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Travel back to 2018-09, 2018-04, 2018-03, 2019-03, 2018-11, 2017-06, 2018-08, 2019-04, 2019-05, 2019-02, 2017-04, 2020-01, 2018-02, 2018-12, 2019-06, 2019-12, 2020-09, 2018-10, 2018-01, 2019-01, 2017-07, 2017-12, 2019-11, 2020-02
"I've been trying to optimize my morning routine." I sip whatever it was - most likely, ethanol with a dash of poison - and impel across the table as loudly as is possible to send a silent thought, that sipping a drink and staring into space is a reasonable substitute for "YES I AM STILL LISTENING KEEP TALKING IF YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY". Who knew, maybe there'd be something said, by the end of that next exhalation. "You know, all that must happen between opening my eyes, and closing the door from without."
Now that we'd gotten that far, and I've gotten this far from then, it's about time to prune a loop and see whether le sed's got anything to say, se ipse. I know the metaphor doesn't quite compute, but that's part of the point: if the metaphor clicked right into place, there'd be a complete subgraph of indiscreet questions (such as - "Which place? Clicked how loud? and What did it truly mean?"), whereas a dangling metaphor is almost as flexible a nunchuck as a swinging participle. Relax, bruvnator: these are tools for thought, not bullets!
As I often do, I'll avoid those baggage-laden words which only serve mental course obstruction; were you there, you may recognize yourself in the autopsy, but I'll do my best to follow Taraza's last command, here summarized ad exsecutibus: "if you're captured... burn your own heads, shatter them completely. Take the necessary precautions.".
I'll skip the question of why the above was said to me, as opposed to any other of the many heads that listen, talk, and even walk; more interesting are the implications of that technique, where a daily routine is shaved down to essentials, yet - and here I point at some context, so do a favor and fire up some more content-addressable - for what purpose is this one ritual honed, whereas the day's bulk is treated as mere mothballs, necessary stinking fluff that fills the empty spaces whence the vital style flows?
In closing, a lone crumb for none but my own amusement:
"Sure! I know exactly what you mean. You want a morning routine as reflex-driven as the act of blinking itself. Where's that approach belong: strategy, tactics, ... ?"
LEAK TRIG EDIT TODO WARN
sangre blue de dio hic tvam acid ... sipping brew, chanting the shapes no waves form while the lifegod watches a pedestrian shout caution to a swimmer about passing nature's water breakers. after morning rituals (e.g. mourning a ship's rotting carcass, fresh boiled coffee, mega seed hunt) but before morning lost children, we seek shade like the lazy fools we all are.
music, music, all so fish, yet no more drops, man; THINK! who cares what he said she said, this trip's braintoy's le sed.