The Night I went crazy, maybe got a little lazy, and went public with it all:

But don't worry, it's just a faze—one solitary puzzle-piece in the mystery of my character. And since my character stars in this little soliloquy, let me say a word or two or three, and perhaps more, if you'll allow me to be a bore.

I was contemplating how bathetic a union even the most erudite, civilized, and cultured mind must make when it ties nuptial bands with the body—a significantly embarrassing machine securely bound to the laws of entropy. However refined, utilitarian, poetic, philosophic, far-reaching, genius, and profound the intellect may become, it is always fastened to all the absurdities of human reality. The poetic, prosaic, and hilarious are all twined together; they are part of the same braid. To see the evanescence of all human pretensions to apocalyptic progress you must go only so far as the nearest toilet.

Does this banish the poetic and mythical beauty of dancing human gods and goddesses? Not a bit; it only asks that they not frown as they twirl around, and that once in a while they dance upon their heads instead of their feet, just to see the silliness in it all, and laugh all the more joyously. For joy and the poetic never have despised a good natured, belly-ache-producing, high pitched, hiccuping laugh—the kind that goes on and on well after wit has excused himself from the table, prudence has left the room, and sense has withdrawn to the corner. Afterwards you wake up and realize that you have completely forgotten what made things appear so funny, but that it doesn't make any difference at all, because it was terribly fun anyway, and that matters a good deal.

Next you might wake up and realize that I haven't gotten to the point yet, and that I don't plan to either. I have no point, in fact. But I will remind you that true genius is bound to first express itself in shoddy, overwritten, kitsch a freshman wouldn't own, before it spreads its wings and glides into eloquence. For, while on every other ground I would deny the doctrine of progress, my healthy self-esteem must exclude itself from such scathing scrutiny

At this point you are permitted to laugh, even if you must do so at my expense. I'm okay with that. Because, you see, I really do believe in a good laugh. Perhaps that's why I am sharing this with you, when I really shouldn't have written such an illogical stretch of symbols in the first place. Anyway, the harm is done, and now I'm done too.