Title: Optional

Text: The music swells through you. The music calls a name that through the tears of half-grasped memories seems almost and eternally familiar. So dance. Dance to the beat of the thump of the chase of the still and plastic horse hooves which cannot break from where they are secured by bolts and glue and eggshell-thin reality that paints a visage of sense almost enough to tell you that the nausea that swells and pushes at the limits of your mind is incorrect. There's nothing wrong. Each paragraph will be a test.

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