Nadir

The numerical purveyance of factual compromise, has designated a rather staggering figure to the population at large although we have at all times known, since those theological dialects became invested in our curriculum, that the intrusion of death, remains undistinguished. Soul after soul, has derived the effect of tragedy, from exposure and experience, and in the noetic spindle, divined such poignant fears of the macabre, so that in the lapse of time, we find victory in our existence. This is only a partial integration of holistic evidence, for the many aspirations of dogmatic idealism have sullied the fragility, which is in the concept of prejudice and human preservation. What then I mean to say, erudite reader is that, if the extensive continents of our existence, transcend the conditioned projection of our experience, then who is to say, we have not died, eternally! He! He! __You will call me mad, and I will nod my head with a complacent smile, for indeed the instruments of my autopsy on such lore have arrested me to unfortunate outcome, and I have given myself, such liberty, to examine the diameters of our noetic locus. The transgression of curiosity, is in the insatiable inquisitions of evidence when given tangible concepts of empirical theology, and the path which I have tread, has made me an unfortunate skeptic, of the very air that I breathe. Existence is a mere condition of the mind I tell you, for how then can one explain, the events of the yesternight. I shall explain. I was dreary, from an unquenched lapse of depression, and the buoyance of my mind was upon the dystopian seas of paracosm. I found the eurysome grandeur of my prospects too unhealthy for contemplation, and an anhedonia possessed my spirit, so that I could only lounge in quietude. It then happened, that with a blade, I caressed the surface of my skin, upon the wrist, but the blade became lustful of my bone, and I permitted it victory over my demise. It was quiet when the crimson fluidity of my life channel made me nauseous and I felt the quivering mortality of my composure, coursing through the soul. I was sure of my death, and so I slept in the abundance of oblivion. Dreamless slumber or death, whatever you may call it, I awoke eventually with a rapture of rejuvenation and inhaled the scent of my abode. All was unchanged and my wrist had not a stain of harm, and yet, my floors had been covered in my blood!