,,,,,,«$ #&$«,,,,,,
,,«^$%@@ @@#&%$^«,,
,,«^$%@# #@#&%$^«,,
,,,,,,^$%# #%$^,,,,,,
,,,,,«$%## ##%$«,,,,,
,,,,,^^$ #&$^^,,,,,
,,«^$%@@ 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. #@#&%$^«,,
,,«^$%@# #@#&%$^«,,
,,«^$%@# 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 @##&%$^«,,
,,,,^$%& #&&%$^,,,,
,,«^$%@@ 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 #%^,,,,,,,
,,«^$%@@ Fingers... "Whoops", And Nothing Ever @@#&%$^«,,
,,«^$%@# Was After That. #@#&%$^«,,
,,,,,«$$&& &&$$«,,,,,
,,«^^$%%%# #%%%$^^«,,
,,«^$%#@ @##&%$^«,,
,,,,,«$$%& &%$$«,,,,,
,,«^$%## ###&%$^«,,