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Gerald Woodgate

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My mind is a mess. I mean, literally, a mess. There are too many ideas in there. Bits and bobs lying about all over the joint. Send help. Send a cleaner. Send a shrink. It’s like someone ran into a library with a barrel of explosives and let rip… There are pages everywhere. Ideas strewn across collapsed shelves. Quiet librarians shivering in corners, desperate to speak up but too shaken to speak clearly. I doubt…