First the clock winds clockwise past the bygones of the retrospect hour, but now let me rewind clockwise hours anticlockwise and relay the days of the prehistoric glory of my family tree.
I am new to the ideals of pacifism, and if I really ought to be pacific enough of the current times, I am not sure but I see more pacemakers of tribulation that my gut fails to pacify. Long I fancied a dream of unrealistic wishes where all of the world would be pacifist and where all of the nations would have been eternally bestowed with a communal pacification for one another. Maybe a pact of pacification of all nations worldwide is not a pacific haven for all the pacifists after all. As I try to reminisce about my days of childhood, I cannot seem to psyche fully well the flashback of packers around the stores selling lunchboxes. I am void of those transparent memories when peace had ever harmonized the packs of people who package bombs aside the Pacific Rim, where seas packaged these into packets underneath the paddles of their waves.
Padding around pages I seem pagan to all these pacey newspapers that want to get paid for pagination and not the true pageantry that pays every pageant by virtue of aesthetic. I am a pagan of pageantry, and my padding is of being paid for pagination on these pages where I pad all the philosophies of pageantry. I am pained by my life as I feel padlocked in my small Eswatini, and to my pain itself, there can be nothing more painful than to paint a canvas when the picture pales off the painting. Maybe if painting was all a painless activity, I could have said it was less painstaking. I only pair with painkillers this time around, but the past still saddens me when I think of the paddies before the western palatine powers put paddocks in them. Life has palled away these times, and looking at the palisades afar with my face pallid, the pandemic of pollution has made my palpitations all the more palsy.
I was pampered by Africa, then on retrospect I do remember being one race of panache, that was before the skies were panelled with gases that make me pant when I palpitate. I panic today more often, not because of coronavirus, our new object of panic but because being panicky is all I can be in all of my helplessness. To see the skies papered with parading technologies that drone in a mystical palindrome. This happenings will be parables to preach of present in 2100 CE. I do not think I will find anyone sooner, some paranormal power who will understand the paradigms of my paragraphing.This paragraph only seems to parade parallel what my paralinguistic parallax wants to paraphrase. It seems a paradoxical paradise to be on these parameters of paranoia, yet having nothing paramount to make out of this parapsychology. I am paranoid to be paralysed by my panic, but even that paralysis helps me parcel my knowledge into a book of minute philosophical parings. I call this a parenthesis and not a parataxis. This is where I pare out my essence and seek pardon from my parents as a child with nothing else parenthetical to offer as philosophy. How can I write about parched paddies when my parlance is nothing more parenthetical.
But I say let's park in this parliament, and see if we can really parley our disagreements. I know that the situation of political parodies has become parlous of late and I seem to parrot in one cliche parody about how we all ought to participate without partiality to all these paroxysms. The part of my art is that I ought to partake in all my parochial participations even through this extremist literature. I can only parry partitives and parts of speech against the other partisans of whom I am censured to particularize. I am not really sure that I will pass from this parting from the other partisans, and of my partisanship I do admit I need a partnership. Through the passage of time past my passing, I wonder what passion of participle will be pasted on my name.
I am not a pathfinder, I am only pasturing on this patch because it is the only pastureland that pats me back to path. I have been pathetic long enough in all my pathos to be patient at pathological senses of patronage. If peace was peanuts, I would have then became a peaceful peacekeeper. Not in the sense of being peace loving but of being peach and peacekeeping. I will not opt to be peaky when being peach is less peacock peaky. Even if the gates of heaven peal open, being a peasant is all my peculiarity. Neither has my state of peasantry ever make me realise that I am peculiar when it comes to pecuniary aspects. I am not pedagogue enough to discount that the street art of pedagogy is what has made me this pebbly peculiarity. I only peddle for myself so I can be accepted as a pedigree pendant. Pedal around the town and you will see people with their peelings artificialised. I am not pecking your peeing peekaboos, so watch me peep out the peel of my dands. To all my peerage, peg to this with mind but not pejoratively. I have always felt penalized by the penal codes of law for my pelt.
