Dark is a way and light is a place

Mindaddled by the repetitive strain of drafting and redrafting chapters of this thing, engaging in hand-to-hand combat with the Lernaean beast, a dimestore Alcides - and I'm starting to think that I too must have been born on the fourth of the month, even if I've never understood why it is that good wine needs no bush and have always preferred to sell smoke instead - and marshalling bibliographies with all the command of a born follower, and wrestling with the twin demons of MS Word which, left at large to its own dark designs is sure to wreak terrible havoc with its unmotherfuckingbelievably malevolent widow-orphan control settings, enough to drive the orphaned Orestes to madness and the widowed Clytemnestra to find a new husband, and on the other side the darksome presence of those glassless, sightless Windows that threaten absolute annihilation at every turn, since "C" is as corrupt as a Russian politician and "D" is as uncooperative as a stoolie with three fingers left and a daughter in pre-school ("A" served the decree nisi a long time ago...I don't want to talk about it), I have now reached a state of absolute equilibrium - unlike the OS which only ever functioned by virtue of a kind of punctuated equilibrium that became radically destabilized whenever the Zephyr blew at sunset or whenever Jupiter entered Gemini or Endymion entered Diana if I might put it in those terms - and so, contrary to appearances, I feel completely relaxed as I type this and even if I come across as somewhat irked by minor annoyances I feel able to cope with everything the world can throw at me and if in the final analysis life is to be mindlessly, mindfully, into the city's iron heart, endured, and out again, upon the unplumb'd, salt, estranging sea and if most men live lives of quiet desperation then I'm grateful enough for this to be the case and let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth if this be untrue since after all it's well said that abeunt studia in mores that is to say that they go away studies in morals of course so there's really nothing to fret about because all there is really is that and if there isn't that then there's this and if there isn't then that's all that matters when we forget ourselves to marble and even if that's not the case, I've never been much of a philosopher so where do we go from here if not back to where we started, that is to say to the point at which the author, doubting his own abilities, disgusted with his own laziness, profoundly frustrated and ruing the missed opportunities of the past three years, attempted to mitigate the charges of inadequacy and fuckwittedness by displacing his own stupidity onto inanimate objects, senseless systems and substandard software and shoddy solid state storage, just as now he strives for the captation (yes, that is a word) of the reader's benevolentiance (and so's that) by whipping himself into a frenzy just as any good heautontimorumenos would, and if this is in fact the case then surely he ought to take this opportunity to make his exit, pursued by a bear or no, and indeed this is exactly what I intend to do as soon as is humanly possible but as I do I can't help but append the following by way of codicil, to the effect that, to paraphrase a well-known author, even as I strain to give birth to a camel I bring forth only a gnat.