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The self is a curious thing.
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And
there he was, on the precipice, feet on the very edge. Before him
sprawled out the world, a place of misty silvers, oceanic blues and pine
..
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This place is a wretched cageAn inflamed cystUpon which we are destined to die, doomed to ageA world not run by love but by metal fistsA ruddy thing t..
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Pain is not affliction; it is the cure.
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The dream is a state of all-being. You are here, there, everywhere. You are yourself, someone else, something you want to be, everything you can be.
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I feel empty inside.
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A gibberish poem.
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..... and then he saw it; the main force of the enemy: a black swarm
against the vicious white backdrop of midwinter's frost. The Black Army
of G..
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Part one.
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Any takers?
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