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#¤$†=^,,,, Now, Usually I Feel Good (Maybe?), But ,,,,^=†$¤#
¶#¤$†=^,,, This Time Of Confusion Also Leads To ,,,^=†$¤#¶
#¶#¤$†=^,, All Analyzes Ending In "Useless" - I ,,^=†$¤#¶#
##¶#¤$†=^, Was Being Bothered By Something In A ,^=†$¤#¶##
#¶#¤$†=^,, Song Or Movie Or Book, So I Think, How ,,^=†$¤#¶#
¶#¤$†=^,,, Would I Have Done It, What Is The ,,,^=†$¤#¶
#¤$†=^,,,, Purpose Of This Process, What Does It ,,,,^=†$¤#
¤$†=^,,,,, Consist Of...? And Through The Process ,,,,,^=†$¤
$†=^,,,,,, More And More Pieces Falls Off Until ,,,,,,^=†$
†=^,,,,,,, I'M Standing There With Nothing. ,,,,,,,^=†
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^,,,,,,,,, Reductionist Hell - ,,,,,,,,,^
,,,,,,,,,, I Wan'T A Bottom Floor, A Concept ,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,, Bedrock, But The Deeper I Go The More ,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,, Abstract They Are, The Things, Until ,,,,,,,,,,
^,,,,,,,,, They Cease To Be Things At All ,,,,,,,,,^
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†=^,,,,,,, Are We Just Stacked Triangles? There Is ,,,,,,,^=†
$†=^,,,,,, Nothing I Can Do With Triangles. They ,,,,,,^=†$
¤$†=^,,,,, Can Not Shelter Me In Any Meaningful ,,,,,^=†$¤
#¤$†=^,,,, Sense. ,,,,^=†$¤#
¶#¤$†=^,,, ,,,^=†$¤#¶
#¶#¤$†=^,, And When I Can'T Even Anchor Myself, ,,^=†$¤#¶#
##¶#¤$†=^, When I Am Nothing But The Question, It ,^=†$¤#¶##
#¶#¤$†=^,, Feels Like It Can All Slip Through My ,,^=†$¤#¶#
¶#¤$†=^,,, Fingers... "Whoops", And Nothing Ever ,,,^=†$¤#¶
#¤$†=^,,,, Was After That. ,,,,^=†$¤#
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