in the making

with kudos and praise with DYNAMITE. Practice indiscriminately

creating unpredictable concoctions, these lethally marshaled

nonchalant opportunities provided quintessentially

random results though usually very wimpy in tandem

with the totally tubularly nerdy, freaky, and dorky boy.

As proof positive and proud testimony, they proudly pointed

(upward) to the kitchen ceiling. There handiworks practically

covered the entire ceiling with variegated splotches. These

scorch marks keepsake frescoes to show my kith and kin

unspecified years into the smoky future. Quite accurate to assume

that father and mother coached, goaded, and nurtured exploratory

ambitions and tried not to stifle (at least consciously or deliberately)

my early stage ambition toward a scientific artiste bent.

As a home schooled and to some extent self taught chemically

romanced muralist, I grew up (not surprisingly) in a Unitarian

household that paid close attention also adhered to the pioneer spirit.
The near limitless boundaries of life, liberty and the pursuit of

understanding an underlying credo, which allowed, enabled and

provided one near endless experimentation even at the risk of life and limb.

Aside from nearly burning down the house amidst talking heads

practically in dire straits, an instinctive reflex found me immolating

myself, occasionally singeing the canine fur of Lady, Schultz,

or Socrates, et cetera no frightful catastrophic outcomes occurred

thru the milieu of mixing deceptively harmless looking inert raw materials.

Trial and error (quite successful with the latter) via blithely cooking

dicey elements forming goulash hiccupping laboratory mishmash

practically eliminated any pained regret to take daring risks (such

as getting married – ha) in later life. Despite this favorable and

lovable upbringing, my mother (ever the protector and/or proctor

of our family and an excellent chef boy r dee to boot) still managed

to insinuate (as gently as possible) the necessity to be careful when

igniting flammable materials lest some uncontrollable conflagration ensue.

She (mom) did frequently confess to feeling ever so slightly jittery

and uneasy with my slapdash amateurish homebrewed pyrotechnics

and much preferred to steer my attention toward a safer hobby such

as the edible objet’s d’arts i.e., the much more drab field per how to

present and aesthetically appealing and nutritious meal. Fondness

to prepare food and pretend to be a faux renowned cook (this confession

admitted rather baldly and obviously deduced) actually competed for

my most favorite avocation activity and spare leisure time.

In other words, this chap did relish designing his own recipes mainly

from leftovers in tandem with unpronounceable multisyllabic organic

compounds that filled numerous sized dishes and aged apothecary

bottles respectively. Without question though, the passion plus less

riskier factor to combine and potchka dry and wet ingredients together

did rank as a considerably safer medium that still allowed, enabled and

provided me an equal opportunity to test reactions, than those earlier

iterated potentially explosive hazards. Nonetheless, my cavalier crusading

overactive appetite, hunger and thirst to discover causative outcomes

(even with purportedly innocuous looking household cleaning supplies

or easily acquired inert materiel) nearly witnessed an apocalypse

at three two four Level Road on one particular nasty occasion.

I anticipated domicile would become rent asunder, and reduced into

a Black and Decker ashen funeral pyre, yet for the grace of some divine

force no family members nor pets succumbed from smoke.

 

 

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