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Hunting PTSDs

I'm such a tourist.
But hung up on this; I'm such a tourist within myself. Is this the compounded effects of what I was warned about? Big question mark there, quiz Cain.

It's a daily drive through the states of myself. Devolution persists. 'The United States of Yours Truly' just don't sit right cause there ain't so much that sits united, all truths be told. Steer clear of the interior - current condition unstable, expected deterioration into civil war. Trouble compounds as well fueled-up as this continent has had lust for these past few weeks.

All movements in the symphony list and reel - comes another coda that has loosed the dogs. Howls all in tangled harmonics tickle and prickle hackles on the back of the neck. Chill shudders ripple & cause light convulsions - I'm lucky if no-one notices. "Just the cold so", I faux and hope the fooling baits well.

A head full of pipe & flute. Maddening trad stylings that twitch to mimic my body's off-beat response, reflexive pulsing to those phantoms swooping through me.

I've as much hold 'pon land here than found shifting down through loose gears as those crystal curtains undulate overhead; here are the psychotic digressions however, through which the inept should fear to tread. Life beyond the Wall seems a vaugue vapourous concatenation of fear, base and ego driven, concentric and constricting. I'm terrified of such tunnels and search suitable strengths for this inevitable journey where-ever I can.

Toast pops and typing halts.
Time for multiple pre-slumber cheeses to aid in the expeditions beyond the cusp.

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