Sometimes I want to throw myself down on the ground and weep, howl with disgust, sadness and outrage. This hourly persistence... stalwart plodding with minimal purpose through the days of drear, boredom, spiritual void, and accepting without question my own acquiescence until a valve turns, a piece of music strikes, an emotion rises and I feel a breakdown opening beneath me like a crack in the earth. What keeps me from falling into it is the same psychology that keeps me moving resignedly through this empty life.
Fear of movement. What, am I dead?
Fear of deviation. What, am I a machine?
Fear of disruption. What, am I that delicate?
Fear of loss. What, losing this near empty bucket. What shit is that?
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