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you know something...

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you know something...

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I FEEL very simple. Here, inside the tower, where I myself am.

The trouble is, I can't get out of here without picking up an escort of thoughts, and they arm themselves with words until by the time I surface I'm surrounded by a barbed bristling barricade, a phalanx of phraseology, and there's so much pageantry that my claims to simplicity sound a little hollow even in my own ears.

Maybe head trauma with blunt instruments would help.
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