His name was Professor Alexandre Ezo Beaumont

The eloquence of the man was that admirable thing, like that of music that gives sudden tingles under the skin. It was beautiful, and more stunning than his face, even being more pronounced than his chin. It was romantic when he spoke, and when he did so, it was boldly and orderly. There was something in his voice that suggested aristocracy and certainly intellect. 

In this world, he was an espion or as is translated from that middle French Spy. This is to say that, the man was alien to this world, and had one true mission: to obtain knowledge as much of this world as he could. This knowledge, he supposed, would help him understand man more, even the world around. 

The world he did understand but man-that ignoble sapien- he did not. Man was mysterious as sometimes he run from the snake as not to be poisoned by it and then celebrate that success -suppose he was not caught by the snake- by putting poison into his body, after which he was limp and wavey and fell to ground (which here means drunk) as if he was bit by a snake.

He himself was that man, and what he understood about himself was, if put in a measure of a large weight, scaled only against a feather. He knew nothing of himself except that he was and that he too enjoyed to drink.

One thing was certain, that his appetite for knowledge and that philosophical planet from which he came: his mind, desired not to give him rest. When he was awake, he thought, and when attempting to slumber, in that great noise of words and clangs of ideas rushing back and forth against each other; it was impossible to sleep. 

He had incurable wakefulness or as would be said in this world; chronic insomnia.  

Certainly, there is that irritable unbearable-ness that comes with sleeplessness, and more true is that the longer one stays in that state of wakefullness the more he desires less of company, or even desires anything at all but sleep. 

That man in this predicament resolved to think himself into a solution. And thus, he let those churning pipes and clattering metals that turned words into philosophical arguments, to run at full speed. 

The goal was to achieve freedom from the self; his mind. To more than just sleep, he desired to be free even when he was awake. It is for this that the more, more, and even more obvious solution of sleeping pills was not considered. (Also, he existed in a time when sleeping pills were not invented yet).

His first idea was very simple and less needing of neither philosophy nor intellect. It was simply that he could attain such freedom from those clanking things if he died. 

Although it may seem plausible and very much possible that if he died he would definitely be free from his drumming thoughts and shrieking demons that gaped inside his head but this idea, to Him, disagreed with one major part of the goal at hand. It was not freedom. 

You see, he calculated that death though being simple (and in fact for being simple) was not freedom, it was accepting defeat. If he chose to die, he would choose to be outsmarted by his psyche. His pride could not accept to fall as low as to die and thus acknowledging that his mind was more than he could handle. Here is an example: if you had a horse that went absolutely mad, although it may seem easier to put it down, it is to say that the horse was so mad that the most gifted of them that tame horses had failed to find in themselves that very thing that they so profess: to tame that horse. 

He was not going to fail. 

For long he thought and even longer still...until...

Finally, an idea came to him as a speeding car comes at a tree; at full speed and by accident.  He knew what was to be done.

"There's is more than one way to define a thing tamed. " He thought to himself, "In fact, to tame is simply to assume first that wildness exists. And say that that horse so wild, is to the man, indeed wild, but like a bull plays the man at his horns dancing and charging, say, that in his nature and, indeed in himself, that wildness to the horse, and surely the bull, is tame-ness. And to be tame would be to them such a wild thing. That opposite definition that breaks the norm is what is true here. That definition being itself wild. (To this last bit, he chortled. --which here means laughed )." 

He came, to the now, more obvious and less simplified conclusion, that he should let his mind run wild: or as would be said in our world today; that he should go mad, insane, bonkers, kaput, crazy. 

"Indeed there is freedom in craziness," he pondered, "For that man who is crazy is free to be anything, free to say anything and free to do anything without raising judgment. The world, though staring, simply assumes that it is saner for him to do such a thing as say: pee on the sidewalk."

In madness, the mind is simply not enslaved to that notion of decency or any notions at all. Not even that notion of eloquence that he had so glamoured in, nay, in madness he could put seven verbs together and add two nouns and even add two more verbs if he so wished. And none of it would matter. Suppose he undressed, it wouldn't matter still, if he forgot to bathe, that too would have no matter, and more importantly, he didn't have to think, he simply did as came to his senses.

Madness was freedom indeed.

And this he spent two years studying madness and six months becoming mad. And the rest of his life he spent being free- Locked away in some solitary hospital where all free men were put, (free here meaning mad).

His name was Professor Alexandre Ezo Beaumont. 

And he lived happily ever after. The end. 

Also, he finally slept. Secretly that is all he ever wanted. Freedom and sleep.

Now, the end. Thank you. :)