It's been quite a while since I've been thinking about that one very special incident, way in the past now and self-induced, of course. Yet another thing I didn't take to an end, I am inclined to say, however, it wasn't special in that it had to be finished, but in that it was an encounter so intimate and surreal with myself it still manages to intrigue me. And only a few people get the idea of it being incomprehensible to anybody but me, the one who's lived through it. In the simplest of words: I miss it. Miss it while I'm not even sure about whether time has already blurred or idealised its bloody memory. But hell, I love it and wish I could reciprocate the mere hints of thoughts about it by doing it all one more time. And bring it to an end.

Intimacy and surreality are still not enough to justify my remark. What I actually did is what it makes remarkable, first and foremost. A glance into the mirror, --- and then it stops and I sigh. So, instead of feeling high there was a sigh that fired the starting pistol for an automated procedure that I had never carried out before. And what came after was acting, fucking acting all along.

All the good shit is self-induced, I say.