A world of truly inconceivable things: one, the notion of escape from Casablanca, whose terrible linear tendencies would hold me for hours in elaborate certainty; and two, the musty smell of attic relics, simmering between ancient and mundane in a warm upstairs box.

Would that my bile could digest such unresolved matters. True to form, starvation mode materialized with uber-naturalist behavior and glimpses of a sacred vision. I devoured my soul to stave off the imminent end.

Imagine, if it pleases you, that these words are describing a situation not of life nor of death. This sentence explains the paradoxical flashes of consciousness that so blight a fabricated philosophy. This sentence introduces a protagonistic ideal, a working theory - symbolic salvation.

Hurrah! yelled the crowds as they shook my brittle bones before a clicking flash camera. Rescue workers granted the occasional interview, expressing amazement and humility.

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