Voluntary servitude. Profound captivity. Submitting to the ever-narrowing confines of the Possible. Each word entrains the next and slices yet a smaller pie-piece out of the peacock-feather fan of story. There's only one way out from here.
Things could have been different, if I'd thought of them before.
At the end of the tunnel I can leave the track, but to get through it I have to run on rails. That's how it is when you're riding the God Train. Why didn't I recognize it before?
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