I am black and my penalty for penmanship is to grow a penchant for pencilling penance prose. A penny and a pendant is what the penniless like me a man, see as penile power. Though my penitential penalty is still pending, I am already showing penitence while edging pendulous on a convex pendulum of time. People are penurious and we are most liable to perceive their penury as Pentecostal justice. In perspective perception is only as perceptible and perpetual to those whose psyche has the perceptiveness of a perennial performance. In this period of peril and peregrination, people of Africa perhaps it is time we perfume our performatives for peacekeeping. If this is another peripheral periphrasis, I hope its periphery perms in permanence and that only permission perpetuates it being perked at. I persevere despite persisting perplexities because my persevering as a person makes me a more personable organism. Personality personifies a person personally from the peoples. So the persona you project to others is a personalized persona of what the people around you deem as your most personal personification.
I perspire more often than not but I never let my perspiration persuade my perturbation. I know this prose seems perverse, not with its perverted pessimism but with its persuasiveness towards peace petitions. I live petrified always, not only do I get pettish about my fantasies of petting because I really do not have that phantasm of romance. Those notions of phantasmagoria only exist in my psyche. My phallocentrism phases a new metamorphosis for my phallus, sometimes I dream about many phallic phantasies about the phantom phantasmagoria of a petting. I am petulant about having no one to love me, by that I mean a woman who will comprehend my phenology. Beyond other phenomenon of phenology, I can only picture myself a philandering father about phenomenology. I am not sure about the phenotype of my children from growing up around my philandering pheromones.
Grandfather was a philistine and he was a philosopher of phenology. He was often philosophical and he would preach to me," grandson, you ought to philosophize about many matters mostly, given time son, I would have most likely rendered you all the philosophy taught to me by my own own parents. No matter how phobic you are in a tropism of phobia, always keep your phlegm".
"Grandfather, you speak so phoney, I would have likely learned a lot from you if you knew about phonemes and philology, teach me phonics and not your phoney philosophy", I always spoke not really being too phonic in vocalization. I always liked being photographed with him, though he was not as photogenic as a photograph ought to be by decency, I liked how how that photography had that photorealism. It was as if even our physical insufficiencies in physique were a photomontage of photographic grandeur. In my phrasing now I do assert that photography is something of a physicality to me. I cannot be physical without being physically photosynthesized to be pretty by photography.
I remember one day seldom, grandfather was playing his piano. His pianissimo notes had somewhat felt like physiotherapy to my physique. I had always looked upon him as an amateur physicist, not because in physical his physiognomy suggested so but because I felt there was an elemental physique of being paranormal in his graces of physicality. Picking up his piccolo in his past time to play, he always asserted, " grandson you may think I am a pictogram of the picture of an ideal masculine idol but I am not, not because picture perfect cannot always be picturized, it is just that I am a picture of what I had always pictured to be the most ideal pictogram of persona. That picture or what can I say? Oh, that pictogram never pieces away from your psyche, it is what you ever strive to achieve through projection of outlook.
I was a pig of piety, looking at all that in mind as piffle and I always pigeonholed away any chances to change. " I would let your words pierce through my ears for sure and I won't let them be bore in on my psyche", a foolish me always piked out instructions. I would pilfer sugar around the house like many of my peerage. I was too sloppy on that pigging as the crystals always piked on my clothing and pilled on it. But as I lead myself holy into the pilgrimage of attaining my own masculinity I have piloted that individuality means pillorying everything visible for scrutiny.
I was always more worried about pigmentation than being self accepting of my natural pigment. I was afraid to be pimped out for my pigmentation and would pine at pinching off my pimples. It was as if I felt pinioned to be be black and reckoned that will pin away many of the opportunities I should be entitled to as citizenry. I am done with being pinched at my pelt, this is my own personal pinnacle of self improvement and that begins with pioneering a pride for my pelt. " I do pray from now onwards that I be more pioneering in my endeavours for success and that I be more pious enough to never be piqued at my parochial duties.
