Remorse, repentance and a sincere effort to undo the seemingly daunting if not impossible past is expiation for unspeakable wrongs -- colloquially speaking. Worldly context. -- Not self–flagellation -- that's masochistic or sadomasochistic -- figuratively, metaphorically or literally. There's no antidote -- countermeasure for those Daleks we summoned and invoked ourselves for nothing but unabashed evil. Now, our shamans couldn't possibly make those zombies play dead again -- for real.
Yep, yep -- I'm talking our personal Frankenstein's monsters that never seem to stop gnawing our entrails!
Tsk–tsk!
Look that dead zombie is pouting again. I swear I'm not a junkie or even a hippie -- mister -- trust me!
Have you ever taken any illegal drugs?
I don't smoke, drink, or do drugs.
What's substance abuser, anyways?
A Whirling Dervish -- In denial: Writing a book in whimsically self-imposed, altruistic exile seesawing between macabre, unearthly ecstasy and spiritual hara–kiri.
That's making me schadenfreude phobic!
The horrifyingly pertinacious guilt that stalks real soon after we succumb to yet another bizarre satanic insinuation in dark and deep recesses of our minds in spite of our so–called resolute mind–sets.
No wonder, I see ubiquitous shamefaced people like me. Mirror images are real eh?
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