How easily thrownness is misread as throneness. This thing is going on and it seems to be about you, and that you are forcing the sense of strangeness on it, suggesting the questions and pre-empting the answers so the whole inquiry cancels itself out. You know that this circle can break, but you can't break it for having laid claim to all the prior possibilities. All your work just a dishonest way of preserving your imagined privilege, maintaining territory, cascading into reactions, or trying to survive beneath the miles of concrete that you've poured over yourself. Every attempt at freedom uses up a bit more slack and just tightens the bonds. What is being experienced that makes it so? Fundamental unclarity that feeds itself, that thickens and envelops every and all sense, irregular rhythms breaking all reflections. This again and again, the way it is and must be.