Here's to you, Frederick, your infinitesmally-cracked skin-pocked perversion of a self anecdoted reliant, hell bent on seething your unorthodox views to the world; you the robed judge of judges, pondering on the ills of life, pretending to prevent the weight of the world, and it's axis' from tearing at your skin, flesh from bone, cold stone of a slab, canvas torn. And in so much as you deny, ignoring the seamly ooze of unoxydized blue blood, rich with nitrogen, to river to a pool below your feet, you fail to fake a clown for clever magician of a well qualified scholar of a son who was born the sailor of another country. You have fought fire with gasoline, hindered a disease, crippled innocent life dribbling maze of cloudless window panes, waking for a moment of terror to collide and shatter their once whole and finite structure...and you do, how you do, how do you do, an incomplete portrait of squinted eyes, under candlelit, dribbling the fascination of another less then holier than, though shall not kill of a commandment upon the earth of the righteous and forsaken. Frederick, you overman, cannot stand against the decay of the skin, as it wrinkles to a flaky subsistence, and for this moment, you grant us an instance of trivial insight into the envelope of your mind, tightened to adhesive with your weak saliva, and you mail us as you do your mind to another abode, one wholly and holier more than a body, of a christ, a savior of a communion, that his sins were a favor, no, more willingly a sentencing of me, and of you to a life of fragile decadence, and ill purported tolerance of many who do not deserve to be tolerated, deserved to be wind burnt and sent packing, sent to the town square for a frollicking of folly and meriment in tortuous propensities.
I care not, Frederick, for your whimsical nature, when attempting to shed light on the moments of sheer human madness, that a laught like that might be more a reason for terror and menace; I hear a shriek I am sure I could conote as humorous, but then take a look at the black in your eyes, and am sure I see the many head-filled baskets that represent the greater minds of the enlightenment. Nobody expects the Nietzschean Disposition, the mental exquisition, handled brilliantly with noose, or with guillotine, or precisely at this moment, the tap quick click of the keyboard key: And to finish what we have started, nobody expects it from the inkwell, dip and the drip across parchment or hemp, or whatever paper ties ink to page, sets mind free to rage and all at once, deciphers god in the cracks between the wooden floor boards! So much for now Frederick, til next time!