![]() ![]() So cry all you want, I won't tell anybody.” But at the same time it's why it feels so good to break down and cry in front of others, or to laugh, or speak in tongues, or chant in Bengali-it's not English anymore, it's not getting squeezed through any hole. Who wouldn't? It's called free will, Sherlock. And of course you know this, and of course you try to manage what part they see if you know it's only a part. And you think it makes you a fraud, the tiny fraction anyone else ever sees? Of course you're a fraud, of course what people see is never you. ![]() ![]() That it's what makes room for the universes inside you, all the endless inbent fractals of connection and symphonies of different voices, the infinities you can never show another soul. But not in the way you think.The truth is you've already heard this. As if we are all trying to see each other through these tiny keyholes.īut it does have a knob, the door can open. As though inside you is this enormous room full of what seems like everything in the whole universe at one time or another and yet the only parts that get out have to somehow squeeze out through one of those tiny keyholes you see under the knob in older doors. You already know the difference between the size and speed of everything that flashes through you and the tiny inadequate bit of it all you can ever let anyone know. “The truth is you already know what it's like. ![]()
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