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.