#@@&*§*=,, ,,=*§*&@@#
@@&*§*=,,, ,,,=*§*&@@
@&*§*=,,,, ,,,,=*§*&@
@@&*§*=,,, ,,,=*§*&@@
#@@&*§*=,, ,,=*§*&@@#
@@&*§*=,,, ,,,=*§*&@@
@&*§*=,,,, 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. ,,=*§*&@@#
@@&*§*=,,, ,,,=*§*&@@
@&*§*=,,,, ,,,,=*§*&@
@@&*§*=,,, ,,,=*§*&@@
#@@&*§*=,, ,,=*§*&@@#
@@&*§*=,,, ,,,=*§*&@@