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Oh frightful disrepair these hidden devils make of my forsaken form. At the hour of four last night, I was stricken, as by some devine retribution, by this disease the likes of which I had no prior warning to. It is a sullen and contemptuous vitality that drives me to commit my thoughts herein whilst my sour mood of broken dreams permits me unusual speech, so that I might look upon these notes in later times and know that true suffering is not a dream. Oh vile third d**k of a body to rebel against your master so! He who had not but love in thy part now is shattered by thine deceit. Wherefor this cruel trick is hatched in thy contempt of me God, I do not know. I had been good, I had been natural, and so did not deserve this torture you now determine shall be my undoing. I shall die of this contempt soon enough, but before thy wicked trick be done, know that Alex was a dreamer, and was want only of thy freedom to rome and be himself in life. I have many regrets, to die so young, but mostly so is my desire to want more of life, to taste sweet nectures in the garden of wicked humanity, and be as both angel and devil to those that define what it is to be "normal."
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