Southern and Easter

Come alone or come along with the stringy velvet but bereft of a chew, for you... and having left here to hike and Bill on his Bike and his Wife, it’s Jane’s tea time at tea time with what Boston Time-Party, without wine or beer or any liquor, I haven’t had a hiccup in many months, couch-side facing front, sipping my slippery-cup of what but water?  Melissa went to Salter and I dig it sprinkled on the Cob, the Coz company, liquidated immediately when turned in papers, the movers and the shakers—selling custom-colors and additives—on ECM Plastics, Inc. that who, LUCKY ME, worth a small fortune because of my Dad(dy) who him I see—along with my Mom—picking up my habit of attending Church most-every Sunday Morning, but the new Minister, I’ve only spoken with him briefly, when Blessing me, when him and “Hymn” I wish to hum a humble hum at The Charlton Federated Church—when those were “The Days” I would drink a beer after, a like a like a reward, a hooked fish reeled in, on the win (Holy Shit!) want a biscuit for the Trimmed up middle-section of a middle-weight boxer, and me in briefs usually black or a shirted owner (a shitty ordered order) coming clean with any violent actuality in anything to be seen—donate a S-pleen—S-pen with gel from Bic—ohhhhh when the roses come danced in a bunch, I take a late lunch, yeah me having slept all night and all morning, into the Afternoon to perfect my craft, a Belarusian attack of coughing, that sore-throat hacking at Phlegm in the throat, sick and moping, at home, while the Janitor is at the Universe-ity sweeping swindled crumbs off of the floor, whatmore- he (it’s usually a “he”…) picks up the students’ waste on the floor—or throw-up the tossed cookies from Quest, a High Protein snack, they came with Amazon and their delivered orientation with “Averte” and my thin belly, showered up- yeah I don’t sweat in the least here—as I’ve nixed my time on the treadmills, they’re unfortunately not working—one of the hugely obese fat fucks here, broke 2 treadmills and only an elliptical stepper is left—who broke 2 treadmills?—obviously, one of the fatty full of lard, these sods walking with so much effort, slip-shoeing it, every day wearing sweatpants—like the resident girl here, sleeping in a chair outside my door—is she keeping tabs on me?—oh well I don’t care in the least because she’s a mother to kids, I DON’T WANT TO BE WITH ANY MOTHERS!

Sun-light To Sun-rise them lit-up lightsy eyes 'o' mine, seeing Sun-shine! =)

Sick hiccups, and slender Hi-C cups-  I have had enough when, and only when, they give me my $315 pen, made by Mont Blanc and stolen by the staff, my judgement mentals, they are aft and airborne—with much scorn for my sworn enemies, wearing Napoleon shafted fashionables, on, when plaguing the role of a paltry Pawn and I, the paws of a lion addled, horses saddles for Farmer John Deere (profited Stocks) because of Trucker Hats, I don’t wear- don’t care with my Top Hat on, worn by me on occasion about my USA “Nation” paying taxes and I’m a big-spender somewhat of a lender... my Ledgers, Public and Private—oh don’t you know?—it’s as if I run the financial show, candles put them out with a lightly blow to extinguish the flames, their anguish as fuck, have I said enough about my millions USD- Dad can maybe give me a swift transfer to my Banks—I have at least $1M in TD Bank—my parents and Aunt Donna Donohue—I thank them—oh Mama, who... I call you “crusty” because with Justine Ara, I must be with her my chosen mate—her short and with her smelly Malpractice ProActiv facial complexion, no problems there—with her hair and my genitals, we were so close, clones almost, but me The Man stopping my car at a lemonade stand street-side Biggie Size paying with a $20 bill—they were thrilled to hear, “Keep the change” of a Tranny now vaginoplasty, Mr./Mrs. Kirsten with a car its chrome rims

Dublin dingers and drunken singers of “Sweet Caroline” having been pulled over driving, by an obtrusive policeman—not Trans anything... but anyways to Walk The “LINE” on a phonecall for more Ale made by Anheuser-Busch

Prestigious logo’s of shopping for dressy shirts and designer colognes, like me- this I’ve known, and known enough to buy 5 different Bitcoin shirts, some Funkadelic—I’m not a derelict individual or pride, hopefully with Justine to be my treasure, my Treasured Bride—honestly, not to be shride or shrewed—me dancing proud in the news—being big nosed schnoz which I know, I AM NOT PINNOCCIO, but saying the truth—my reproductive organ was GROWN, a-newed for news to you, that they gave me the gift, of length and width, me a owner of 2 Ledgers, I say I love the news-girl named “Bri Eggers”—hot off the plate and her doing news during the DAYTIME, then having been MARRIED—that she is not mine!

Minecraft. The minded fraction of a crafted person, perusing the usual selection of wine, losing to the liquor addiction, all the tippity-top Time of day and when it becomes dusk, Elon Musk, my 2005 “best friend” who but him, thin with healthy exercise, although, who knows, maybe he’s a’ lying!  So kick to the swayed swagger of knifing a man with a mean-lit “dagger” of Dogecoin, 1 Dogecoin given to Ember here, keeping her near and buying her a gift, does she catch a merited “drift” from me—the doggy will see, me, and having made plentiful donations to my USA nationality—addled getting the best of me- and my own, who they have seats at the dinner-table “Throne” that I don’t keep it all myself, this is known, so the bottom half is not my own, and to have sworn tossing a nut in the air, then busted on the floor- down there at the bottom, seeking saucy relations come bed-time the parents of a house, and snorting the majority of snots? I think not... no way, but saying aloud to the better booger chewer, do what you do for the girls- maybe disgusted—ain’t at me—but at you of disposable disposition depositation of deforestation, plaguing the Earth of all-time that’s my mammal dedication, to brush the bushes and paint the pedestal, on which the President does speak—him absolutely appearing this WEEK, of daily White House press conferences, abiding by the blocked off fences, girls on their Menses.

