Your commonplace, orderly, natural, regular, standard, customary, general, conventional person has been said to not exist before, in the sense that there's no such thing as average, really, when you consider each individual to be their own unique set of specifications.
This is the danger of allowing a branch of mathematics, in this case statistical thinking, to get in the way of a clear line of sight. Instead, the normal person exists, and a sober assessement of such a creature will certainly yield terrifying results. For it's the very ordinary person indeed who's ill nature has more in common with the baseness of all more than anything. Such a specimen facilitates the function of fate.
Here stands our monster revealed in all the red, raw ruin the painful mastery of honesty bestows. From the lip of this constantly slipping into abyss, we race, each one of us, who seem to stay at least one step ahead of normal. But there mustn't remain much rest for us. Their typical pace will lead them to eventually catch up to where we're at. For you see, we must keep on running to stay as many paces ahead as we can from that which remains base in this world.
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