And often I would piss, putting my pistol at the pistils of flowers pitching off the ground and I always felt pitiable at its size. It was not because I wished it was big as a pithead or small as a pit pony's, by it being a pivot of my manness I pitied it because I felt it needed pitying. And if it was ever pixelated, I really reckoned even a pixie would have really pitied it.
Today on 3 April 2020 I woke up placcid in temperament, plagued by my placement in my home situation. It was one of those plain days in my life where I planned nothing extraordinary, I am plaintive about the demise of one old acquintance. I was only planted to my bed and peeping through the window to see birds planing out above plants and planets. Distantly deep into the plantations I looked while watching the plasma television sometimes. But today I was only playing to be a caged bird since I was walled by planting of the plaster. I thought today would be different and that all these spiritual tensions would plateau. And through this platform which I deem plausible for parodying my politics I had often penned as many platitudes about my platonic relationship with women and these stories have played out their plausibility. Prior today I had a plastic dream about being a player, doing the same playback as other philanderers but I thought myself a playboy in that fancy. It was as if my adolescence was a playable period again, providing me with pleasant playtime and all I had was the playthings that made me playful enough to please myself. I rarely think of girls as playmates anymore, but I now regard them as playthings or at large the entire gender as a playing field. For once my life had the pleasantness of childhood innocence, with my own playing peerage as a playgroup and we dabbled on the playground pleading at life for more pleasantness.
It was all a plastic plea as all what I had been pleading for all along was only a fancy. The world around me was not sharing any pleasantries and being an amateur playwright I say it needed more playing to be pleasurably pleasing. I am not pleased often, yet I had always pledged to myself that if my life needed any pleasing, I would live pleasurably amongst the plebs whose only foremost pleasure is living itself. Time was too plentiful at my disposal and all I be was to lie pliant on the bed plaiting my hair and counting the plenitude of the stones of soils. Rightfully said, since the lockdown of coronavirus I have had time as my plethora and being young I am more pliable at rendering myself plenty pleasure. But the outbreak of coronavirus has been the plight of many peoples worldwide, and it is does not take a plodder to see that the disease has a plodding effect on us all. I was plodding around just today practising the recommended prospect of social distancing, I was even nervous of a plop and I was really offish at plosives and those of others as if the disease could really be transmitted through mere plonking talk.
The plot of the story ploughs deep into inner soulful ploy but I am no plotter to others but myself. I really want to pluck off the meaning of what is happening in this meantime while Jesus Christ is at his feet ready to descend down to amass his congregation. I try to plumb the meaning of these times, I get plugged more often at the sight of birds plunging their plumage and seemingly plummeting down from the skies. To me life has become more than just being a plump physical with a plum lifestyle, it has become my plunder. The world only seems like a plunge pool with nothing but parasites to pollute the peoples. I am one individual who appreciates the pluralism of our society, and being a pluralist I therefore comprehend everything as pluralistic and having plural entities. The word mankind itself has been pluralized to enhance the plurality of man around the globe. Since Pluto has long been dwarfed by other planets and seemingly becoming a plutoid I guess we need to ply spaceships across space looking for another planet as a haven for human habitation. I might be absurd in alleging that the world is all a plutocracy and the peoples who are plutocrats are the ones behind the ropes pulling the strings.
I really hope I am not poaching the voice of an activist with a rife allegiance for authority. I just have hard time believing there may be those pocketing coffers while the country is pocked by poverty itself. One pocketful of a coffers is what pockmark head calls embezzlement. Government pocketbooks ought to be pocketed by the pockmarked pockets, those are the ones that will not pocket as many investment pods from the coffers of revenue. I have been watching podcasts about coronavirus all day and I have now taken to this podium to preach about a poem of prose that is the allegory of my poignant sentiment. I do not want to sound poetic but if something bad happened to me I know many who may allude to my demise as poetic justice. I am a poet in prose and my poetics are warranting me the poetic license to alter grammaticality of the English language. My point is that poetry ought to be as poignant if one's temperaments are heating at high temperature. I am still scared there might be a pogrom of Christianity where many fellow Christians are martyred for their faith.
