On my first trip to the city, I was eighteen, I saw two birds in an alleyway pecking at a mid-sized hump of vomit that looked a few hours old, but it didn’t shock me, not at the time, it was like - when you see your own blood, it’s okay, but others, it’s not - and I associated this vomit with myself, like it was mine, like it belonged to me, and it
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Carl Jung... that's one of those names I hear in all my lectures but never actually understand who exactly they are or what it is they theorised. Ever.
Synchronicity. I'll try to remember that.
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