Deeper scars I deliberately left to the strangeness. faint romantic notions suddenly cosmatted in my soul when I felt it was all over! Surprised, dumbfounded, I looked wordlessly around: what could I do with the life I had left?! The **** of my hangman's days had been pushed down by calculating old age. On my face yawned the cellular yawn of perpetual weariness, while the majority outside could not know it was all a sham!

Cheerful expressions, grimace-inducing holy smiles seemed to be paint that could be applied many times: secret disguises masks that could only harden with time! - There in there: in the depths of a child's foolish soul, conjurable spirit-beings stir and nestle. I run along parallel pairs of rails running back into myself, and I cannot play recklessly and carelessly when the chessboard of Existence calls: there all goes sharp!

For I have always thought of foreseeable evil, And digested it like a boiling caldron. My troubled soul constantly wanted to throw out its upset waves; an inner umbilical cord was much needed, which would lead through secret, invisible corridors boldly into the mysteries of the other body. Listening, like the vigilantly curious, till Life calls at last, and may not pass through the magic circle. A fine snare, a deceptive trap. The imprint of our lives infected with exceptionalism; the truths of honest eyes should be relearned and spoken!

In our slow castle-circles the bliss of another-self is ever waiting, And the membrane-thin instincts of touch are vulnerable to further wounding by conscious love-lust!

Each tear is already searching for smothering trenches in the frames of faces; slowly, gradually, the happy, jubilant joy ready to show itself is fulfilled, and the pretended but real sadness is realised. The delicate telescopes of the ear-cups are wound up by harsh, turbocharged bomb-quarrels, leprous howls. Untouchable and often incomprehensible is the pain of all the sorrow that trembles! The pregnant alarm bells hidden in the depths of the soul ring differently each time, and in different ghostly tones.

And perhaps every fearful loneliness may have somewhere a preconceived pair of opposites.  Truth-ness is never visible on the inner walls of their eyelids. In the inner soul-reaches, the vocal cords of Being are constantly changing! When we look at faces, almost everything is dull and fades away - but sincere emotions can be recorded crystal clear even in a streaming tomorrow! Compliments handed down from saintly romances, and curtsy etiquette that only "some" can understand!

In the meaningful moments of materialized lives, the death of the deed must once be captured in action, so that we may dare to be ourselves in silence and hope anew! - The dafke-furnishing charade: brainwashed, accumulated, enriched, syrupy tactfulness, and the phlegmatic-parochial boorish manners dictating fashion-trend, has been taken more and more seriously. Valuable treasure-houses are thus allowed to pass away and fall into *****-smelling oblivion. Give or take a few decades, and those who were once deliberately crucified by the luxury-eye-losing tabloid media for their cultural eccentricities can win themselves prestigious, laurel-coloured prizes merely for the worthy cause of their death!

Even former exotic beauties are only remembered by broken nail clippings...

Others even now only laugh, while your self-pitying triumph slowly collapses and buries you under yourself! Blinding narcissism may haunt the luxurious pink-mask syrupiness of tabloid media, and today, even the self-conceited halal scientists, the planning suicides, are not asked on the wise altars of tolerance: would it have been better to know psychological processes or the chaos formula of brain convolutions?! - Every exibitionist, superficial moment flirts with illusion; the onion skin of the human soul is still always on itself, while the number of days is bargained with itself as a freeloader!

Our pressed confessions of love are often lacking in self-satisfying, passionate romance. Mutual congratulations in an evening of spotlight and rainbow that lasts until midnight hold traps and murderous daggers for each other! Lost in the midst of so many muffled grins, even solidly-supported reality is scrubbed by reversed, pathetic, grotesque roles! On made-up faces like wax-glowing larvae shine fake-measuring emotions and emotions! While the common man queues for autographs, clinging to Golgotha-ridden friendships!

In the hopes of his bogus expectations - honest-to-God friendships - it is a pity to cling on running; it is impossible to escape the arrogant, phlegmatic slogans of publicity - all the falsehoods of the past can be further fixed! Chocolate left out in the sun, like the exaggerated tanning-bed orange-skin, soon melts and is ruined! - Every filling-heart seems to crack sooner or later, when surrounded by rings of sincerity!

It imposes itself on everything, and everything becomes a rotten ***** because it has seen itself. Beneath the surface, moving, cocktail-drinking, bubbly V.I.P. exclusive evenings, insidious snake hisses, double entendres, universal sunken rot. Career graveyards at a loss become compulsive shapeshifters in pursuit of larger goals, looting dreams. In addition to a carefree lifestyle, it is necessary to take on grief and dirt with a toaster. Sooner or later, even the absolute winners are driven out of the race.