My pointers are not pointed enough to pinpoint one person who has made all life as mankind so pointless. I cannot be point-blank in this prose about anything without having to watch my tongue. I am guided by a point of order to speak under a point of reference. I do want to be a poet laureate but my poetics would have to poise and be pointy in all of their conspiracies. I try to stay poised even though I get poked at for expressing my point of view. If I dare put pointers in the prose they will say I am poisoning the system of administration. If my views are so poisonous and prickly, I bet it safe to call them the poison ivy. But I still poke at the idea of this writing being a poison pen letter, let it be as it may be conceived.
"You ought to be poker-faced sometimes son, do not be polar towards the policing of the system. Because your views can get that popularity but at the expense of polarizing the community. So pole on the right axis to survive always", my grandfather used to say. So I have to police my views and prevent them being polemical in any way. This is an allegory and not a polemic. Policy polices the system of governance everywhere from the police commissioner, to the police constables and the entire police department. The police force is policed through policy, even the police officers, be it a policeman or a policewoman, especially in this police state, you may ask even the nearby police station.
Freedom has long been a polished word, the polisher being a policy that pairs polite fools of the system. It is politic that I have that political correctness and be political, but I must not politicize about the political economy in my own political geography. Politically, I am politically correct. I do want to be politically incorrect in my thesis of political science. I am a politician too politicking about politics of governance and the polities that poll for our future political leaders. Nothing ever pollutes the joy of having to engage in polling during a polling day. As I stand on the polling booth I am pollarding pollen to pollinate the phenology of the polity in future. I am a politician in a polka dot but I am not a polluter of traditional governance, I am only helping to make mark on pollutants of government running.
Just as a polyanthus plugs of its flowers to plovers, with nothing excess off its stem to pollard, the pollination of stigma by pollen means a polyendrous medium of husbandry. In this nation of ours, besting gender dichotomy means a freedom of polygamy or polyandry by both partners. To best gender dichotomy is a polysemy that only a polyglot nation of polymaths understand. I am bored of a pomp lifestyle, I want to rather ponce around for a while pumping pompous pleasures. I would rather dive deep into a pond and ponder about self alone while indulging my ponderous thoughts. Just today I woke up like a pony with a pompom, nothing else to ponder about besides the polyphony of singing mockingbirds. I do not want to pontificate about my opinions, but being poor sometimes pools the most vocal voice of dissertation. I can attest to the poorness of life in poverty, I know the stereotype of poor relations in regard to the way people view you. I have been pootling all day around my favourite poodle, being a puppet of pop musicality I know many of my populace who have been sensitized to the pop psychology that pop music popularizes. Not only is pop popular but it is also a popularity amongst many of the populations worldwide. Hip hop is popular but it is just that I popularly relate more with pop.
I have always been a pig for pornography and that pornographic trait would relate most with my lifestyle. I would always portend that as a sign of poor virility in adulthood but now I have long ignored such portents and I have ported my own portfolio of principle. I have always been portioned in portrait between being a portrayal of self senses or being a pose that only portraits what people want to see. I have to positive that most often I would find myself stranded between a position of pleasing people and myself inwardly. I want a positive position of mind, a thesis of positivism is best possessed by factual findings. A world with positive discrimination and positive vetting makes for a place opportune with many chances for everyone. I possess the position to say a philosophy positively, but it ought to be possessive of possibilities of being possibly corroborative. It is possible to possess a post and not think that one day it is possible to let go of that possession and possibly seek new possibilities.