Where is Belarus? and North Korea has submarine torpedoes with nukes! oh noes, oh well, all is well here near in New England... I have kept my television on the news channels for about three years!

Sifted small droplets of rain, but to BRAIN-STORM the honey come closer to a closed closet corner, coming clammering to the drawers artistic brevity of big honking hooters, the polluters of diesel vehicles, speeding soundly steadfast at a quick beat of the ♥ that I being so smart, to me, Smart TV transmission of impossible being without Tom on a Cruise of HODL’ing whores a la Risky Bid-ness of not showing all the girls’ titties, fed with Cookies baking buns of Matilda (the hun) when all the perfect storm is done and over, put out Rover settled in a wheelbarrow of Jason Barrow’s Bart-low sinking slow and don’t you know? It was me walking down the road—I had to go—and to Treck mountain bikes with G-Shock watches awaiting wrists, but coming close at the urinal’s planted pounding stream of piss—minding my own business—not even peeping with those small dicks weeping—not on Marquis diamonds—5 stones on my Mom’s dear ring—and to hear her sing???  Well her voice is plain and the plot of my enemies’ its unfoiled—I’m not fooled—I’m not “getting laid” and I have a legitimate “Maid” named Sandy who picks up my Apartment—not looking to Ember with my Tool t-shirt—Ben has been wearing that “Tool” shirt and he needs their “Aenema” CD I would listen to at home, going through my CD’s, and picking one or two or the three painting me... that years before a lowlife online loser, he made this image of me!

SO FUNNY!

Suffocating and, Iron Chef's "Plating" and playing with yourself- you're a mess!

A lot more at my www.jeffreymarquis.com !!!!!

Well to the, my wallet right here, placed grams of gold—I implore you, buy precious Bullion- that’s a notion, with a heavy-loaded of my pockets swinging with motion—the ounces of pressed coins, they are literally pressing at my loins, these silver coins and Lego-silver, 1 for Mom, 1 for Max—appreciating my gifts from them to receive like it's now the month of March, springtime, no shizzle “shivering” to cold temperatures in recent old-timers say TIMBER!

Down cometh a sawwed tree-tops, licking my lips and treasuring the police who protect us, Cops, armed and reading consumer complaints off of screens or sheets, of paper—obey the speed limit—it’s okay if you arrive umpteen minutes LATER for an aparted apparent approximation of Congratulations, Congress, the house is finely clean with NO MESS from the stove-top or kitchin’ sink or flowin’ Silk shirts to take a well-needed drink of the chocolate milk with one-perfect percent fatty tissues ***ahhh-chooo*** day at the zoo, feeding the “Lion’s Mane” mushrooms all not too soon I don’t take any mo’ mushrooms — no not the drugs — bequeathing hGH “Stallone”—his mansions, his homes—back in the U.S.A. when the Australian laws caused temporary dismay, what the hey, I got 3.5” taller (I was given shots to make my legs shrink...) and my arms length increased by 2.5” but those, too, are shrunken many years ago, so that's all to see folks!

For a short time people looked at me, somewhat STRANGELY, me a muscle marauder two decades ago, and never again, the Insulin pin—one at a time—having collected (corrected-ly) a “sharps” container, clean, with no AIDS like them fags—trans sexual-ality not welcome here, so stay away from my “rear” I take it with me everywhere I go—so, no, I distain a fag’s cross-dressing!

DISGUSTING!

Neatest and smartest OH-SO NEATO, to eat a Dorito

Neatest and smartest OH-SO NEATO, to eat a Dorito

 

and flow from a haired chair, as Therapy comes to and fro through the air, when I care, suchly deep about—when I’m imploring, the cleaning of my apartment—my worn clothes piled in a heap... that I want you to take a leap, to go for a ride, with all of your moneyed Pride—recent receding tides of Atlantic waters, waiting for the high’s and the low’s—a million dollar business named “Pitney Bowes”: my Dad’s customer, all costumed up, all dancing in costumed-customers for plied, pied, P-O’d plastics ’n’ bold polymers and little old me, with a memory of my circumcision scarred and big like Bulbous—taking it too far—how far???

How about a slut’s butt ogled in a bar on the Boulevard—or a diner—breakfast time for me the weiner whiner WINNER of garnering viewers, perusing me, pushing me to squander fan-fare, planting first a fist on the mouse when at a Desktop—it’s mostly mouths moving and lap-top on my knees not flopping limp, like a sip of a drink, SOBER 2016! what amounts of vodka, from my mouth to the sink, coming out with gagging—the puke, stinky and obscene, that’s no longer for me, that, oh the “Days End” bar and I being the one sitting nearest the front door—that walk across the street from 288 Main St. stumbling bunches, I’ve never been hit like Punched- Full On, maybe getting a couple stitches for ones in a bar-room brawl, like ye olde Western cowboys and the drunks sipping brew, like you too, and Bono’s vocal Bones and teeth too chattering at The Interlude—ENCORE ENCORE ENCORE !!!!!

I need something more.

