In the crowded room/
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In the crowded room/ I noticed myself as an observer, and how many observers there were. The place was teeming with infiltrating shaggability and justifiably hard talks, and I wondered if we could somehow construct an alternative death for each one, or only one guest even myself. I found the mystery of who's-gonna-wind/end-up-in-someone's-bed quite anticlimactic; On the other hand, I enjoyed the shitty food, for it hath reminded me of a time where nostalgia served to confirm a nightmare for Nietzsche. I used the language I thought I'd used (what?) and peacefully went to go fuck myself.