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May 14, 2019
The pattern I can't take lightly trips my source legs, and I fall up to a vantage point in the clouds. I'm pulled down by tangled threads, thrown out to explain yet confuse with funereal ease. Such is the grab I catch in the voluble program I attend. I watch, but it feels like it's watching me, knows me, knows how I was and still am in the deepest reserves quaintly preserved to death by a life I have no control over. So I go along. I try. Understanding comes in fits, like inside a plane spiraling down to death.