I have nothing but this forced compliance. My brain's gone impotent when all I want to do is write. At least when I want to fuck and can't I can attribute it to a lack of a commiserate source. But with this situation everything in here is working -- all the pipes and wires and lights -- but there's no progress, no data, no insight; my brain reads like a blue screen flatline, a single-bit map of forced compliance that makes my pen a whore as it capitulates to my hand's need to convince my brain that something, anything, is going on.

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