##*$*~.,,, ,,,.~*$*##
#*$*~.,,,, ,,,,.~*$*#
##*$*~.,,, ,,,.~*$*##
###*$*~.,, ,,.~*$*###
####*$*~., ,.~*$*####
###*$*~.,, ,,.~*$*###
##*$*~.,,, now, usually i feel good (maybe?), but ,,,.~*$*##
#*$*~.,,,, this time of confusion also leads to ,,,,.~*$*#
##*$*~.,,, all analyzes ending in "useless" - i ,,,.~*$*##
###*$*~.,, was being bothered by something in a ,,.~*$*###
####*$*~., song or movie or book, so i think, how ,.~*$*####
###*$*~.,, would i have done it, what is the ,,.~*$*###
##*$*~.,,, purpose of this process, what does it ,,,.~*$*##
#*$*~.,,,, consist of...? and through the process ,,,,.~*$*#
##*$*~.,,, more and more pieces falls off until ,,,.~*$*##
###*$*~.,, i'm standing there with nothing. ,,.~*$*###
####*$*~., ,.~*$*####
###*$*~.,, reductionist hell - ,,.~*$*###
##*$*~.,,, i wan't a bottom floor, a concept ,,,.~*$*##
#*$*~.,,,, bedrock, but the deeper i go the more ,,,,.~*$*#
##*$*~.,,, abstract they are, the things, until ,,,.~*$*##
###*$*~.,, they cease to be things at all ,,.~*$*###
####*$*~., ,.~*$*####
###*$*~.,, are we just stacked triangles? there is ,,.~*$*###
##*$*~.,,, nothing i can do with triangles. they ,,,.~*$*##
#*$*~.,,,, can not shelter me in any meaningful ,,,,.~*$*#
##*$*~.,,, sense. ,,,.~*$*##
###*$*~.,, ,,.~*$*###
####*$*~., and when i can't even anchor myself, ,.~*$*####
###*$*~.,, when i am nothing but the question, it ,,.~*$*###
##*$*~.,,, feels like it can all slip through my ,,,.~*$*##
#*$*~.,,,, fingers... "whoops", and nothing ever ,,,,.~*$*#
##*$*~.,,, was after that. ,,,.~*$*##
###*$*~.,, ,,.~*$*###
####*$*~., ,.~*$*####
###*$*~.,, ,,.~*$*###
##*$*~.,,, ,,,.~*$*##
#*$*~.,,,, ,,,,.~*$*#