Only Death can bring comfort and consolation. To body and soul alike it offers a semblance of equality.- Daily shedding their reptilian-veined skins are the Janus-like Angels, saints, pretending prophet-greats. Whose daily ruined lives they ruin, They notice nothing but the virtue, if it pops, or if they lack the necessary sum To preserve the ruins of their sham happiness.

It may be that everything has long since been decided according to the suggestion of self-interest. Perhaps, with a little effort, petty kings and loyalty stooges could stay afloat in economic life-and-death struggles, bargaining even at the cost of their miserable lives to serve the legitimate institutions of cheap lies like prodigals: to dream is folly.

But for now, surely, it is better for many to bellow, to bend their heads and shout, to bang others' heads against the wall, shouting democratic slogans - the respectable historical chronicle will also record this in a falsified form, but people will have no trace of it when the moral balance has cooled down!

All the splendour and all the luxury of the piper goes back to the primordial material where it was created! The eyelash-spiral liquefaction of celebrity divas; The sticky gum of dovetail make-up shall be forgotten; And when the abundant rain-channels of the honest soul Are full, and the root-root of sensible sadness Has passed through every hesitating, half-weary man! For the world of Hyena has always cursed and despised the known child-fearer!

In-happening, in-between chattering souls, the wretch stumbling can seldom keep order! In every petal an orphan self shudders for the coming Spring! Like solid concrete or prison wall, on the bustling fields of our memory, seems to halt The sacred age of memories in peace! In every prostituted maiden there still lurks her angelic, girlish self: that her ancient craft may mean only survival and hope for tomorrow! She will interact with this superficial, cupping world if she consciously surrenders herself to it!

Like a sentient, childish angel, when from his cracked, twilight-flooded lips eagerly oozes the faithless, flowing blood; he commits sacrilege who raises his destructive fists to exotic flower-stalks! We should cling stoutly to the World! Without cheap pimps and lice, in a deep-feeling and enduring trust - Now and Here are already shattered from us! - With enduring trust we should go on, persevering in humanity on our bumpy life, and as we often fall, stumbling on our limp, we must learn to stand up!

SOUL-ARDS



From my eyes there flowed the coagulated eyeballs of honest incredulity; chains of true pearls were lined up under my baggy eyes like clumps of onion-clusters! In feverish, timeless grayness, my rebellious finger-tips ***** ever after instinct-secrets! With my senile self long since pregnant, I have regrown my outcast, my Golgotha-maiden! I think of only one thing: where and how could I have begun anew with my soul-mate another, more substantial, and perhaps wiser life?!


In my being there still ticks the timeless, proud beating of the Universe in ever more agitated, wicked time-bomb beats; in my metaphors still intertwine eternal, immortal compliments of love and all-powerful romances! Outside, paralyzed Minotaurs flock, hoping for mimic-majestic riches, and, looking into the invisibility of their curved mirrors, curiously peer at the compromising world!


The mature soul, thought lost, wanders into prehistoric massive-syrupy solitude to rediscover the palpable depths of Being! Before me and after me, my closed-uncertain future and gaping, personalized mines for my ashes, which have been for some time decaying with the molecules of my cells; my romance, my beauty, crashes into the ******* air-wall of Nothingness and chokes me for the umpteenth time in melancholy! - Like a knife in soft butter, I should sum up the fragments of my memories backwards in my account of what has happened, so that I may move forward more courageously!

In my careless anguish, in the moonlight, displaced, she wept alone; My knocking, true-kissing, friendly voice was not yet answered, Only a syrupy darkness had taken hold! Thus in my trembling body the little child cried out in a roar! All compassion against me was frozen on ever-superficial, grimacing faces; and the preserved aversion curiously scanned its sad, past memories! He who is the sole companion of himself, and who, repressed, creeps with terrible strength into the land of still survivable Tomorrows, is forced to scrape together his courage of noble substance in himself!


He can cry as long as he likes, for no one will listen anyway! - Squeaky shadow-wings whisper in the haunting twilight, and now everything seems so uncertain and difficult to digest: he forces himself into foreign roles instead of taking root, settling down and finally being himself! He stops, alarmed, like a chubby, worn-out coat on the rack of the pegs that pull him to the stake, and feels that his fate would fall before the pre-shotgun barrels if he let it - so he prefers to stand back in the eyes of the Outlands and digest his own humanity!


He knows his efforts are all in vain, but he must cling to something! A superstitious glance, a disturbed childish memory in the horrors of the past, or a kiss that might have been a romantic summation, which in an unexpected moment of magic could have meant much to all! - Outside he gazes at himself paralysed, And knows the treacherous Beast's needle-sharp fortune awaits!