Brains braided with all that dusty stinky ropes of damn russian literature recently have started the recovering. I just felt it when series of strange dellerium-trip-flashes appeared to take my contious for a while.
For example. It was that day in Moscow when I sat near a strange girl(woman?) in the underground. She was pink, but not that fucking glamourish one.
Just a plain nice dress, only pink in colour. blonde hair, nice sharp nose-shape as I could see from the half-face view. But not the appearance was important.
The smell.
She smelled like an old fossil lipstick. a fucking strange smell that cannot be assigned with a living creature. She was like a clockwork doll, sitting there near me, thinkin' by her clockwork mechanical gear wheel brains the plastic thoughts on her mechanical life.
The smell mixed whirling with the vibrating sine waves of Thom Yorke in my headphones and produced that hellish trip impression that only could be compared with Myxomatosis one.

"She wears her tears on her blouse
Confused and racked with self-doubt
She stole the keys to my house
And then she locked herself out"
Placebo

Strangel told me that I'm unstable.
And that is good.
It means лёд тронулся, господа присяжные заседатели, - раз меня начало загонять в такие трипы - значит я постепенно отхожу от господ Л.Н. и Ф.М. и всяких Н.А. и М.Е.