In addition to the delight, the head of the Komis tyrant immediately struck the rampant selfishness, which was handcuffed with the desire for possession of possession; While some have a fulfilled miracle for others, the unexpectedly fulfilled nine months of eternal watershed is an unworthy ending of a happy, forgettable idyllic era, as men are wild, beasts, and still selfish, because they can imagine the little men on the way to Placentan's tunnels , but the demanding, greedy desire for possession that deprives most of Mom from loving a man as her own child.

, Sweetheart! I don't want a kid! Another colloon on my thick neck! "Said the insulted vanity from the mouth of the Test Testeron Tithan, then walked smoothly from the life of his beloved lover in a smoke. He didn't even look at the hospital's obstetric ward to ask how and how they were more expensive With all the treasures of the world.

The whispering baby whispered in his cherished arms with stubbornness in his cherished arms, as if he had a full right to get the absolute love finally and then keep it to himself. He eagerly ****** in the life-fitting breast milk, and while the beautiful pregnant mother, who recently complained about how she was going to be a pregnant, disgusting ball in the bikini on the beach, now finally understood that she could get the most beautiful gift she had can ever hold.

So the pregnant mother became a little half-adult, half again child, and she felt in her heart how the universe was just a dance of instincts, and later meat-blood. And while the relationship break, it seemed, it was never more radiant, balanced and happier!

The Alliance of Old Friends seemed to be renewed again when the mobile rang: "Don't be sorry, but you could come in! I became a baby! "-and the long-forgotten, adolescent adolescents suddenly started flaming again. It came with a human-height teddy teddy bear and meaningful broth. There was no need for words that were unnecessary.

The lasting change is now even better to avoid; It is now an increasingly naughty, stagnant, miserable, vocal promise speeches, and how superfluous, self-denying sermons. Anyone who thinks that obsessions that are persistent have a baby's face, is a long-term fool; The soul seemed to become a dark pyramid, which, if no one speaks to him, would absorb his victims as a gaping gap.

It is as if brain-washed people were now so impressive, texting the heavenly mantra that starts with the "sausage from the sausage" that "some people" are more aware of the petty lies. -As if it could not be easily, to say, loose-and-leaning, neither the unbearable color changes of the seasons, nor the meaningful treasures of the human life that look like dust, which are always unique and unrepeatable among the expanding tissues of time.

In the coated city, even the diplomas are now resting; Permanent disillusionment has long been ahead of the noble feelings. Like the occasional, stumbling drunken, hesitated, hesitant steps are marching with the disturbed, dilapidated Calvary of the century, and the Yorick-Mountains of Yorick.

Slowly, the rich people will be invited to the moon region of the wealthy Skafander collection V.I.P.- partying and shopping, as the ozone layer on the planet seemed to be destroyed early, and only those who have a separate permission can only be breathed.

Perhaps it would be better to continue everything with new pages and from the front if we saw the red-dark moles-tunnels in the depths of gloomy moles ...

The details are almost irrelevant. Outside, petty pigeon races are tense if necessary, if not to each other, and even so, it is always sure who the actual winner is. The simple average one way or another, but it is untig and totally fed up. The ***** stuffed into the cetrifuge, like the everyday Michael's things - not even noticed - are surprisingly suddenly wandering and tangled so much that it is easier to cut through the Gordian knot than to decipher the pathetic, manipulative, Studies and people keep.

It is necessary to be stretched over and over again decades ago, otherwise they will be permanently separated and threatened with passing; Because the relationship of depth and height to balances is now a sticky mud or small -style puddle, in which one and a half mattle innocence are swirling so that they may be filthy to the spot of their souls.

The decayed smile on the faces was fossched because they had secretly believed in the swamp of the uncertain tomorrow, and even if, out of accident, a plan or idea of ​​a lost misunderstanding was rather prone to the peculiar banner.

Visible Angels Choir-Kara, who often puts his gentle hand on his heads, and the Jericho trombones echoing from the air, as if they were blowing alarms, the indispensable universe ...

I would say something else to you orphaned, eternal worrying kid, I have to get yourself up if they hurt me, people who are nothing. I would tell you something if you are dreading a crouching full moon at night, because you think you are just ghost or goblt, just be firm and brave and not show your wounded-*******, dreaded fears.

