Diagnosed with Kierkegaard

Awareness comes to me like watching the moon fluctuate phases.
I am old enough to draw in my eyebrows daily, I am young enough to  skateboard sidewalks between meagerly professional responsibilities.
I trust this is not fragmentation.
Thank you for your commitment to the art of stained glass.

Awareness comes to me like the knowledge of the twisted friendship bracelet thread tangled up in the box under my coffee table desk.
Try to determine the things you want, need, and have been given too much of.
My eyes are blurry.

Awareness comes to me like the rotations of the earth.
Shouldn’t I be spinning out of control by now?
Shouldn’t the speed of light give me a headache?

Awareness comes to me like staring at the Sun.
Topographically, the distinction between enlightenment and blindness is slight.
Sometimes I have my doubts.
What happens if I try to turn the lights out?

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