Yeah something to be pre-Published on what but (instead of) my 3 dot-com’s and Blogspot—that I aught to get in touch with a Poetry Magazine “Publishment” smoking a “Parliament”—that’s punishment for my longtime smoke going down my lungs and waiting a certain amount of time to eat lunch, that I heard not to eat right after smoking tobacco, what do you know, The Ph. D. pharmacist pushing pills into the mouths of many, or putting on patches like the Duragesics flowing Fentanyl, nicotine, etc.—so morbidly awful—is the cyringe crying at the thought of a distant fam — it’s holy Molly — that’s another drug I’ve never ever done, like those in need of quelled pain—the addiction I hear is Insane and addly bad

From what have is being herd of sheep, every day of the weakness (bad backs) panic attacks seeping crummy sleeping—to wake at dawn—the fields are long and over-due to sheath the corns husks, Elon with a MUSK—And Agriculture—to wake at dawn—crops of a huge, huge “lawn”—needing oh John’s Deere his horns—on a Tractor, powerful linebacker of playing the pigskin—pink—a gay faggot touching the lower intestine, that, a Trojan Horse—I’d invest $82-dollars in them defeating Greek salads, eaten by Freaks N’ Geeks abroad, singing sailing sea-side SONGS—“Stairway” of L.Z. is so long- a favorite of me who I strive to be the peak of the bestest even boobs, same size left-and-right, squizzed together nicely—Almighty—doing it right-handed cup size of an A+ (in class) I’ve seen the size of men’s manly Mammaries what number of 32”? or 34”? my wasted wasting of a WAIST—wait my wrists writing—I’m a 34” waist- POST HASTE retrieve this man of the finest Jammies in the land of when I’d be tucked in bed, only then, as a toddler and Ye Olde Bedtime Stories and “Old Man River” causing cuddle a la puffy, fluffy widow, I mean PILLOW—but don’t get me started on pills—I take enough, commonly, my Medz to stay educated in the matter of Zoloft and Xanax much amounts of pounded pills, sucking them down for a Fiend’s appetite at night I usually take only 2 Zany-bars (X) and shackled snacks and 3 Zoloft with Arts ’n’ Crafts being balanced by the staff and patients here—I’m in the clear and clean eyes shiny and brainly, planned- painfully bright lighted halogen and Haloperidol—that Medication of Temptation to uproot a SiriusXM radio-station ephemerally when my shattered left hip—I seen, I sent, it to”HIP-hop nation” channel 34 once again my Waist cracked and addled, when I would choose not to ride a saddle (or a Suzuki Sport-bike)

My parents are selling my car I haven't used in some several years, so me hoping to have thousands I can buy bits of Bitcoin on PayPal lol

Far Beyond, King takes Pawn

And belong in the crevice of a long way to drift the Coca-Cola of my choosing the Bev. coke-zero with my cereal, of Lucy Charms and Charlemagne sans bits of biting pain out the ear, ouchie do, and you too, you are due for a return of a rental—I’m non-parental at 41 and not going to provide for a Brisket of Bride, the man-made meat with a Wifey to meet ’n’ greet—on the street—her a Herman Walker—albeit to falter—falling and tripping on a branch, the salad dressing, oh Ranch of course like the popular Doritos innovation of a blue-labeled flavor, “Cool Ranch” in a cinch to take a three inch chip and a sip ‘o’ Diet Dew, yeah I’m cool couch-side keyboard cowboy wrangling a Gator like a Princess (GATOR’S PRINCESS) of E. and a singer named “Sia” with an utmost high-pitch notes and laying waste to the Immigrants racing across the border—talk about DIS-order among Texans and Trump saying, “[ The Mexicans ] They’re criminals. They’re rapists.” In the words of FMR President Trump.

Did I tell you how I was in contact a few times with the MyPillow guy?

In 2005/2006 I knew Mike Lindell. I got him to stop doing drugs for a short time and to cut down on drinking—like I really cared for him, seriously, as I want to say, I as in ME, for one... I give an ‘F’ !!!!!

I scored 0% on my mid-term exam for Health I, which I was ace’ing and I did it to make a point, that my recovery wouldn’t be “MID” anything like Mid-Way I wanted a full recovery and then Mrs. Waskevich told the University higher-up’s about my beliefs that I was an “A” student always scoring “A’s” and 90’s to 100%’s on quizzes and early-on Tests, I had fun in the class, but a ways into the class I pissed my khaki’s in front of the class—teacher said I had to do the Presentation or I’d fail, and me standing there wearing tan khaki’s I had to go pee, and amidst my toil and groaning, I urinated standing in front of the class, some laughing, I took it in stride and the teacher, Mrs. Waskevich, “She yelled: RUN TO THE BATHROOM!

But it was too late and my Dad picked me up at the school, WSU, on Chandler St. of Woo State! It was sorta cool, seeing so many smiles and stifled "hehehe's" all me!

No time on X-Mas Presence of who but Peapole right here at "Averte"

You are who you are and near to me up I hope... Near to me up side with a gum, that, call it Number 1

In Year Zero (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBbT9XXYUpI)

Phat beats to much on—berating the chomps—munch and MOOCH with a Queen-size oh you look so pretty, take a bitten slush of sludge with a Whey Protein Shake—priority main from Amazon or the store—I have a fresh bucket (F-it) of 2 lbs. chocolate mania the Reese’s are all gone... and here comes D. Bessie of having Bo and hamsters—a fun creature—patten in a pattern of my brush-strokes after eating 4 or 5 egg-whites, only 1 “yolk”—you okay with that?

I know

some way and

some how what 

I known to NOW!

Please read my www.jeffreymarquis.com for more Creative Writing and view my www.wrxtbi.com about my Traumatic Brain Injury and shattered left hip in 7 pieces (!!!)