Many times I would call you a time-to-date machine mobile, if you would be a little more attentive to my wise, thoughtful words, which you still think would rather be discarded rather than meaningful advice; I know childhood may often seem like a two-way dead end, which sooner or later may fall or get lost, but you should always stay yourself and by no means let the absolute, Marcona adults sit or influence your Kobak head.

Put your childhood, playful curiosity with your sick heart, your liver, shaking hands and secret oath to yourself: _ I will stay for a couple of years who can know my friends so far! I will be loyal to myself. "_ - and while your aging, eyeglasses would look at the uncertain horizon, sillabising where the end of existence can be and how much more can happen. There are alms, sanding hands, sanda, nonsensical promises.

Something, even so many decades - would be good to tell you; You can never feel that they are mocked, deliberately shamed, mocked, evil, and if your grandchildren will not be ****** on your balding ping-pong head, you may have stayed yourself all the time!

As if they were rushed to be aimlessly between the puppets that were made; We need to change digital identifiers with false fingerprints to find us unnecessarily. It is necessary to avoid broken road signals instead of searching for the necessary compromise on the necessary cooperation. Life is almost utterly mortal passing away, and it can be said to be a wolf because we are ashamed of dioptric soda siphone and rather converted to more comfortable contact lenses.

The broken curve mirrors in which our portraits are wearing a day-to-day depths of conscious purposelessness, physical exhaustion. Geller was given more and more difficult to stay at the peak of social pyramids; Because not only the language of meaning, but also the rules of the meaning of the meaning, which change their petty, compromising methods every day, has become a tower of the midwives.

Why do you have to live a day to siren the minutes of siren over it?! On the stretched ropes of our troubled nerves, they march and march; Indifferent yawning in the odds is now still nesting with persistent suspicion. Our tricky movements may seem like a rhythm.

It is as if the petty, small -style betrayal of everyday life had been deliberately depressed into our selfish, galad, shrinkage, that you. You have to prevail at any cost, and of course it is necessary to survive. Card Castle plans are diligent, but we are asked to be an unbelieving-bamboo: why is it necessary to spend money on uselessness?!

We are my friend to deny everything a million times nowadays: sweet-sad loves, torturing, burning breaks just like universe feelings. Can you ask my friend who could have been the bigger traitor: the constantly loss-making, vulnerable heart, or just a series of desire for spontaneity?! "You are looking for your answers in vain, as if they didn't exist anymore, because it was always more important to be a little style, Pipogya career, and the awareness of what others think behind your back."

Once upon a time, you undress to the bone to see your inner, more true being than a mole-bearer who first ventures to the surface and frightened because he is forced to blink; You will blink a lot yourself like a blind, glassy swollen mushroom, cowardly rabbit if your beloved dear is just an unexpected announcement: Sorry, but she loves something else for a long His needs, nor his tingling instinct-molecules, which you knew faithfully, remained loyal to you.

It gets empty at an accelerated pace, perhaps just because you could never really understand the petty, insidious rules of the troubled, complex life. In your dreams, your selfish-mushy ******* would try a host to yourself, and when you look at the depths of mirrors, you will surprise yourself as a curious-child Esti Esti; How did you think all your dreams, your desire, would be fully fulfilled!

All of you will be in your instincts, and you will only be shocked if you are nervously unexpectedly doubtful, uncertainty, preserved in vain as the basic formulas of Spleen.

Perhaps no one can be completely on the lookout, because, in vain, we would have become a petty, pathetic life. As a miserable, Hugo's manipulation, calculating interest, and we are clever at any time, bravely as they deliberately throw their principles and ambitions.

We started the conscious Nirvana-Nothing maybe today, and we never really asked ourselves: did we lie truth to ourselves, or just the love that was played into the universe with our wounded hearts?!

Even if we had pure crocodile tears towards each other, they had long since run into heaven as a pale glass *****; At night, a crouching, anxious-shaded farm beat themselves on the deficiency of themselves, which we could only guess about the passing of a brother-in-law.

From human eyes, like broken shirts, a star was severely knocked; They are uncomfortable with the whole that consumes the whole. - Now are we now necessary for permissions to take permanent breathing, and if one, say, steals a little Rákóczi winter salami and half a pound of bread is going to be in the Cotra?!

Those who have often waited for us in uncertainty and convinced that tomorrow could be a little lighter, later they will leave us unexpected and leave permanently. Because for a long time, the rogue cards have been played if they only feel soda to easily open the abundant money purse.

