Etchings of a mental tide

"I was harbouring under the mistaken belief that my utterings splurged, rather than dribbled; more skittered than gushed.  Like a redolent faucet of misanthropic toilet paper, that wrapped my sub-consciousness in the latest bucket-load of crap exorcising the minds of news editors for the day, i realised - too late - that none of it really mattered. 

That, crystallised thought brought tears of hysteria jetting through dammed ducts; as the realisation all those smoky nights spent wringing an iota of meaning from writhing mountains of data, was for nought."