When soon to sweep with the flows and flush with the floss—I’m getting veneers—I already have a vacuum... of a tale as in Moby Dick the thick teeth of JAWS shark-tank Ace, pulled and unfurled, on the Checker Deck to inspect that 104.1 FM was WBC-N in days of yore, laughing at Pauly Shore—only to score the cards sour at any given hour, to teeth, mine accord is to albeit them much, much Whiter, like the blinding bright lights—staying at and staying at the dusty stars so, star-high, the Discus of Athens, their Heathens with a Heather I will never forget her, when the hedwops goes on and on... oh talk about DEEP, seeking saliva from the Main Vein to the pink and bloody CRANE-EEE-UMMMMM my Traumatic BRAIN Injury, well we’ll just see, how great and TaLenTed of a writer I can be, now when I see that I’ve lifted my perusal used for to have hit “SNOOZE” with my TV playing and critters creeping, I haven’t exercised lately—I’m not a worn weakling—I’ve been:

a’ sleeping...

I'll stick to FOUR W H E E L S !!!

Being that it’s all together Fitting, with a quick glance, at all a memory of a prior me not so, NUTSO and Not So surely with a swirly stream of a dreary day, I’m saying HEY YOU ALL, the bunch of you, to sit on a bench and relinquish you strangling with bread of last week—so old, the mold—coming once again, Fit like a sit-up’s class, and working the glutes (ass) mowing the lawn so long, upper-most slid- sided size-wise: my John Deere stocks

and The grass growing! and my worn words of the English language... SHOWN ENOUGH!

Sho’ Nuff the tridented truth be SHARED, like I have ever-long so “Cared” having sweetum’s “Care” empowered emoped eloped Elon Musk of 2005 conundrum that, they doubted me, some-

Trickle to be, what I’ve seen, what I’ve been, with Waltzing all Wasted—my snickerdoodle, was tasted- and to fast, my dissemination of vital (viral) accreditation to have lasted with he wonders, sitting on plunder-laden plumbs and pairs (my ears) investing in oh Honed Honey John Deere—still sitting wallowing in the depths of deep and dreary, Plumb - Damaged (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=He4UYikvGBs) feast for the not quitting, not quietly cumbersome being “Damaged” mentally and physically, that, maybe Spiritually—I took hits, years ago, of what green herb of trees, a Treaty to treat-me with Justine—recovered more—and the world revolving with a Velvet marauder in where I seek the care of my favorite three—this online website like a Diary being “The Diary of Jane” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWaB4PXCwFU)

A.A. resolved to shine so sweet all week and weekends with alcohol as my enemy—drinking alcohol and beer, that, those, are not my friends, I learned in A.A. going 2 times only, merely, that twice was nice—all it took away my temptations to get a gushing swallow-full of the liquor, Ember here—with her Corgi “Jack” twisting his head at me, staring at me curiosity’s curious-ness with a high-class stair, eyeing his short hair- got some food? well he’s one to salivate... until dinnertime, and UNTO the offered over-time, my Mom has 1 glass of white wine each night I think is okay—only one glass Debbie!—with the drinking, of mine... to me... my stomach staying pleasantly, ever so easily, as I’ve seen good things with CBD in gummies-  no Tee Haych or CEE (creatine ethyl ester) my previous having worked out so hard at the gym, I wanted results naturally without any “Androgens”… no way!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YkaNB8nVLE0

Cooking up that $DOUGH, and all know, of you readers, this text I like to share, with you, and through and then all-though...

Double story house and words being released from my one’s mouths, tingle-tingle, The Tings, tasty tongues with their tasty Cinnabon’s of what one to emerge as a great and greater- the greatest man in all of the land, “O” Lakes when baking a pantry $CAKE so scrumptious cylindrical “Tical, Tical” divers diversity—and a Dumpster Diver falling flat on his oh oh oh or HERS when once come a burden of a muffin in the over-done oven, witche’s coven in the particular pin-point of playing the veinous video-games old video game and “Pong” to sing a song of a wratched old wench, sitting still, bench-laden for some floozy bar-side stinky drinker of Dunkin’s moist muffins and buns, for you hun, the skylit upper-side windows to peruse the cumulonimbus MTA with a valid driver’s license up to date—but wait I’m getting a new Vermont Identification Device to keep in my own pocket... to Sit on it the information The “SIT-uation” of Jersey, hmmm now SURE with what washing wayside ’n’ sea-side Coroner’s Virus (I rule) not drinking so absolutely NO LIQUORED LIQUIDS—eating Octopus at The Sole Proprietor—my meal-time destination of eating at the greatest restaurant All the Nation of this our United States of America #1 the taste of politics with lingo—but who knows??—cackle at the Crows and Crowns of Royal empresses the buttons on the switches, of my fingers finally finished, and FINDING the text to type when the peaches are ripe and cushy-gooshy sipping the spit of what The Pit??  I can get them both to be bathing and shaving in the country’s Mausoleum, opting to be an optician of special medications state-side of previous MAGA “Pride”—but to be fucked-with and carrying Shivon and on and on, a “shiv” ER in the under the weather sky-up with enough stuff to play the piano keys, or these keys in front of me—we will see the get-attem suede saddle of some horses being gathered into a Herd—U-Haul’ing the words of a wonderous Poet that...

