Depraved

Within the deficiency of similtude, among independent contemplations of subjective summary, which withdraw from the slender margins of reality the fundamental insight of existence, it is us humans, who are at all times endangered by the dissociation of crux. It is the exciting obscenity of selfish private purchase, calculated manipulation and the tendency of arrogant assertion, all which refute the contradictions of experience, and that unregistered particle of a drifting reality. The opportunity of exerted caprice is not at all times, derived from sudden chance, but rather the slow receding caress of sentient simulation; the abrupt evanescence of common understanding within the unbridled evolutions of the conscious. I blush to admit that I am not well, and yet well enough to understand the margin at which the remaining endowments of my faculty have not been given to complete waste and in the present, I am a man as any man, but with horrendous sins. You must very well know, the strangeness which is, that man of my reason, are confined and secluded from the necessary ration of intercourse, because of dysfunctional cognitive comprehension and consequently unlawful practice, and yet this is merely desperate negation of truth, which is that transgression is the capital of human industry, and judgement is only the hypocrisy of salvation. Indeed, it is not all men and women, who can just as myself say that they have murdered one of equal kind, but this is only petty argument, for those who abide by jurisdiction in the favor of societal commodity, when within their mind there exists an absorbing void of disruptive channel. Those intrusions of thought, which gnawed my soul, with vivid images of discomforting subject made me giddy and I chuckled more often than one should in the face of impending subversion. I saw what others could not, and yet never could one champion this, as the common attribution of the tortured philosopher. It is not necessarily disease, which isolated my usually conversant pattern of explanation, this is only the therapist's phenomena; it was the necessity to which, the outcome of designated experience, thrilled me first in the abstract of thought and at length initiative enterprise. I had many, instances where a particular woman in our quiet neighborhood, despite my novel discovery of her person, made me reminiscent of a participant, within a life, which I myself could not appreciate to have lived, and yet cannot say did not wholly exist. I believe she visited me, in the precise hour of midnight, when the quiet of the earth was abundant, and unwholesome. She had no particular narration of our former acquaintance, and yet her company was most nourishing. In the ensuing morning, there would not be a fragment of her presence, to solicit an atom of impression, and I would be once more in solitude. I still saw her, sauntering in the streets during the noon, amidst teeming pedestrians, and an ambivalence of positive excitement and shredding horror, pulsated in my cerebrum. When the night came she would once more, visit my abode and the unpleasant monotony of our dialogue thrilled me more with percussive sensations of obscene morbidity, those which are at fluctuating intervals, a gravity of ambiguous lucidness. The apparitions of the coming morning, collapsed into daylight and I had long been giggling with unease, for there was an inert nude woman, upon my floors somewhat putrescent and upon the walls, in the gaudy scarlet of her life pools, was the text "HELP ME".