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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. ¤.¤.¤.¤.¤¤
.¤..¤.¤.¤. ¤.¤.¤.¤..¤
.¤.¤¤.¤.¤. 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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