I’m now knowing it, Dancing in Space and buying “A Place”—yes a pristine palace to live near my best pal, Cousin Dan, lend me money to Invest in Bitcoin, saying please, and that’ll be on PayPal, fo’ sho’ with the immigrant population tuning into the CNN or YouTube Station: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jr83RNbBkNs

Read my www.alwayschillen.com with your own eyes-  set straight—at a great weight like me and my Mom and Dad, yeah me too, having read a great book I gifted him and Mom with named “Eat To Live” staying fit and providing the ponderance of how to Extend Life—like how I would get a monthly maganesium heh magazine, quick zine to be soon seen—named “Life Extension” but mostly selling products such as their own line to walk it straight and Sway (Tech) with what a way to—SAY, IT LOUD AND PROUD, I’m of French and I’m not only talking about the Dressing coming in bottles to swish and squint and this watch and of Paris—eating LETTUCE—bested by Motel Most-Hated mad-hatter (MAD HATER) when what’s with the wait-er delivery of it taking to long, 4 or 5 minutes in a song, usually, that it’s got to be more and free—to set the stage at least 3 minutes long in an everyday radio kinda song, sifting through Subaru at “Long’s” or Lundgren with the yellow Integra Type-R with for $25k, hey you get the one hundred ninety horse power to cruse and use the perusal of a sailor ship with Rip and jeans torn totally taught to Taters, the scars, them Tattered, being stretched through the Spandex of dared to bend what-over??  Slimmer in slimey spoken LANGUAGE of loving my Dancing in words, seeing them scrolling on a screen, me remaining complacent but never screaming, that—they have great chocolate ice-cream here at “Averte”—it’s where I reside NO RESIDUE taking noting of me actually “Quoting” the meaning of my meandering down thought up and throughout my deep non-relenquished bottle of relish—Mom and Dad had hot dogs for dinner—them living as average but worth much more with their RICHES that the hot dogs are sirloin and expensive bitches—the Shiba Inu—UP 80,000% news—that’s a great deal of money, for me buying you presents mattered much-ly when to be, oh “AS IF” blurted banging of pot’s and pan’s with the internet connection here, The Lay of the Land, like you, one who uses computer machines with Chardonnay and Charolette Hornets’ “Larry Johnson”—and the Austin team’s “David Robinson”—my enormous comic book and sports cards collections worth so many delightful currencies, now and currently—the same—I have a TBI and Lance was shamed—bye to the International Sports Committee—I’m not playing ball or playing with any bolts being nut-crazy for $$,$$$,$$$ “CASHEWS” when the elderly lady drinks a 16 ounce bottle of booze, and then falling asleep—snooze-ing...

I'll cut it off if you come at me because I'm a real "pecker-wrecker"

I print it on paper

CYA later! 👀

I've been fairly happy lately, buoyant with CBD gummies!

Exodus down to the low-flats of the heavy and obese—call them “The Fats” who swing high-pitch like a floozy slut, late to be abrupt and tempered with the Temp. in the high 90’s or the chickie at the office, being that I’m one being and having paid for Word, and so I bought Stocks in Apple and Micro-SOFT withered wrinkly who-dillie Daisy to straddle when I’m AT-THEM concealing Aromatic Atombstones plaid the Trombones of $BONE I’ve written much about my investments, when them of two armaments with the Ten Commandments I meant to hustle&flow don’t you know—with the me not sinning and R.L. Grimes is sitting and shitting with a p-due flop of grab a mop and soap so Zest fully CLEAN with showers sometimes (but not often...) at late hours, and after gym-class at Ye Olde Saint John’s High School—me so cool—sitting at one of the Populous Tables when I was impressed to be embraced with a smiling face, by Grant and Linde and Mr. Marino, praying for me, as I’ve seen, being his “Buddy” now today, having written a note, as at “Averte”—you see me cope!

"Cuz" I need you to use my Tesla stocks and Berkshire-Hathaway stocks, too, to buy me a Tesla Roadster, I think you put down a $50,000 "Reservation" and I want to talk to a Developer at Facebook, that I bought 2 "Blue Checkmark" Twitter accounts on my JeffreyMarquis1 and marquis_jeffrey accounts, came to $80 or so, and I'm not getting verification!

Sail the eloquent squalor of what but the camaraderie of the weight-loss industry!

You want “Street Cred”, well I’ll feed you with my paid-taxes that I have always paid taxes, to “The Fed” the government with an Incorporated business in my nuclear (I pray for peace!) family who, yeah my Trust Fund is accumulating more mo’ munition at moment and me loving my Marquis Family (AIM: “Marquis Parents”) they pay about $20k each month for “Rent”—me happy here at “Averte” when I love talking with my Aunt Donna Donohue—she knows they feed me delicious low-carb food, and although I’m not working out much or at all, I stand sort of tall but under six feet, here at “Averte” I’m fed well with my groceries—I don’t have my car here, it’s safe at home in Charlton, MA—3.5 hours away from my real Home with my “Health-Proxy” parents!!!

When once a kitty pounces upon a pillar, it’s a Magination Criteria to clean the outside of a vehicle—yeah, it’s Exterior of Carnauba Wax sold on the racks of Auto’s in The proverbial “ZONE” when I drone to the fate of a fat fuck eating junk food on a huge, giant plate, and to wait, until well Summertime—pledging allegiance to my waistline—to lose 5 lobsters in a meth lab or at the pounded bloody bludgeoned face, the disgrace of pleaded peppers on Uncle Salmons kept and sour loungetail loins—what a place, and to be,

Me pretty FIT

Months ago:

Me lazy TITS

I guess so!

A GREATER WRITER, to where Glory Glows and who but I know now how it goes, calmly into the incoming sequence, the Characters!

