I have a built-in crisis setting. It’s existential and chemical. It auto-pilots when I’m out of (3S,4R)-3-[(2H-1,3-benzodioxol-5-yloxy)methyl]-4-(4-fluorophenyl)piperidine, or if I forget. Forgetting is the point, though, when you have OCD. In some ways, this is a self-defeating process. Self-fulfilling. Built-in are the lucid dreams, I’m at a loss to comprehend the nature of reality. Was I really with you in the morning glory patch, did we really kiss? We were only children? Have we really grown? It occurred to me that the arrangements we have made are fleeting in the scheme of things. That what we bind on earth is not bound in heaven, that the transcendental existential is as far from categorical experience as play yard weddings are from our confessions before God and man and State. And what if this is so? I have no built-in answer, no built-in way of knowing. For the moment, I am lead along by feelings stretching legs and gaining holds. (3S,4R)-3-[(2H-1,3-benzodioxol5-yloxy)methyl]-4-(4-fluorophenyl)piperidine is the oil I pour down from crenellations. And what if I hold back?

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