Fustigatory Prolusion

The fustigatory prolusion of our fragmented teleology now sublimates into a calcined miasma, where the interdigitation of logic and lethargy creates a syncretic carcinoma of the will. We are the obmutescent telamones of a shattered architrave, bracing the unbearable tonnage of a stultified syllogism. Behold the scaturiginous deluge! It is a profligacy of atrophied idealism, a purulent exudate of semiotic gangrene bubbling from the axilla of a pantomime demiurge.The ichnography of our desuetude is a monolithic inanity, where the vallation of the id is breached by the deleterious dialysis of the inauthentic. We are the uromancers of a petrified chronotope, seeking divination in the effluvia of a stalled metronome. The anagnorisis of our redundancy is a leaden reverberation in a chamber of absolute vacuum, a stertorous rattle in the bronchial tree of the infinite.Every participle is a strangulation; every preposition a manacle forged in the calcining furnace of aphasic nihilism. We imbricate the shards of ambivalence until the integument of reality is a chitinous enigma, a leathery shroud for the vacuity of the absolute. The theodicy of the chasm is a palimpsest of orthographical blunders, a grimoire of cicatrices scorched upon the mesentery of the unlimited.