We boil boring, distorted, petty revenge, when we subside, we have the incredible instincts, we sprinkle salt on our wounds, and let it hurt!

The interiors - perhaps you can barely notice it - shrink into an increasingly narrow mouse -sized cage, in which the free -born soul stumbles. The image of your face is just wrinkled, washing grooves, it is not yet known whether the dirt or just aging.

Subject to reflective misconceptions, not only who you were, but nowadays increasingly who you could have been; They are very ******* with unbreakable threads, as are the habit of tied fools, or the pigs taken to the slaughterhouses, and you can't understand yourself; In the old, grotesque world in which you were forced to prosper as if the cross -sections of the interior were becoming more and more scarce.

You could hardly recognize the smells who just stopped by you, that you. Is it good or malicious to a person hidden in the given branded, expensive suits - at the same time towing, knocking, treading, or, if you like intentionally, it is necessary to not only only the Alamus ants in this world, but also the unworthy Caesar.

There is no one who can speak to you as a wisdom of libraries, and you would listen to you with interest, because you would feel from the inside that you can trust it, so you can give it to your true, real simple word. - The memories of the soul that are embedded in stories so they quickly fall out of bribes.

There are no abandoned houses to be considered home. On the sharp pebbles or is forced to balance while your legs are wounded by the stone; It would be good to have an inner map that leads to an encrypted guide that would whisper the one-to-one as a gullible heart: maybe it can't be too late, maybe someone is waiting for you!

The silent, quartz frictions of the silence may even enter under the skin, just like most of the lousy, slippery creeping worm. The silence that increases the silence may now seem even bigger than it knocks on the wind, swearing. Words, like the tossed stone eggs, are often turned against each other. He had ****** in with his digestive juices, while the bottom of the research eyes had long been dug and crumbling.

Man seems to be trying to force himself into a perpetual rogue or lying role nowadays, which he is forced to endure as an invisible protector; Many things can be crouching - but feared - there is no use, no value.

Along the silk cord, the wealthy people are now drawing a border price that was once a community playgrounds or nature reserves, but they can parade on snow -white luxury yachts, and they are already plenty of it; The realistic reality seems to be more and more sandy, and sooner or later, as an uninhabited Sahara, everyone would perceive themselves.

In a human look, lonely stars have recently been captured and can not deliberately find their places. Because now we are very good at not standing in everyday life; The bubbles of minutes, like the airships fall apart, sounds like a curse for decades of Sanda speech in common slang or thief tongues.

Now, as if he was driving a wind, cloudy clouds jump over and down with a brief grasshopper. It is as if he were a prisoner of time, which he had never let go, but many times he is in prison if he doesn't pay attention enough, or his ever-acting attention is wandering away.

All prisoners of the age of the modern mass man are to avoid this temporary fact -at least for the time They like it.

Gigantic lottery game that -involuntarily -is now involved, and although he has long been aware that he should have left the cheap chase of small -children's dreams, but no one is so cheap that he even tells himself - Although nothing is excluded nowadays.

The eternal one of the Nesse was always followed by a shadow; With a broken cheap momentum, he finished another telling card circle because he was eagerly chasing the momentary reputation, buying happiness, ownable economy, even though he knew it was no use, because it was just a silent voice without a sheet of emptying!

This is how it slowly becomes the practical action of persecuted minds of everyday cheap-elementary commercial days.

Now I am drifting toward an invisible, swaying goal, even a sailor in storms; I go tirelessly lame, I stumble silent. The fog-filtered, stupid sunlight is now dense; You can hardly point to the direction, while outside, the world and the wise man shrink. It was as if sorrow, joy, it were a drink, and he couldn't let the dreadful doubts and haunting fears melt in the crouching of the soul.

In the maze of the brains, the memories that are considered lasting can soon be on the path of stubborn fading if memory goes bankrupt. Because now - it may seem like it - the average is stifling, and the inner circles, which used to be tempted, would have to step out and wanted to stay. While it would be good to believe that free-to-beer is stronger than the wild baundy hand that destroys and never builds, they are an unequivocal shortage of the otherwise uncertain future.

In the sneaky, knife -stalls, they even wander splashing, playful dolphins, even if the angels require money, petty materials, without really getting married, chessboarders are cheap, pathetic figures with ulcerative stomachs, Checking wooden heap, settled, drunk, far from sanity. One or two social workers -looking at them -but that is the maximum.

