sitting with a philosophy essay between me and a bus ride to the eternal everywhere. sun and wind outside but i have to wring words from my hands before i can go into it for two weeks and come out different or the same. my brain feels like its been wrung dry, my body feels like if i close my eyes for too long i’ll be struck with vertigo. i feel as though i’ve stepped outside of the flow and now i can’t pick it up again, can’t get back into it. or like i picked up the new flow too soon. you  find so many wonderful things when you’re not demanding something specific. philosophy essay now about how we fill the empty holes and why life sometimes has the consistency of styrofoam.

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