###¤%*^~,, ,,~^*%¤###
###¤%*^~,, ,,~^*%¤###
###¤%*^~,, ,,~^*%¤###
#¤%*~,,,,, ,,,,,~*%¤#
¤%%***^~,, ,,~^***%%¤
###¤%*^~,, ,,~^*%¤###
###¤%*^~,, 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. ,,,,,,^^%#
###¤%*^~,, ,,~^*%¤###
###¤%*^~,, ,,~^*%¤###
##%%*~,,,, ,,,,~*%%##
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##%%*~,,,, ,,,,~*%%##