This really is, nothing in the faraway.

Far, far to great a length between these posts, though I comfort that with the thoughts that in a bit over the span of a week I'll be overloading whoever still finds their way around this dusted blog listing to the side off of some shoal with plotless, pointless, prepositionless, and obscure posts on the subcultures of various comprehensions regarding Russian national identity and affirmation, not even touching on the glowing views of Tallinn which I will be carrying across. Shit.
I've started on the insomniac phase of realizing the small amount of time I'll endure in these parts. That sort of thing has happened before the day before a journey for possibly an hour or something like that, or if I finished draining 12 shots of espresso over some jumbled paper regarding the theory of time in post-modernist impressions. This is a bit strange, I really am tossing around for a few hours on the Soviet relic of a sack strung between two bits of wire. Thoughs half in another language and usually horribly conjugated, ending up repeating some irrelavant phrasing which I will forget in a cloud of fog given any actual direct conversational contact with someone speaking the language fluently. There is a striving to lock down all of these words and constructions, and I can comprehend close to most of anything, save really horribly done dubbing, which is about all dubbing and the integral concept of dubbing itself, though when it comes around to replying or stating positions my grammatical intricacies and expressive phrases turn into shit. Really aggrivating, that is. A few minutes after walking away from the situation I find around 4 or 5 other possible ways I could have put things, or brought up other debatable concepts, though for that span of a few minutes silence is the best revertation, letting the other person air out their xenophobia or reasons why their culture trumps any other conceivable because that is what they have been worked into thinking and fully hold true to themselves.
Really stoked to return, to step away from such for a very extended time to return to everything that makes sense in civilizational aspects because it is not based on the principle of contradiction, stoked to sort it all out and be surrounded with good people, the skyline and the clear air and sound waves surrounding it, decent beer, a sight of the horizon in the day. Cкоро.
The holidays approach, along with views of a deserted glacier strangled land of blue and gray below as a transatlantic flights rushes me to there.