Ecdysis: A treatise

Having written myself, to a state of cerebral fission, on the mere constance of time and evanescence, beyond the anchor of subjective synthesis, I fear that my mind has plummeted into textureless blurs of nihilism. The pure absurdity of perpetual evolution, and the minuscule remnants of subliminal tethering, have left little to spare, for the lucid intervals of the conscious. I must say the elasticity of it all, beguiles me, for who can say, that while deriving 'plausible' account, from a moment of soliloquy, that the linguistics of sensation, can be fathomed beyond the idealism of the past? If the former experience itself cannot be rendered to a singular rudiment, then who is to assign any compact locus, to the abundance of its colorful antiquity, when not enveloped by the fringes of oblivion? But beware, the liberty of the soul, upon this staple reminder is at, an extensive cost, for one cannot say, the extinct offsprings of gushing memory, can induce an unsullied semblance, of lost times. In the end, the resort to understanding the reminiscence of lore is what can be translated in the present, and thus, we shed the fibers of our existence, through a course of many unfathomable deaths.