[Nota bene: the following was composed in those first waning hours of fortune so long granted and enjoyed whereupon one, in shock, fears the shell of the blooming nut one, in the headlong tumble from grace, crash-landed dead-on, shall be of so peculiarly intractable a nature as to be best given up from the onset as a bad job, and that the sole solace one can stubbornly cling t0 is the perverse rapture of self-pity. I pray such puerile dramatics may be pardoned by the reader on account of the author’s acknowledged immaturity of age and constitution, though a more rigorous remonstrance is perhaps reasonable.]

Wrench free from the execrable and sanguine post-natal dross the transublunary crown whence peels spiritful tocsins of sibilant sybils’ cauls, and appraise in supine exultation the Great Omentum of the Apocalypse, a hypostatic Mosaic [of dichotomous cells respectively telotted to be numbered ‘hind taut bands of sinew with his prostratedly besotted dotards, born on bifurcated bournes to antipodal bournes, one burning, the other of Antipodean Heden, the former feasting lustily on corporeal sinew, yet like an contrepicurean caricature waterboarding their appetites in whet inundation, subsumed in their ever burgeoning atavistic avarice till it comes up dry, and they are dead; the latter idolizing every morsel as gustatory benediction, every drop as metabolic ablution, and as the Diet, once packed with martinarian junkers, interposes an embargo on equilibrium and indurates its karnayim by its mortal mendicancy, batters the soul in thunderous investiture, and upon over-running the redoubts with indubitable élan, unleashing at the heart, (which is the whole) of the deracinated and bowled labyrinth, with a gleeful gambol (’tis for dancing, after all) the suspended ekstasis; umpteenth golden fulgerations rend the mephitic miasma of slag et lag, as if the Primum Mobile, in the throe of a movíl vagary to ascend to the uttermost his nominal destiny, derobed collective Peter and Paul alike in effrenate debrition of all holy…de repente, all held stock-still, in universal apnea (did it repent, did Baalzebub in his wanton euphoria, like a listless schoolboy interspersing his Schmuztwortsuche, sublunary poriomania long dead, with the blurred whirling of a globe, set the Earth a’spinnin’ in a precise parity of velocity did the heriomatyrs saunter bemusedly through the streaking tariquas ere, their liberation from the immemorial importunation of vacuously cold calls, in the almighty tumult of their jubilant valediction, rive the inhering bugbearings of space and time), until “all at once and ever”, in infinitisimal autoprolepsis progressing unto a kaleidoscopic infinitude, those stars apostate in time-lapse burst through the whitless wight in an enwrapture of criss-cross golden gigoloskein] caught in-seine. Whence tributary doth he tumble, whence ordinance dictated his gravitational orientation, did his ferryman tend to a more grimly psychotic or sententiously pompous aspect? Let us abide by the Eastern Orthodox waiver to not wave away divine myst with too animated a sweep, and grant this catechismic abyss a wide berth in anchorage of our worship.

But it’s all over now. All I built up as to my extrinsic character and its repute, nay, it even ascended, at risk of indulging in a mild affliction of histrionics (I am well beyond dwelling in indecision as to assays to that ascriptions), réclame, over the past year, is tanagra dust sifting uselessly through my hands, nay, worse than uselessly, for nihil is useless, the destruction of a great portion of that which I took pleasure in my life for is utterly, irreparably, calamitously pulverized. What am I to do, who to turn to? What could I possibly fathom proffering to me that would for even a moment palliate this seemingly indefinite intercession of lassitude. Even when I absquatulate far from the boring eyes of those who know, disrelish, and contemn my object, reckoning, and plight, the vestiges of this nigh on unmitigated ostracism and excommunication shall be long in discarnating from my person. Perhaps, at so late a juncture as I find myself, as if my senses had fickly decamped from their happy home and I had awoken in the dead center of a sinisterly mantled, forebodingly undulating, forsaken and forsaking, inscrutably intricate and capacious labyrinth, yes, at so late a stage as this, might I not summit to that inescapable apex of the saddleback, and thus potently and poignantly drive home my point into the cranium of those thick-skulled tormentors. Alack, I do lustily despise myself, and see no panacea for this riddlesome riddling riddance. I suppose the judicious course would be to stew in this grim grimpen for the next few days and see if I can’t espy a steamboat, but I am not hopeful in the slightest, nor do I nor rightfully could, expect any constituent of the game to efface this decisively or decidedly from their mind’s eye when they, if they ever, cast their thought to me. It’s over the rubicund Rubicon now, and I am no Caesar, as much as I tried to comport myself as a worthy helpmeat thither. Instead, I am minced, like in Titus Andronycus, and shall soon be consumed at my vanquishers’ discretion (not exactly a flattering analogy, but I presently hold a very low conception of my merits). I feel it my erogatory (is there any other; that is all there is, all there will be, superarrogatory erogation and, snapping at its heels, demotic derogation) duty to withdraw my odious countenance from so much as the periphery of those whom all I could impart with is further discomfiture and duress. I will renounce all intercourse which I might have wringed from attendance on the premises (but exiguous as it presently stands, so don’t think I don’t appreciate that such an abrogation unto abnegation isn’t exactly noble or meritorious), and lead the life of an ascetic hermit, just for a brief spell, a shifting shrift. This is not a pathetic effort to garner sympathy (however much a pathetic sight as is my current mean mien), for I wish and deserve none, beyond that sort of intellectual affinity which whines and winnies out for justice. I just desire, I just desire…a peaceful and peaceable cognizance that I walked, in my laboriously shambling manner, down the tertia via to this sublunary bonfire. Where did that cross wa[o]nder off to? (look at the immutable, immovable horizon, friend, lest you become nauseated, burning logs sway so).