For posterity I would propose this poster as a postcard, only it could have been postured posthumously. I am still posturing about philosophy and I even postulate that potting posies is way more than potency of my potential to patent. I want that potent potion of masculinity and I can pot the pouch of poultry for a pound to pounce back returns. The pounding populations need more media portals who can take potshots at anyone who has been eating a lot of the pound cake. I wonder what the post office would say about the poundage of postage, and the posters that this postal postcard is trying to print out to the public. I should pour prouder even though the bread drives edges closer to the poverty line, I am powered to say being poor made me poverty-stricken all my life hence. Instead of being a power line for those around me, I become powdered and powerless. I can be powerful and dine the power breakfast with other powerhouses wearing power dressing. I should probably take a power nap from all this and come back later with enough power play to politicize more about power politics.
The practicality of a novel is a practised pragmatism and one which practising is practically pragmatic itself. It could also be sought out as practise for practical jokes and the marketing gimmickry. I could either be penning a practical joke of the upcoming centuries or I could be praised and deemed praiseworthy for my own eccentricity. I could be prancing with this prank practical joke. Pragmatically, this prose I pen for print is one where I prate a lot to myself, and where prattling about my life is my only prayer. Pray preach about the praxis of the novel, and preachers pray it preachy as a preamble of prayer. I seem like a praying mantis pranking practices of a preacher praying for praise.
It has already been prearranged that my life will always get precarious and nothing but precaution for the prebuttal preachers can help pray cast the predicament. Inverting clockwise time anticlockwise is preceding the precedent period of precedence. It is a precept that was precious for survival by blacks in the precinct of racial division. I think war will precipitate anytime sooner, not because the world is already bugged by precipitous turmoil or the pandemic of the coronavirus, but because this précis has to be precise in all its precipitation. I cannot preclude war by any of my individual precisions but I can still precisely propose that a precocious population can help predicate the oneness of mind of the people. I have a precognition for a future predicament, a prediction which is predestined but not yet predicated by the predetermined predestination.
This is a predated page of a predetermined predestination of a future predicted by my predisposition of precognition. This précis is predictive, coronavirus is only a predictor of these predictable times that predeceased my predecessors of parentage. You are predisposed to prophesies of apocalypse when you grow and eventually you develop a predilection for the prediction of a precipitous future. I personally prefer the predominance of problems than the predominant threat of a third world war. Problems predominate life practically, but more recently the latter has been pre-eminent in alerting ways. We might not preempt the war which is about to happen, for that will be a preemptive preening of preexisting happenings of mankind. I preface this prose as prefatory prediction of a future where we are our own predators and being predatory to our own selves. It is preferable to be a prefect during this time where we are still prefiguring preferences of what the future looks like. Will the ground be pregnant yet again with more prejudices? I pre-judge that to be prejudicial makes for a prejudiced citizenry but these are preliminaries of a new prehistory. It is a prehistoric prelude that will see more premarital sex and premature pregnancies. It has been premeditated that only the premiers will premiere into a play of parody in the premise of the political arena. It has long been a premised premonition that power plays people into preoccupation.
I am preoccupied with preparations for a massacre and the thought preoccupies me all the time. I am prepared for war not by preparatory terms though, I mean by being preordained by preposition to prepone the "apocalypse". Power is prepossessing and it can also be preposterous. Preponderantly, I prescribe this as a prequel where suffering is a necessary prerequisite. It has long been presaged that power will be prerogative. I am not prescient by offering this prescription, I only want to preregister the presence of war before it starts. I want to be present more than my presence of mind. A prescriptive presentation of presentable chaos will be as presentational to the present day presentiment. I would like to preside over the preservation of culture, I want to be a preserver of the press too. The pressure presses further and I am not sure how long I can preserve my personal composure. I presume to be prestigious has often pressurised me into seeking more power. It is a presumption that prestige is only pretended by power. It is all presumably, or as presumptive that power can make us presumptuous. Of my many presuppositions I did not presuppose that one day I will be preteaching about pretenders and predators. I am always nesting my ego by these pretensions, I was not mothered enough so I try to be pretentious everywhere.
