I don’t have the dedication of a clear uncluttered mind; mine is full of hidden nooks and sheltered crannies that harbor the frantic fears of the hunted. I don’t have the slightest idea of the meaning of anything, it’s all pretense and clouds, garbled syllables mumbled by a clown wearing a bear suit. I don’t have any more time to practice, the time to start living is now. I don’t have any more room, any more time, any more excuses. All I have is this blank empty page.
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