Introvertic Total Mode.

So have I presumed. I'd better not make any further arrangements concerning mutual plans. There are these days when one feels extremely introvertic, when one s not capable of formulating any grammatically correct sentence whatsoever, when it feels like one has been involuntarily set on a cruel receive mode only, not able to produce anything worth listening, let alone paying attention to, when one feels one would go to church although one does not harbor any belief in any metaphysical being [I guess it's the silence and peace which entice me]. Now is not the time to lounge or sit idly; yet, I'm allot much of my time to slow living. There is also the time, one feels like asking a little kid questions on soul, the existence of some supreme beings; what do they think, what do they know, what has already been incorporated into their systems. These and othere related matters orbit in my mental space. Also, I guess, I need some distance from the outer space, that is, the external world [not necessarily the cosmic sphere]. Some place like O. for instance.

Tune-In[g].

One minute you're discussing ethic issues of energy drinks and their possible, alleged effect on the human brain and, what's more important, one's identity, the other minute you're watching a man carrying 2 cans of an unidentified, noname drink mentioned above... Reality checkpoint: how does our discussion apply to practice...?

Pills in My Pocket. Pills in My Pocket. Not Any More.

I still have to rework my CMC presentation and have half a page to translate pending but I couldn't refrain myself from making this post; I mean, I've just remembered a situation in which I was clarifying a concept to a girl I met briefly before and the words I uttered "shit in-shit out". That is to say, I recollected that hallmark gesture one makes when saying this. Correction: when either me or you are enunciating it. I don't know actually why it has digged so deeply into my hardware but I reckon it's so me'n'u alike; I am sure that people sitting round me at that time must have thought "yeah, she's the girl of that guy. we now see why they got together." I mean all the talk, the manner one speaks in n the gestures accompanying the whole performance. Plus, the devil-may-care, egoistic attitude of self.

Don't Forget.

These dreams which haunt me; there was I chasing some female entity who resembled Rihana herself; she wanted to escape from me or somewhere else n I was after her; in one moment she has jumped from a very high roof and this has made me reconsider my intentions; but the next moment it was a lucid dream to take over my actions; I thought, it's just a dream and it might be just as well fun to simply jump n experience; so I did; I can still remember the overwhelming feeling of freedom while I was falling down from the height; it felt great; was this a kind of a suicide attempt? it certainly did not feel like it upon the decision making process nor when coming close to the ground; I did not feel anything when it was time to meet the floor level; I simply started to loose speed when that came in proximity. I can also recall that I actually had time to wonder what to choose, i.e., what way of landing to choose; there are two which are known to me: either pound in a bright white light and immediately enter another dream sequence or loose the momentum and forget about the present event;;;then there were some interluding episodes, featuring you being stoned; but what moved me most was the one in which my mother appeared; we were in a room-like place and before I realized we were suddenly close to each other, hugging. as she told me some info about my father in a way far too straightforward we were crying and I felt a bond with her like never before; yes, I do remember those things she told me very precisely even acutely I should say. I wish not, I will not share them even here. when I woke up from that nightmare I had involuntary tears in my eyes;;;so I will be translating and revising my MA further; but 'fore that commences I shall treat myself royally with a mango-ish coffee at Sylw's;;;

Sour and Plain.

We've got forever, slipping through our hands. We've got more time to never understand. The shortest distance between two points is the line from me to you. Feet turning black. Is this the path we must walk? No turning back. Wish, I could just hear you talk. I do not think, there is such a possibility to do so now, though. It has been, still remains so and, I estimate, will be a kind of a peculiar specialty of yours not to let slip through your mouth any unnecessary enunciation of a sound. At the times of your sober mind I could at least self-deceive myself into thinking that you might deign to dedicate some of your extraordinarily whimsical stream o'consciousness to thinking about me. On the last Sat, that you have made me familiar with the intention of yours, I have deprived myself of such illusions. Frankly speaking, I do not know what you want from me. Oh, pardon me, I kind of do suspect what that might actually be. There is quite a cargo of things which you want from me, living ensured that you deserve them, that I have to give them to you, the things which I have to wrap cutely in a package, you just take what you came for and then you are out the door again. You have an eye on what you are after, next step is you get it, then leave. An ode to egocentrizm. Otherwise, you play a little kid’s face of discontent, not knowing how to handle the unpleasant situation that arose. There will be no words of consolation.

There's a Clear Blue Sky Over Here.

Frankly speaking, I don't know what I want at this moment. I mean, a coffee or a tea, to read or to write, which train to go, what title to this post should I give, etc., etc., etc. I was to that piano concerto the other evening. A lovely piece indeed as usual. I have a penchant for classical music, u should know. Sitting in the luscious green scenery of the Gleivitzian green house, almost slumbering, was I remembering, recalling to my imagination, the workspace of mine various memoirs which I had the opportunity to share. For one it takes a piano concerto to sort things in one's head, it takes taking a dose of lysergic acid diethylamide for the other to do the same sort of thing. Yes, I need to process the input before I make my statement of interest. This is why I "don't wanna talk about this" at the time of utterance. Thanks God there are other entities in my memory I could escape to. Another thing, I am gradually coming to a conclusion that there is no such thing as metaphysical creatures in any form whatsoever. Then, what are we, the upgraded animals doing here? The answer is not mine to deliver. Supposed, there is no god or any of that kind, taking some magic pills does not take you anywhere but creates another dimension within the realm of your head. Needless to say, I suppose, is that I believe, it is all neurobiological processes that can reason all sacrum matter. Enough with that as I had pretty much of these afterthoughts in the morning. There are, however, many other issues trepidating my mentale, albeit, they will not score a place of discussion here, much because they've been lost in the meantime of the hustle and bustle of the train of thoughts. I've been still thinking. I could not stop. At first, I was angry, then sadness made its way towards me and expressed itself in the form of few tears shed publicly. Then came the evolutionary psychology explanation. The envy was somewhere there too. Finally, a sudden, yet simple and plain explication... Yes, it was consoling, yet unspeakable as for now. There was a guy named M. who although making himself notorious had these beautiful brown eyes. I had to admit, I really liked them. Actually, I still do and indulge in them, evoking their image from the vast cavities of my memory. I find it very comfortable and useful to be able to enjoy things overtly without the necessity of revealing them to the outside where they can get smashed in no time. Also, they aren't always appropriate so as to call them. I don't mean sexually explicit here, though. It's some other kind of inappropriateness. It is like a collection of pictures from the past which gets activated upon a single incentive. Once evoked, I can slide though it, adding, summoning, enjoying, bringing up endorphin rush. This is, in my view, how the naturally induced system of motivation [and not only that] works. Some of the most visited by me are the jazz session in the ruins together with the stroll in the summery drizzle at the very beginning of our restored relation. This is something I cling onto when we're apart. I long to those moments, wishing them to iterate. But then, approximately every weekend or so, comes the reality checkpoint and everything bursts into splinters. And so I wonder whether it's me having some visions or rather the inertia we pound into when I meet you... I think, it's time to go.

Downstair Repair.

Sane and lone. So it seems.