I want to prevail around as pretty, but I ought not to under the prevailing pretext of prettifying one's hide for cosmetics. I am tired of prevaricating truth and pretending to prevent offending people. I am done with being preventive of truth and the prevention of freedom of speech. I know that the previous words will not pass a preview and will be preyed on as my price of downfall. I am pricked or being prickled, and most people always see my pride as prickly. I am prim of prigs and the primacy of priests as the primary redeemers of society. I have been primed for primates and prime ministers who long wished the primeval prehistory and the primitive ideal of primitivism. I rewind back the chimes of the clock back to the primordial time of prehistory before mankind even learned to primp out his pores. In my own principles I am my own principal, I am too principle to ask pay for print. If it is as printable for a printing then so it be. Whether it be on a printing press or a printout then so it be. My only priority is to prose out the prison off its prism, the prison where a prisoner of conscience becomes a private prejudice. The pristine privacy of the physical shrine embodies a hide that is private law to prize.
I know privation of people and I am privileged to be privatised off as a private sector of economy. I am privvy of the privileges which are probabilistic as freedom. I am probable to be prized those privleges but I am also probably becoming a problem of probationers to probe. I am probing the problem but the probity of my problem solving is under scrutiny. I am problematic but proactive, I am proclaiming a procedure that will proceed the procession of civil rights. I am proceeding the procession of a proclamation, all the while I was procrastinating as was always my proclivity. I am happy to procure new procceds from government. I am a producer and I produce procurements prodigiously. I am a product of procreation which too was product of the production by a productive human husbandry. I do profess to the profanities of this proclamation and I do infer that I shall profane no more. My profanity is professed, as it was this profession that made me professionalize writing about prejudices. It is professionally wise I proffer the ethics of this professionalism to you. It is proficient to be profiled prestigious but that profiling does not profit you any way spiritually. I know profit is profound in profundity on a professional level and that is profitable profusion for employer and employee.
If my progenitors are watching me their progeny better they divine the prognostication of my future feasibility. I would like to know if the prognosis ever progresses the projection of my prolific progression in profession. I had a promiscuous idea for prominence since 1 April 2020, which was to promote myself as prominent among other promising promoters of art. I really wanted a promotion of prominence and a promise for promotional gimmicks to prompt the brand of artistry. So from 1 April till today the 7th of the same month I am still promulgated by the prompting urge of my psyche to pronounce a new artful propaganda. I am not a propagandist who usually cannot proof prononciation, but when I propagandize I have pronounceable proof proofread for pronouncement.
Lately I have been pronounced to propagate a propensity that will propel my people propertied and proper prophets. I too prophesy that you shall have property and shall be proponents of already propitious black movement. We shall have a propinquity for propitiatory racial restoration. I am no longer the prophet who lies to propitiate the public but I am a proportionality of karma. Inverting clockwise time anticlockwise is proportional to the inverse clockwiseness of anticlockwise time. I propose that we are no longer proportioned by race and I propound a new proposal of peace. A proposal for owning proprietary proportions seems all the more as a propulsion of power among the racial propriety. Sometimes being prosaic is all I can be, at the same time I do not want my prose to be proscribed. I will prosecute those whose prosodies proselytize the prosecution of prose poetry. I was lingering around the idea of penning a prose poem that would become a prospective prospectus that would not be prostituted for prosperity. Prostitution is prosperous today, it was even before the ground was prostrated by prospering prostitution of art culture.
I have to protect the protest that my black protagonists protected from prostration. I have to be protective of the protectorates under my protection by being a protege of the protestation. I can all be a protestor and a protector in one shrine of mind and body. I can proudly prove that I am tired of protocol that is protracted through a protrusion of probe. I can only be protuberant in a cocoon where the provenance of metamorphosis began. I can provide a proverb about the protuberance of caterpillar from a cocoon when it morphs into a butterfly. I am proverbial for many things which provision how I perceive provocation from the general public. I have been provided for all my life and I learnt to be provident by watching my father provision subsistence. I have been provincial a lot about many ideas, I could not be provocative in psyche as I usually did not provoke myself to provincialism. Like a prowler with prowess, I have the proxy of proximate proximity for prudery. I am still prurient about pornography and I am more prune to being prudent of such propensities.