And this to those, gonna be an all-nighter

Inflicting a Bic lighter of sway or swag

Found a rag fantasy with the high price soul-d of within me whimsical and lyrics for Allan of the Ethan descent that’s—in all honestly—the best I can be to imitate a tyrant trans- on a bi-cycle

Fucking for cash, that a trick, but wait a tick of the Talking Heads—when I take my Medz Californication meditation, to trick the Tick tumultuous shaking hands with flossed ’n’ flushed Designed Rand-MyCall my cellphone to the walls of the bouncing brains—take a relented and relenquishing Religious stance, albeit the Oprah/Lance “dance” broadcast with a sharded Advanced Polymers with Merv his puns are always so fun—him a bright lad bringing it wholesale—tongue between my tall tale—without drugs and slow as a snail—sipping the gin’s gunner ale to stand so tall with legs ELON-ged with a HS designed Degree—a little pee splashes—ashes to be spread in Israel—that’s where I want to death derailed—pleasantly happy most days, or ninety five percent of the Time with a fabled rhyme and rhythm, but nadules bantering for a flavor to savior UTMOST along the East Coast of SOMA some Blockbuster vid’s, MTV’s “Cribs” of lavish loveness in a quote-unquote “Love Nest” with Kimmy K and Kanye dancing the horizontal hoopty—SHWING!—and sweeter sewer excrement to be cleansed and wipe with the left, me bereft of salacious function, at what junk-shure? Sure I saw the saying of black-on-wives of him, Mr. West and Kimberly’s inflated breasts on her chester cheetah of Free-To-Lay pots of a few umm chips, and gates with their Mitsubishi Eclipse but pouted, pounded, without a double-douce sounded for a flounder in the Southern hemisphere—them are a bunch surrounded!

Let's all give a tall and proud salutation to those with the broken reputation of sleeping-socks who, well, it sucks when people O.D. or kill themselves in State Custody (*ahem* cough cough a relative relieved himself of opiate addiction lol David... lol )

And Brendan and Laurie, I hold them dear in my heard hearts of love and care, when fortunately, yes ever so well and happy with their happenings! I WISH YOU WELL GRIFFINS! I care! 💕

Google my "JMRQ Heavy Industries"

You can feel free to imply, the nighttime-lyrics are all MINE and coming from ME, with what you see on my dot-com domains of delight, when I write at night and until morning, that’s 

when I’m treated to a textual journey of daily-do little poetry stories, with me the Subject notebook of Five-Star notes in a book, cost a lot and quality-made, those notebooks divided to classes like Calculus, what a fuss, and Geography, that’s the Rand-McNally idolatry, for me, wanting and hoping I’ll be able to visit even for only most of a day, Israel: our ally, The Holy Land, covered so Sandy here, overweight with a smaller rear—than that big but on a bimbo turns me off—I’m not a []D [] []V[] []D though by any tiny bit of a floozie’s itty-bitty yet so bulbous when a light goes on, and because John here is overweight by a whole lot, he wears thongs and talking under his breath when I see him — that jerk, he’s at work because the sudsy Residents here—they’re unstable—they’re unable to handle—my handle: “jmarquis710” and “alwayschillen” and “wrxtbi” and “JMRQ Heavy Industries”

That’s all me.

Also: my www.jeffreymarquis.com =)

What if the Welch’s turns sour?

And what if the whole of them, are sore?

To have been undried!

I tried, at least I tried hitting the highest peak of Bitcoin with a myself mysterious: Delirium Tremens on tremendous weight-lifter scales, tremendous poundage Tough Buff and Jeff M

To take and tangle the Supra GT’s wind of a trailing string being tampered, TAPED to the: ON “Switch” of tug the Dick Pole of the MLB:

Rick Saw and SHODDY, and so as to, haw-haw-hawk and HARK, to Rick=Richard “Cuz” I’m switching plans to come to the bottom of her HANDS, L.V. to see and shocked aghast with an Agnostic-GRIP to pinky swear the sewer (Sue of Or...) stench of knobs to be flipped and lifted from a winding road, on the windiest day, calling all widows jumping out bulletproof glass windows, to fall and float, reincarnated as a goat, taken in for the slicing- the goat’s throat severed with several sword strokes, that’s what happens folks, cake on the icing with $CAKE the Dymatize protein powder, a flavor of its, garnered milk out of ye nipples—sheets (of printouts) with pink and rose colored flowers, waking up and taking a Bathing treatment of bubbles and at Dawn, the Church Bishop kills a paltry Pawn, so, so long, all within a dreaming daze of Money and Days of yore—you can have them—as Katy Perry plays, “Don’t ever look back!” with something about a Teenage Dream... tonight, tonight, tonight as the focus fades and a showy face faking a Facade, to squirt out the Dawn and hope to hop out of the warm tub—to Take A “Tub”—with a bedside buddy’s soapy butt and smudged signatures with where is all my mail here at “Averte”—the staff and many in my living are ever so sinister, yeah that’s me, saying sincerely, where’s my “loot”—my Doc Martens, my Saint John’s wearable boots of two shoes...

when hiking up-hill from Flavian to the Administrator Headquarters—the main building- it big with a cafeteria and library—oh the all of it—a travel-time to Saint John’s—it took almost an hour long being exceptionally a driver’s destination of a Shrewsbury, MA location and with classes taught, you aught be so smart with Honor’s Classes—they went by fastly—like the lunches, at one of the 3 or 4 “cool tables” with my MyPillow 1.0 never getting too warm, temperature (our climate’s temper) ambient and low in degrees—hey I have an Associate’s from Q.C.C. don’t you see that I can type and I can jot, jogging, Steve Jobbs LIVESTRONG, and mowing the whole lawn

Long Continues

Here:

Stocks https://seekingalpha.com/account/portfolio/summary?portfolioId=61281262

Bitcoins https://www.coindesk.com/data/

Precious metals https://www.jmbullion.com/

Invested: 2013 or 2014

Aliases: “Jeff M” and “Jeffry”

Google: “JMRQ Heavy Industries”

Financial: TD Bank, Bank of America, Merrill, Pacilio Wealth Management, and my huge Trust Fund!

