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Aborted-thought mosaic


LuluVox

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Imagining flipping through the angst-splattered pages of old notebooks, while the gentle jazz that Charlie Brown is continually and forever ridiculed to swims around the room through a pool of J.W. Morris cabernet sauvignon. Thinking matters through.

The only thing keeping me from being flowingly productive... ever… must be...

need of motivation. Or clarity of thought. Or inspiration. Or hard drugs. Or the straightjacket deathgrip of fear. Ever since always, there’s been a snowblanket sense of not being good enough, thickly intruding in the space just above a burning subconscious awareness of soundly-functioning functionality. A tightly woven quilt of old remarks held too dear, muffling me, nearly snuffing me out.

(/fragment)

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