"We cannot have knowledge of what is true." Ordinary and obsequious, and yet I'm orbiting around myself. Wide awake in wall-eyed wonder, when was "why?" not what it was before? Changing prearranged ideals will remain attached to me. As real becomes unreal, standing on ankles so weak, I cringe and I overthink. I don't see the appeal in pretending to notice nothing as real becomes unreal.
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