750 Winks Time Traveler Took To Pre Antebellum America - Vignette

Written by matthew harris |
Published on:

     Please pardon my lack of ability to communicate in a clear and concise fashion.
     The heat from summer like temperature-induced drowsiness, which effort to keep eyelids opened a futile effort. So this fellow relented to visit Doctor Mehmet Ozzy Osborne land during his Black Sabbath. Thus mere moments ago, while adrift in deep, profound and tranquil sleep (which seemed to encompass more than the usual one hour or so dog gone cat nap), an undetectable transformation quietly, softly, and subtly jettisoned me from the here and now to the flux of events awash mid eighteen hundred America.
     Prior to waking from this hypnotic, trancelike state (populated with exquisite and psychedelic dreams nearly true to realistic personages) held me spellbound. Akin to a frictionless, gliding locomotion mechanism (safely and securely transporting human cargo known as Bard Dull Bee the BuzzFeed ding scrivener beyond present) ferried me across corridors, labyrinths and passageways countless decades ago, I absorbed ambient mind-set, beliefs, ethos, gentility, integrity, morality, nuanced opinions, political thought-processes, vices and virtues of men and women, who accident of fate writ their biographies cradle to grave scores of years ago.
     After an instantaneous indeterminable interval of fleeting seconds or minutes, a blinding flash indicated space-age contrivance approached speed of light, which pure energy form accompanied with surrealistic kaleidoscope of brilliantly spectacular colors, which virtual phenomena quite visible even with protective gear donned over entire head.     
     Soon cessation of warp speed ceased with nary audible clue, and total darkness descended. Awareness (although entire corporeal held in semi-unconscious state) provoked gradual wakefulness to occur. Nerve endings began to tingle and twitch and freedom to move limbs triggered reflex to arise and stand on firm ground. At first glance, I detected an immediate alteration in the once familiar external environment evident from whence departure took place here in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania. Silent exultations of assorted emotions softly passed thru these closed lips. Changes extant could be seen in all directions. Before steadying myself on these slender legs, a temporary hesitancy and uncertainty prevailed what decision to adopt. An automatic impulse to walk toward home the most natural destination worthy of consideration. All the while, a sense of déjà vu predominated. The landscape appeared vaguely familiar and the meteorological conditions nearly identical to very recent traipse across topography. Nonetheless, I proceeded. After a rather prolonged visual observation that nothing looked familiar increased excitement, intrigue and puzzlement arose. No need be worry myself and provoke undue anxiety. Without further ado about nothing, I (King Lear) headed toward the shade offered from a large tree. Soon after comfortably seating this limber and slender physique in the Yoga lotus asana, I reached inside the knapsack (kept close to my person since initial embarkation) and began to read a book within genre of national conflict that rent asunder and nearly tore the fledgling roots of democracy from this continent.
The inimitable and prestigious raconteur (magically attired in avant-garde couture pertinent to the fashionable citizen of chosen episode) found himself aroused from awesome visionary experience (vivid imagination easily sparked from words on paper) by a curious (rag tag) group of bystanders who curiously scrutinizes as if I came from another planet. A collection of ordinary looking folk immediately queried per the happenstance that found me in the country of Philadelphia circa eighteen hundred and sixty (plus or minus a couple years). They asked innocuous divergent questions at first mainly because exquisite personal apparel, profound wisdom and worldly knowledge appeared more sophisticated than found in this rural locale. Unsure to affix label of foe or friend (whereby potential death versus life respectively hung in the balance), a series of incisive (rapid-fire) inquisition conducted sessions scrutinized whether sympathies supported northern (Union) or southern (Confederate) cause. After cogent and convincing answers to topical and typical inquiries satisfied idle spur of the moment probe (bred from versatility in the arts of debate and rhetoric) reassured motley crew of revulsion against rebellion south of Mason Dixon line, the focus of dialogue turned to opinions per fiery abolitionist movement afoot, and hot button issue of slavery. Although confident and possessed with intuitive sense that no harm prevailed, I gave measured pause prior to uttering commentary on this controversial and volatile issue. Awareness incorporated composite ironic host. This conundrum didst flatly contridict established dogma pertaining to esoteric Civil War details acquired thru years dedicated to entire studious learning. damning first hand observation pertinent, which knowledge amassed from obscure communiques.

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Author: matthew harris
BRIEF BIOGRAPHY OF MATTHEW SCOTT HARRIS: Matthew Scott Harris (the second offspring and only roe: mon son of Boyce and the late Harriet Harris) made his unheralded debut on a brutally cold January xiii mcmlix His father - employed as a mechanical engineer with general electric - heard the powerful lungs of this gangly newborn prior to being permitted to cradle said infant.


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