###,,,,#,, ,,,#,#,,#,
#,##,,,,#, ,,,,,,#,,,
,,###,,,,# ,,,,,,,#,,
,,#,##,,,, ,,,,,,,,#,
,,,,###,,, #,,,,,,,,#
#,,,#,##,, ##,,,,,,,,
,#,,,,###, 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. #,,#,##,,#
#,,#,,,#,, ,#,,,###,,
,#,,#,,,#, ,,#,,#,##,
,,#,,#,,,# ,,,#,,,###
#,,#,,#,,, ,,,,#,,#,#
##,,#,,#,, ,,,,,#,,,#