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I think of how the universe is made of theories—                assumptions and mathematical calculations attempting to shut down the human paradox and close Pandora’s Box,
I traded in my Nike’s for the open mics  Those early Saturday morning 6 o'clocks for them 7s ate my priorities I had to trade them in for 
(I would step outside before looking in)   In the end you will find  Only the witness as he stands   Open, bare to the world  Among it, of it, a part   And the whole of each and every
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