I feel the illusions before I see them. They murmur casual dementia.
I don't look away.
The faint curve of some letters. The heavy mark of cyclical time. The glow of a sigil that only reads backwards.
Shaking my head only serves to make my brain hurt. This is wrong. It's the lover's call of the Golden Ratio. Right? It's illusory correlation. Cognitive bias.
I have to remind myself with the distraction of facts. A is still A.
I have to focus on the truth that if I look for something hard enough, I will find it everywhere. Two hundred and sixteen?
Pulling apart my confirmation bias from frequency illusion. It's the same sensation as ripping off a scab.
1:27 a.m. - 2014-08-02
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