Déjà Senti—

     Tired and threadbare, the same familiar feelings return to you time and again. You long to turn yourself inside out, to locate the foundations of your repetitive constitution in the world, and not in yourself—as if there were a regularity to the world that lent legitimacy to the regularity of your soul. But the world presents us with an infinity of possible encounters. It is you who has exhausted your repertoire; you have lived too long. But worry not—this, too, shall pass.