[ WP ] An autobiography by a person with an absurd perspective on life that uses alliteration throughout .

Why? 
 
 What a word. Beginning with a whimper, a whistle, and then whittling away into white noise. 
 
 Why? 
 
 Well? 
 
 Why not? 
 
 An explanation? An interpretation of insolence that inundates the uninitiated with an incensed insanity? 
 But is it insanity? Mayhaps. Mayhaps not. Mayhaps I'm marking the commencement of a movement! An amazing approach to life that lacks the locks that shackle and shame us into conformity. An approach that awakens us to the pure poetry that pervades our very being and presses us to strive, not for permanence, but for perfection! 
 
 How could a thoughtless thorn of a thing such as this be thought at all, you think? They've claimed it is only ought to be thought by those caught in insanity. I deride those definitions as - for lack of a finer phrase - dumb. 
 
 So - finally - I will put down in words my life: 
 
 I was born a baby boy with bright blue eyes and a bulbous belly-button to two parents who pored over their precious tot. They raised me and wrought me and loved me and taught me. My lessons languished when they lingered too long on the topics of politics and money. But I could not temper the tide of my wonder at topics such as science and art. 
 
 So I grew and I grew and I growed and I grew and so I kept my mind fluid. The furious facts that danced in my mind wore curious capes that were both clever and kind. 
 
 And then, it all ended. 
 
 I got a job. I worked all week. I lost my energy to strive. I lost my energy to speak. 
 Years went past. Horrid, horrific years. They overflowed with dark nights of lusterless dreams and dark days of the grey ticking of clocks. 
 
 My wife wore a sundress the day I met her. 
 
 She hummed a happy hymn that she thought no-one could hear, and her laughter, like glitter, fell sweetly on my ear. We'd bumped into one another at the bus-stop, banging against the bars, and she simply smiled, saying sorry, very softly. For the first time in forever, I felt colour flow into my heart. 
 
 We chatted like chastised crows, and we both missed our buses. For hours our conversation meandered meaningfully around adoration through the carefully woven wit of wondrous discussion. 
 
 We married mere months later, and I jettisoned that job joyously. 
 
 Yes, we struggled with money, making merely meager amounts that mostly covered our small accounts, but we had each other and every day was an everlasting adventure. As we aged our love advanced to amazing new heights, while the white-collar workers divorced and wallowed in plight. Even today those men ask me how my wife and I survived, and I can only reply that it was by right of our ritualistic rejection of their rules. 
 
 So to you, dear reader, all young and wide-eyed: Might I suggest living, before the day that you die?
