Why do we feel that if they have been lined up for decades, as if Time were a false witness, even innocence would contaminate a person to the core?! From the black-and-white films of negatives - back then - it would have been much easier to evoke an eternal moment in the captivity of darkrooms, which is perhaps characteristic only of each individual.

The roads directed towards the finish line have become one-way labyrinths, just like the crossroads of the desire for faith. Many may not know it yet, but mere good-willed intentions are not always certain to be chosen with free will.

Often they do not dare to notice the hunters lurking in the depths of everyday life, who exist and breathe just like anyone else; one could say that they deliberately, with superficial pleasure, eviscerate life to the core. - because now fewer and fewer people are excited by the consciousness of half-humanity; that they sold themselves and made a deal.

The good thing about romantic love in the past was that it was as if the One-Beloved had carried the feelings in her womb, so that she could then give them birth every day, while the pain was replaced by selfless, radiant happiness. In every case, it ends the same way; whoever sets out on a long, unknown journey is not sure that he will find what he was really looking for. One wonders where he could have ruined the selfish game theories, as well as the manipulable psychological tools, if he looked into superstitious eyes!

As if all dislikes were now uniform; like an iron ball wishing to hang on chains, it swings unnoticed in the depths of the soul's mine, harder than granite, yet still softer than conscious Nothing. Almost everything is now made up of manipulation and a series of pretense. It would be nice to spontaneously get stuck in an idyllic, well-deserved dream as long as possible, and where the expandable concept of Time does not exist.

Mobile smartphones are now unexpectedly and intentionally ringing into the chaos of already total-comatose awakenings; as if our crouched objects were gradually swept away by obsolescence, contrary to the supersonic levels of technological development. - In addition to small and large victims, small and large executioners and privates also regularly wield the scalpel, or even the razor, at their pleasure.

Because the Cerberus-devouring dogs are not allowed to join the holy choir of the persecuted these days, that would be too much of a snare for them. Packs of prey are grouped into starving hordes, while outside, strayed flocks bleat into the lost flock; for a long time, no redeeming forgiveness has flowed from the grass, even if it is trampled down once and for all. Every relationship becomes ambiguous, even if it does not want to - but is deliberately disemboweled or humiliated. The only question is: who will believe in survival and at the same time guarantee it?!

If we are not careful in this current brainwashed, diluted existence, our peanut-sized brains will be ground into a nut-core mass by the many vile, slanderously otherworldly speeches, the unworthy preaching of exaggerated promises. All the undeserved blows, slaps-showers have already run around the walls of the skulls, because common sense has long ago locked the gates of the temples. The knowledge and certainty that you must live as a wanderer now increasingly batters you, then suspends you.

The infected pus just pours out of the leaking Existence-cracks, like the honey-glazed judgments of false prophets. Where is the courage?! - ask the suspicious, just like the compromised, when it would be good to hold on to the power of a helping friendly hand, or to the gaze of the Kind savior angel, because even so, there are and will be ugly days when people would rather waste away like silent stones in the oozing mass-mud than on the glue-smelling surface, from which - it may very well seem - there is no escape.

Those who can still understand a chain of connections can resist all drifting, - though not for eternity and beyond. The message of cheerful human-charmers at the benevolent words of *******-angels will also be a delusion, an illusion. The holy shackles of truth and honesty must be broken apart by a newly concluded vague contract, by petty manipulative bargaining, so that they cannot function; live and create. A wild din rages among scattered human herds; it breaks the shackles of stoic silences, with which one could still protest, because somewhere deep down one feels: one cannot sell oneself!

It is becoming more and more necessary to descend into myself at every age; on the edge of the expandable Time and perhaps beyond. The tangled coils of my brain often form a Gordian knot, a lasso is tied by the consciousness of what else I need to ruin in order to develop, to learn, or just to learn from my petty, childish mistakes. From the neighbor, I hear a swarm of bee-like shouting, a childish scolding.

Two twin boys are madly in love again, wondering who can try out the newest Playstation?! In my selfish cave system, the film reels of my memories are still rolling unnoticed, addressing me; from the corners of long, winding rivers, a familiar face or two may still look back. Nothing can be a sufficiently black-and-white, silent episode in a person's life. My sickly foot stumbles halfway between spinning mosaic tiles.

I would recognize the echoing sound of my footsteps anywhere, only my Beloved is missing on one of my inner paths. Out there, in an unlivable desire to survive, they are at each other's throats, like wolves and hyenas who betray themselves at any moment, just so that they alone can be right; in my hamster-like cheek pouch, I have chewed a few Haribo gummies or a Neapolitan stringy snack, so that I never forget that I was once a child and curiously simple-minded.

