One wonders, at this odd hour, how one can so oft arrive at it, clean-shaven and productive, whilst still managing to do so little that the rest of the world revels in. It true, that the evening hours are for a select few. The lovers, the fighters, the philosophers who rage against the daylight, and the proles who rage against the night.
The true midnight method, the darkest hour of deepest thought, oft arrived but seldom kept, and mostly malevolent in its means and ends. One must work harder to end its means then to become the paradigm of it's politik.
Digression helps very little in moonlit cartography, as it usually ends up leading to tangents unexplored in the topic untouched, but here I will try to be concise, not for lack of will nor lack of time, but for the purity of the thought.
One wonders, at this odd hour, how one can so oft arrive at it alone. One need not wonder, one simply need seek another evenoon evangelist and think to themselves, "What madness be this that there be method in it?" for the immediate response is now and forever shall be, "I'll have no part in a psychosis that is not my own, for ruling my own mind is one of the few boons still granted me in my madness, if only temporary during the light."
