[stares blankly at the laptop screen]
[pizza on the sofa; reminds of yesterday's lunch]
[a cup of coffee. was nice.]
[cigarettes butts. have to stop smoking - them, not me.]
[back to staring at the laptop screen. no emotional ejaculate in hand. no success.]
It's hard to turn inwards. I wonder what I've been doing all this time. I do remember reading and essay "The Yogi and the Commissar" (by Arthur Koestler) a few days ago and identifying myself with the Yogi who sees 'inwards'. But where did that inward vision go? I'm having a very hard time digging up my latest in thoughts; can't even detail a state of mind. I think I just failed at answering the question my friend put forward; this is particularly embarrassing.
Maybe it was because right now I'm away from my room, everything that forms my memory and evokes out that intangible something - maybe intense - is at a distance. That hints at how good an image of imperfection I'll be if I ever fall in love, haha.
It's dawn, as my clock suggests and I'm still awake. Would sleep be a cure? Or nostalgia? Or creating something fictional, then destroying it upon conception, then feeling a longing for it?
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