superfluous infecundity

perhaps life is a little too glossy for this inchoate peccant; perhaps life is a simply too overbearing in its dystopic redundancy. whatever the reality, such hermeneutic existence could only allude to maudlin expressions of anachronistic euphuism, a paradigm largely frowned upon in didactic modernity. the surfeit excogitation of Man's allegorical consternation, at once mordacious and emetic, can only be christened oneiric.

or perhaps life itself is nothing more than a vacuous glissade, the moseying harangue of some blithe panjandrum, an egregiously fulminating proctorship condemned to pandering her simous, unctuous partisans.

and thus such pleonastic pulchritude is insouciantly dispensed. sagacity or amaritude, the dolorous fardel of life merely pandiculates.