It is freaky the way music is appealing to me. I listen to music not particularily to entertain myself (most of the times) or to check out some inspiring lyrics or melodies, but for the mere pleasure of listening to it. I have noticed how almost all of my favorite artists are so because of the way they get to touch hidden fibers that go about unnoticed for me during my fast-flowing, stactic days; those memories I have decided to keep quieted for my own emotional health simply difuse through my skin and represent themselves in front of my eyes, while I struggle to maintain reason above sensibility, and present unperceivable emotions above nostalgia. If I weren't able to keep in mind that I'm still imprisoned within this same body, the acknowledging of my impotence would bend and break me into tears. But still, the music-induced struggle is pleasure for me, and is beautiful. It is just like old Aschenbach sadly understanding it is not war what is beautiful, but that it is war the essential element in everything that expresses Beauty.

Listening to: Everything's not lost, Coldplay.