Ziusudra Prevaricates

     The first thing about insensate mind you need to know, if you really want to try this madness: dress right.  Nothing fancy, nothing clean, nothing suggestive that you learned from some sad parentage, how not to be a beast.
     Lie down, never to rise again. Whether or not you actually do rise again is, not only, none of your concern, none of mine, neither. It is a kind of impiety to think about resurrection in the unknown country where expectation, however hedged about with probabilistic qualifications, is a sin.
     Who are you to think about such things? Believe me, those without any noticeable organs of sense will see you, will hear your dry leaves rustling on their ghost crab pins across stone midnight walks, will taste your skin, nose you out, know you, know you, know, you, not forget.
     Or don't believe me. The only recurring motif to have so far survived the dozens of failed remote-controlled expeditions underworld is this one theme of the precisely administered advice ignored.
     Nonetheless, you will be, if you dress neatly and appropriately, with a certain gloss, a certain sheen that gives away how recently you have been and may yet dream of being alive, or something like alive, or not only alive but aware and bursting with ripe, infective capacity for speech, destroyed. You will be, by that sheen, that dream, found out. And nothing destroys like nothing destroys.
     So do what you want, of course, but if what you want is normal wanting, pay no mind and hold no hope. You will return in the morning with nothing or you will not be allowed your return at all.
     Ignored all that? Good, you're ready now for your personal, nightly disaster. Just remember, once you forget, I'm not going down there. Either that, or I'm not coming back, one or the other, not with you tonight, not tonight of all nights, not tomorrow night, not anymore.
     Oh, now you're bored. Poor thing. Forward! The night is dung, the dawn is flowers. We shall not be one without devouring the other.