#¤*:»:,,,, ,,,,:»:*¤#
@#¤*:»:,,, ,,,:»:*¤#@
#@#¤*:»:,, ,,:»:*¤#@#
##@#¤*:»:, ,:»:*¤#@##
#@#¤*:»:,, ,,:»:*¤#@#
@#¤*:»:,,, ,,,:»:*¤#@
#¤*:»:,,,, 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. ,,,,:»:*¤#
@#¤*:»:,,, ,,,:»:*¤#@
#@#¤*:»:,, ,,:»:*¤#@#
##@#¤*:»:, ,:»:*¤#@##
#@#¤*:»:,, ,,:»:*¤#@#
@#¤*:»:,,, ,,,:»:*¤#@