Nothing but money, Mr. Marquis

Moaning in a Meadow of descent associated with Tony in a MEADOW (Market) Soprano was Jamie-Lynn Seigler that reminds me of Lisa and her wife that I do not approve of sex changes that her pervert husband/wife got a sex change and shame on her family that they have 2 kids and what are they going to think about a Transexual father?

And what if when one wonders what could be a Titanic troublesome time with Welches and Belches WRECKED HAG, you faggot attrocity to the ones being blessextd with a meaty ’n’ juicy sweet—chest all sweaty known to me, better things shall come to me in my way, saying hey no simply swashing the dirty dishes, when I switched from a fork to a spoon, without it I’m a lurking noodle with straight nudes painted all over-me, poo washed clean when SHOWER TIME crypto-currencies have made me $$,$$$,$$$

https://www.thecut.com/2015/04/why-it-feels-so-good-to-cry-in-the-shower.html to get so warm, a Spoon—maybe engine of what to jumps in front of my train—the tranny of what I think she’s really a man, especially judging from her hands—pull them aside with my strides with feet and my toes, got the hot-foot Beirut in the gutter when asunder speaketh the DJ of Aunt Donna and Joe who he is a really great guy you you really, I mean, “You really have got to meet Him.” Taking on the what but a clicking clacking lacking [ nothing ] when I balance (banks) on the trampoline and soggy wet dance floor to when I’m so giddy as my enemies are going to endure shit (enemies at the same time)

Nothing for

They treat me so poorly here at "Averte" and it's because of my-enemies who caused my "Severe Injuries" to my brain and shattered left hip in 7 pieces, sending me to mental-hospitals a total of FIVE TIMES!

My Dad I LOVE MY DAD! he brought an old Bass Fishing Trophy of mine, I received for Meeting you here the Dearest MOTHER Deborah, you wearing the converted tune, “Lady In Red” played instead of “I’m A Barbie Girl” in the universe of melodies so-called songs, taking time so long, Zing! when to sing the sin of Sinatra with his “New York, New York” and the vocabulary tests veraCITY with Circle around the Kay Jewelers with what wedding rings, Frank Sinatra sings his buoyant heart our ears, him singing in a sinking ship but the boys ‘rant’—so it stays afloat for the Oceancraft Parachuted Medical Staff arrive by Choppers and sea-ships—oh I know, I know it all, what they’re called—lifeguards (at the beach) and the Eastern Coasts’ GUARDS with gut-so of a spilled spleen asleep, not now but when, to be with my best friend at night in slumber, some other feather with the whether, the MY “MyPillow” having spoken to Mike Lindell in 2005—getting in contact with him, an email and he was then, a phone friend to the end of his addictions with a photo of a Blue HERRON—him the man who vouched for Trump—where I got in contact with him you see on Commercials—my friend, but one on a “BENDER” in Me-hi-co Viva, Viva Cuando se (seen) paychecks? with what order was taken from me, although, maybe a year or two years, ago, I ordered another one of his own creation, vacationing in the Mexican nation—him being a naughty drug addicted to cocaine, he was SHODDY we talked about how he promised, me—that he would get clean for Trump and he did, Trump’s non-triumphant Republican “elephant” (read my “Elegance”: www.alwayschillen.com/elegance.htm) and peruse what wonderful descriptions of everything “Beauty”: www.alwayschillen.com/beauty.htm that I make to due with no swish-swish basket ball B. Ball the players standing so TALL, like over 6’ tall, albeit but a short-temper, shortly-infused “Terpenes” the Jameson Whiskey out the door and I would only have CBD, 2014-2020 with what THC I went to with my Mom, to NETA, the Dispensary where I had “Financial Hardship” and receiving 30% off stuck key sticker, sucker, stuck-up “Medical Marijuana Approval” that where THREE OF MY DOCTORS WROTE LETTERS ADVOCATING, MY INHALATION—with my intention to get the green-bud legally being freely in Northampton, Mass. and I lacking college classes I had curves in my paintings, like a milk bottle of “The Milk-Man” doing what he can, providing service and posting to all on his Facebook (NASDAQ: FB) now “Meta” I have the upgrade which I see that my www.wrxtbi.com has been interrupted, with my text and photos of my totaled Subaru, all offline (for now), until I find out what the fritz is on the w-w-w my 3 dot-com’s I own and paid for—there’s a House Maid here named Sandy and she cleans for me—washing dishes and monitoring me—any misconduct?—she hasn’t seen a single speck of what I live here and keep my belongings personal-only, like my sleeping with these laptops in (and under-) my bed where I slumber that I have no problem with the “Public Publicity” album on my Eff-Bee “Meta” with what “Business Suite” when I have a nice grey suit here I wear the vest, some days, like I say, “Hey why are you here with my medications up to 2 or 3 hours LATE—the paid-staff sabotaging my mental/physical/vital camaraderie of seeing the “Residents” when I’ve showed some of the them, sworn- they know about me, seen my websites and feeling such D-Lite lifeline lit up bulbs of bushes grown in the garden out front, having bought flowers for their “Office” of preselected derelicts who THE STAFF GETS INTO MY APARTMENT WHEN I’M GONE AND I KNOW THEY HAVE EVIL INTENTIONS ALWAYS SCREWING WITH ME!

But I’m proud to be a “Marquis” who I am French Royalty... 

Men do “mingle” when they’re Single like me, all without sum BOOTIES (no more Botox Rehabilitation, left leg...)

