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My Depression has increased, now the Eeyorish glow of despondency is forever increasing without trespass, without bounds.
The time of taciturn volume, dark clothing and a reserved attitude has come.
Where the sensory lugubrious feelings inculcate and remain instilled, almost as if the styptic cure is indefinite.
Where the churlish and dyspeptic internal atmosphere is forever radiating and enhancing the malignant and acrimoniousness of my external personality.
That season of being characterised as rancorous, whilst displaying a careless attitude of austere astringent virtue.
Where my usual writings of history and theory cannot be accomplished due to a lack of trenchant fondness. Overcome by dejection one cannot simply accomplish what is expected of him, for what is expected of him is irrational and immoral.
4
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