Wild beasts and beasts are now raging in humanoid bodies at the same time, and one turns one's head in question: Will there never be a peaceful feeling of well-being, harmony, or development here?! Media-celebrity monkeys who are unable to articulate dictate fashion trends, while nameless-minute-humans receive millions in salaries from someone somewhere! We are increasingly unable to organize our evicted, mischievous lifestyle in a frugal manner!

One after another, like well-developed wax figures, bounce down from the Ferris wheel of the city of Nineveh: first drunken, saucy brats, later disco rats proclaimed as cool party faces, chirping teenage queens, who are primarily interested in the media and the beauty industry and have no intention of taking an advanced high school diploma or taking an English language exam. They may not be accountable to anyone but themselves, because they are rushing through the already confusing, drafty decades, when nothing is what it seems; even pretend friendships can no longer save them from their sullen loneliness.

The sluggish boredom of the senses is still reflected in their gullible instincts. They may still pay dearly for their lives. They rarely wake up from their unconscious quarantine dreams to the warning crowing of the rooster at dawn; on the one hand, they are not interested in the already uncertain and shallow Future, on the other hand, they find themselves in the certain knowledge that as long as their ancestors take care of everything for them, life will shower them with new idyllic gifts.

The streets, littered with ***** and burnt cigarette butts, are still weary in their remaining fatigue, and the equality of opportunity believed to be solid for survival, or survival, cannot particularly kick a ball for them. Clinging to the porches of their teeth, lame pity curses itself just like stretched tolerance, because the fact of safe crossing has become unconsciously meaningless!

If you no longer pay attention - I fear - you will no longer be able to notice the boulders suspended by a hair's breadth in time, if the unwary squeeze under them and they flatten you in a fleeting minute. Not paying attention to mortal Time, you still give yourself up, always only watching the atomic chaos of the World that has begun to become confused.

Certainty, like some old, twentieth-rate, petty little spy, builds itself in you, and *****-nilly you will expect your passing from your birth. Because even now you are still constantly looking back, in the distorted images of crooked mirrors you measure the centers of gravity of your wasteful years in moments; and you cannot understand that you have already done so much, even in the place of others, and yet you have not been able to tear off the spiral prison-handcuffs of Time from your sinful soul.

For some time now, only the eternal oblivion that has been left alone has been your pillow and at the same time your pillow; Your searching eyes wink at the infinite horizon and even now he doesn't know that he was wrong at all, that he was unable to start a new life.

Your memories are horribly confused, like so many sins of your petty and selfish past; they break their contracts not only according to the laws of the heart but also according to human laws; and while a tachycardia malfunction may become common due to the approaching dangerous raging infarctions in your heart, you know: the emergency services are always half an hour late. Your body's fever curves would warn you with alarm signals that you should always avoid high blood pressure and long-sugared cakes.

Instead of the former endless lines of existence, something from over there is sending messages on increasingly closed spiral centrifuge paths; it almost flirtatiously invites you to leave this lying One-World here, which has become unworthy, even if you have a million and one tasks left. The circle that returns to itself - if you are not careful - can break prematurely...

Who would have thought that even within a few decades, pop and celebrity culture infected with postmodernity could be so resonant, calculating, and pathetic?! It's like some kind of anchored, stupid social pyramid game, Phalanx theories that produce mass people want to prevail by tripping each other up, and just like Orwell's 2+2 can rarely be 4. Average people, even ******* animals, prefer to deliberately wipe the soles of their shoes on each other, just so they don't have to help the other, even a little.

Air transport routes are only available to charter flights of the nouveau riche, since there is hardly any scurrying or customs inspection. Existence - like it or not - is becoming increasingly unstable, while everything else is doomed and contingent. They are constantly changing places, especially on the front of syrupy, false tabloid media, and more and more people are deliberately trying to position themselves, if they still can, of course. Words that falsify the edge of Being are already breaking down; because the light-pulsation of hearts is perhaps not sure to truly show itself even in the idyllic dawn of romanticism.

It would be good if the simple average person would regularly observe the sacred curvature of his life, with its swinging weight, in which he was born long ago, and in which he has learned to thrive - as he does - out of necessity. Without a net, on just one rope, it is necessary to move forward one step at a time, hopefully towards the West rather than the East. In a tense soul, even solid calm is increasingly flammable.