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phil
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It must be my muscle, my special little part, in my head, that keeps turning like a discus, ignoring my threats idly by, drawing me blanks, and whispering things in my head, communicating without the same focus I have, whispering like it has something knew. It cheated and I caught it, but it keeps spinning away, on and on, thinking to itself, ah ha I've got it, like a record playing. Only inches out of my concious it stares, there's no telling what's it believes, stealing the world around my senses, that I can't see, exciting me, and in the end depressing me, like shakespeare, that makes me mad, pick up a gun it says, I will find out where it found those words somewhere nearby, my opinion, sawdust, listening to them, writing what they say, inbetween all my knowledge, whispering and wasting, wanting my time, waiting to be let go, LET GO! LET GO!
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020422
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