The blank page is such an oppressive thing. It has an overpowering presence and stalls all creative thought. I wonder if there is a secret deity responsible for the power of the empty page, whether it be a blank piece of paper, an empty screen, or a series of empty lines, the presence is there. It looms over the mind and halts any process of thought. It guards the neuronet like an unblinking, unwavering sentinel, protecting that bit of emptiness with all it’s might.
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