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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. ,¤,¤,¤¤,,¤
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,¤,¤,¤,,¤, 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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