In the myriad delusions of psychoanalytic verbosity is the neverending cycle of overtheorizing around fetiches and fantasies built upon dishonest and psychotic political ideologies, carved upon the characters of feeble, fragile and limited men.
The first and most amusing is the thanatophobia, as well as death drive. As the eschatholical shadows of their own utilirian, egotistical and vapid minds, in each attempt, these authors, namely spitters, fail to recon Death as not an object but an event and cannot derive or integralize any element and certainly no ontological argumentation shall magically materilize or dawn from it.
The carry of a sane and cane penman is to subtract the formidability disallocated and kidnapped from any genuine ancient mythology and ridiculize the psychoanalytic remainders, namely, the great empire of psychopathic and feeble cockroaches loudly representing Great Mother Modernity in its incessant endeavor to patronize the sculptures and cities shaped on the voices of the one God.
In its derranged and ludicrous attempt to outlive its own decadence, these schizofrenic and vile leeches parasitize and slowly feed off the corpses of spirits that revealed the only Truth that has ever been. From the sake of the coming Light and the one already traced by our forebears, it's the obligation of strong and genuine men to trace, expose and offer the antidote to this and all child modern diseases that have come to be.