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A little buffalo was at a party. A gathering. All of their town was at this gathering, this “celebration” it was called. The buffalo didn’t feel that too much. They were in a pretty weird place regardless, and so going to this party was a bit of a “fuck it, what else could happen. I’ll at least feel something” sort of thing. And boy did they feel something. Whether it was the exhaustion, depression, alcohol, or weed, they started seeing everything so anthropologically. So removed. They were so analytical and precise of everything that was happening around them. Even when they would feel something, they would instinctually understand the thing rather than letting the thing take hold of them. And as everyone was crowded in one room, the buffalo stood on the outskirts, watching. Looking through a haze of bodies and smoke. They started projecting onto these other buffalo. “They must be sad, they must be covering something up, they must not want to be here.” And a bulldog walked up to them and asked how they were. And so the buffalo promptly left. They walked away from the whole gathering and took a lap. Clear their head, get some air, let them be themselves for a minute. And they got to one end of the trail and turned back, and as they passed the spot of the gathering a lion standing outside saw them, and shouted their name. The buffalo gave a wave. The lion said to their friend “Oh, aren’t they so mysterious!” And the buffalo kept walking. And they realized that’s what it was. They saw everything in their whole life through this lens. That they were the mysterious freak. But…no. What about when they were the lover? Okay, well either the mysterious outcast or the lover. Yeah…that was it. They thought through every relationship and they all fit into one of those two categories. They thought of the other buffalos and realized everyone had their own categories that they fit into, but they were all there. At this gathering, they all slipped into their categories. No energy to try and push back against who they are. Whether they were put there by other buffalo, or chose to be there, or the universe put them there, they were there. The dead skin was washed off and each buffalo at that gathering existed just as they were. Little quarks bouncing off of each other. The climax of a play of characters. And so the buffalo walked back and stayed at the gathering for a few more hours, watching some movie about Frankenstein and aliens. That part was fun. When there wasn’t a good or bad about it, but just as they were. When all these different buffalo could laugh at some awful movie. That was the gathering.

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