Tremayne Curtis, offhanded greeted by names of world greatest philosopher and poet of the 21st century, sees still not himself in those lights; but easier thinks to employ strength and encounter by yet such ways as implicates him.
He is one to have partaken in deathly trances oft as he draws breath, and plunges willy-nilly in Reason as one fever-brained does in strange fits! And by some curious force seeking consummation, is harassed with the pen to confess intelligences thence obtained.
Whether these be wit, or mere initiates of a giddy brain, provokes Thought infinitely – estranging Question. All in one rolled, our author purposes still to nourish the ill-wracked, lean, and bloody world; by this means, and other not as yet perceived.
Thus is the purpose in the writing infolded, yearning, in the sweet reader’s reading; lest he be wracked in vain. He gives thanks, and contents not, most starved, in the giving still, to all that might read him at all!