A sucker sniffing “Duster” I’ve never huffed or puffed around a stench of a slice ‘o’ dat stinky cheese—I smell nice with Gillette under-arm where you swipe the gel on, to get along, rough and ready to rocksteady Rockstar drinks—I have Low-Carb Monster and Diet Red Bull, to fill a fat SOLO Cup when the fill to the top, that’s enough ’n’ stuff to be healthy as a whey protein shake, and I once had “Cake Flavor” and “Cocoa Pebbles Flavor” to savor the sips of chocolate fudge and flavored—Allah and Jehovah and God amount to—“The Savior”—with no Jesus present in my Tantric happenings but I once felt the Holy and Bright Lighting Bulbs at various Tanning Salons, check my voicemail intro where “IT’S ON!” being with how I got it on with a new cellphone “23” today with Gucci handle (alwayschillen) (and my “JMRQ Heavy Industries” on Google) and no solar panels of an artist painter (ME) and several filled Canvases—calling bodily-Cancer to the late Mickey Mantle—I remember Rookie 1952 Topps card, sold for $40-kay, decades ago—opt for trade—the Yankee’s have it made, with pro-baseball being played... like the Tesla “Plaid” Elon Took interest from Spaceballs, “PUNCH IT CHEWEY!” with thee to share my chocolate chip granola bars—Mom and Dad bought me—and Dad opened the cardboard container (but Brother Justin has Coronavirus and he should be in “A Containment/Confinement CoVid-19 “Repository” because it effects The Respiratory System...), having once played via Nintendo (hint-hint $64,400 each, mostly mine) Game Console with Mario Brother(s) Justin Marquis and the Catholic “Brothers” at my Saint John’s High School, Class of 2000, what a year to graduate and then become full of anx-IETY in the CITY of Boston, Mass, able to eat any of the whole-some sweet food in the luxury, cooked-up hook-up of the Dining Hall, and Beantown chilly in the Fall of the Yearly circulatory Planet URF trip around the Sun, how about that one?

Circular answer to uplifting Orbital the sewer-sludge streetside “Lids”—with my Polo hat by the stairs—yes I feel so fantastic with my wearing mostly Polo (like Dad today!) worn winter hat when chilly, a silly salamander with what but my John Deere “Stocks” predicted its profits, when I’ve heard enough Deary Mom reading her books—but my parents don’t really read my writing, that’s delightfully crafted, with them maybe viewing this soon, “Carry A Spoon” or FORK of my Traumatic Brain Injury www.wrxtbi.com

I haven’t had a glass of WINE in almost 6 years, or maybe 5 years with a mere 4 or 5 beers since 2016—SOBER with no sips in about 4 or 5 years, yeah without a single sip, not even a sip, of an alcoholic beverage! SOBER! NO BEERS!

Winded able breatheing breezy easy peasy professional person I fried a chicken dinner for the Windid heavily with such brevity the chalices succumb to gravity (cologne) of my own to spritz and spray, but not showering every day—I do every other way with what but anti-perspirant slash “deo Oreos cookies DO I RANT?”

Call me fancy or effen “Jeffry” documented identity with the brave intention to send an “Invitation” MAGA USA The Nation #1 world power $1 single (I’m single here for some such time) dollar bill at “Trivium” a.k.a. “Averte” to stay and writing every single (I’m single since 3.5 years wit’ me female of EXTREME, and Her Holy power, my Justine) 

Boobies sag a “Vesuvius” stagnant chest at really rested, underboob-crested down low with a download of Kim K. who puts the “K” in “NoKo” I think I know now that I never get side-track did Dad he bought a Tracker boat of previous decades he Donated (hi Aunt Donna Donohue!) his crummy old aluminium fast bass-boat for a green Nitro bass boat that he has in the Baker (... my Bankers at TD Bank and Merrill and Pacilio Wealth Management, where and when I be, waiting on Dan to have told me he expunged the USD down to $330 payments monthly—but why?—I signed papers for the delivery... to me, of my new or used “BMW 330xi” I wanted to drive and to pilot on roadways with my old Saint John’s friend, Tim Hays—hays to Timmy—Fox Body red Mustang—him getting poon-tangible Audacious pretty girls who’ve drifted far away from me, so can’t you see? I have did done decided and taking such pride in it—living here now when the staff screwed with me and my sleeping, eating, time-schedule, etc. when they would take my computers and I would be... put-put some Jell-O chocolate pudding and putting the pivoted golf ball motion, all throughout playing putt-putt at the huge Driving Ranges, and once I went to a Dick’s Sporting Goods and wishing for—one day some “Ping” 9-Irons, new to “Chip ’n’ Putt” golfing with my LINKS (http://alwayschillen.blogspot.com) computer game with the O/S “DOS”—me turning 41 in age two weeks away, but I wish to stay here at “Averte” or buy a luxury home near my parents—and me returned, to be, a heavy CBD imbiber from NETA with my cards, both expired, although legal now as across the MAGA lands of coast to coast—I’m apologetic for my having gotten hooked-on beer at home every night that’ll be almost a full decade soon, living with Wayne’s World and Debbie, who you Mom thanks for attempting to get my old laptop working, and MY COMPUTERS AND CELLPHONE ARE BADLY HACKED WITH MASTER-DESKTOPS!

I’m being hacked by my enemies who caused my www.wrxtbi.com events when I drove drunk in 2004 and got mostly SOBER in 2004 to 2009, and then I had Michelob ULTRA’s at home—every single night until 2016 with A.A. only twice to quit drinking so much alcohol I haven’t had a sip in 4 or 5 years! A.A. only twice at my Church in Charlton, MA “Federated Church of Charlton” GOD BLESS!