It is about half one o'clock on the seventh of April, I am psyched by the quiet night giving me an almost psychedelic sensation. I am a psychic of psychedelia. Before the psychoanalysis begins, I would like that the psychoanalysts pries out the psychobabble of my mind. Everything from this point onwards is psychedelic psychodrama for me to express in psalm psalters. I am now trying to curb out the psychological warfare which has downed my people put of their psychological psychokinesis. It is up to me to ensure that my psychology becomes a psychologist phenomenon in psychosomatic history.
I am in a pub now puffing out smoke because I feel like my pubes are pubescent enough of puberty. I have that public access now because I am pubescent and 19 years old. I am in public, even so I have just heard public affairs being addressed through radios but I cannot hear well because the echoes of the public address system pass out the pub. I hate it when the publican says his bar is not on public domain, I bet he says so thinking I am any less pubescent. Please publicist, publicize this prose as a pronouncement publication, not for the sake of its publicity becoming a public nuisance. I am not a public enemy, I know public property and I respect public housing. Even if I have been puckish by politicizing about such agendas, public prosecutor, please remember me as a public servant who learned such parodies at public school. For the sake of public relations, I promise you more updated public services and more jobs in the public sector. I am being your public-spirited public, that is why I publish that we ought to use less of public transport in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic. I promise you adequate public works and more investment and jobs from the public utilities.
Please publish this as another one of your publications, publisher. I am puckering with puffy eyes as I see the pulchritude of my geography. What a puerile thing for me as a child to puke. I am not writing for a Pulitzer Prize, I only want to pulp these words into your psyche and let this prose be my pulpit of pronouncement. I am pulsating at the pulse of the winds of change, I think I have pulverized my sense of racism stratification. Even if I be pummeled as a pumpkin, I take that as a pun that never punches my gut. I may be as far as you say I may be but I am not your punch bag. I may be punchy in speech but I do say that being fat is only a punchline to me, and I am always punctilious around such criticisms which want to punctuate me as a punching bag for publicity. I have not always been punctual, my physical punctuation had punctures there and there.
I am not trying to be a political pundit who is looking to pronounce pungent pronouncement to patronise the public. I have never been so patronising to rally political parodies against my government. Punish me if I have seemingly been as such in my conduct, I am punishable and I am your subject for punishing. Let you be the punitive karma upon me, I know I have been punting too much but it is probably the puberty. I am still puny as pupa morphing into a full fledged butterfly. I am a proud mission's missionary child, I still have my name carved therein amongst the alumni to attest my pupilage. I wish I could purchase paradise for all you populations of earth and purify you out of the purgatory we live in. I purge that I am pure, so purebred black and African. I am not saying all races be pure, let all the pure paint become a pudding of colour upon the canvas.
I am not a purist and neither am I a puritan, my own puritanism is that we be puritanical of our purity of the human essence. I do not purport myself a purple heart, for having such I would have exaggeratingly purported. I live a purposive existence, and my purpose is more purposeful than all those who purr purposely. I am no longer purposeless as before when most of my initiatives were not purpose-built inspirations. I know you will probably purse at the sight of this, but all that I have been doing of late is in pursuance of my happiness. This pursuit for happiness has led me to be all the more pursuant of my purpose. I am being a pursuer and not a pushover without purpose. I may be a pushy pussy but I never let my purulent pustule put me at putters. The ground we live in is so putrid and putrefying and it putts but never gets fat.
This is not a putsch pronouncement but a puzzle, something that puzzled me enough of late amongst my other pyramid pygmies of puzzlement.