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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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