Random hits of tilting euphoria, brought by subconsciously selected memories and superconsciously formulated dreams, are starting to drive me mad. After an unexpected high, it leaves me on rock bottom. Please make this stop. Maybe. Yes, maybe. Maybe the lochness monster is hiding under my bed but I can fly and have all the superpowers in the world – but I can’t kill that monster. Is it anger that fuels these post classical heaves? Or is it happiness because my mind has finally done a good job in erasing all that’s left of your face? Maybe it’s the fear deduced from that big slimy creature under my bed, eh? Probably my dear son’s right. Over-thinking deliberately creates new realities that create heaven and hell in one big sphere called earth.

Nietzsche, if only you’re alive.


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