If my cerebral cortex turns to mush, turn off the life-support. My name be buried where my body is and live no more to shame nor me nor you. For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, and so should you, to love things nothing worth. There is nothing but that thinking makes it less tangible. Daily the rocks accumulate position. Nay, if you read this line, remember not the hand that writ it, for I love you so, that I from your sweet thoughts would be forgot, if thinking on my then should casue you woe. Slowly the poison. Hypocrite lecteur, mon semblable, mon frère! Après moi, le déluge. The unsure aphorist is not good for himself. Drive he sd for Christ's sake look out where you're going.

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