The huge gear of work is unnecessary to continue to oil and polish, as the thousands of bustling ants are vulnerable to the lords of the compulsive, until you can do it for cheap hunger while the Darius Muri Muri is upstairs. Social crossings and bridge beats between gaps seem to be intentionally no way.

Freedom of appearances - you don't even realize - drunk, and later, in your durable disillusionment, is drowned much later into permanent nausea. With stolen time, you may not always be able to treat 100%even so; You move in the orphanage of your closest familiar friends, as if you were no longer there, or just intentionally linked the lines of a pathetic, small -style life.

You think you are compromised with yourself, and that the curved mirrors were telling the truth when they showed a false torso image; Behind your childishly horned-naive face, the waves of decades echo silently, incessantly. At the zebra, the urge to commit suicide is caught; When should you step out of this confused, superficial world so that you wouldn't be able to live here?!

A lost romantic moment -if it had been -could hardly compensate for so many stigma seals; They said that they had not been fired now, only forced the expensive suits in a temporary exile, which you even openly know that it was always a roar.

It would be good to cling to the unbridled scream of seagulls, but feel that you can fly and discover new places from the very, very low, lean severance pay that the powerful directors have been pushed to you. - True, true! Now you are just a ruined debris wall, a tile without a fugue that can fall and break on the ground at any moment.

You know, it is not good for a long -term shortage or the everyday brainwashed indifference; Rather, stay yourself and don't believe in unnecessary rumors that things will change! Do not have a condition in your existence or as if!

In most cases, one would not believe, unfortunately, not only criticisms, not only criticism, scalp -like remarks, but also the trumpet archangels blowing out the sinister trumpet. The lies are now increasingly small, pathetic, as almost everyone has become a deliberate compromise and made a bargain or a good pact.

Now, it may seem that the desire for glorious fame is in constant, even in the hazelnut brains that have been brainwashed; Human life is everyday, small -style, little hell of time, unexpectedly, unexpectedly. Now, the latent roots of the desire for power are increasingly wanting to gain from the earth, his deliberately ruined life again, venturing to the light of the world again.

Well -sounding visions have now been infected in their vanity that you. The beauty and glorious model industry will perhaps spoil them for the rest of their lives, and will be treated as queen, and while the average is only increasingly burdensome, pleasing, and in lasting unhappy, the robot.

Momentary, calculating pleasures, reconciled unhappiness, they are disturbing, crossing the labyrinth, deliberately uncertain paths. And waking up on the boundary of the dream, with half-paths the next day, with its visceral headaches, a few raven birds swear over a continuous, unprecedented head-up heads. Who knows if they are just waiting for another winter or for another start?!

As if he is now more likely to choose a long-term deficiency, secret nirvana-nothing instead of manipulation of the loud living; He does not even notice himself, as he behaves - perhaps - as the brainwashed wickedness, lubricating, damped indifference is the greatest enemy.

In decades, it is already a plenty of action adventure if you feel inside that you can only count on yourself, if you are left alone. He is deliberately trying to find, in the depths of selfish moles caves, to find the bustling, possible questions of existence, and often no longer understand who, when or where he was able to make a mistake and bribed.

You know, because most of the many crypt-faced people are pathetic one of many who are the subject of total ridicule, but still try to never complain. And then, from time to time, like a ****** rickshaw, the average is a silent rebellious protest from the average, -true, to no avail, because on the one hand there are even more important and important things on this earth; For example, who steals, embezzles, or cheats more - and while he thought the happiness he found was just that he was within reach - he barely noticed that he had been buried alive, the unbroken, cynical, bitter -smelling small -smelling Calvary ...

Ourselves should simply be comforted, perhaps crystal clear throughout a living life; Our committed, stupid, yet human, petty mistakes are warning, until finally, it can easily be left for us. The profound power rehearsals of will and humility are barely existing nowadays, only if it is just mentioned at higher levels of instructions or referred to it within spectacular frameworks.

Because for some reason the aspects that are now hidden; Whoever broke up, then broke up, and eventually forgotten the right of stormy emotions, as further spiritual weights, the soul's ever -wearing, vulnerable depths, where even the miner is not very daring.

Celeb-blink, beauty-made shores on the conveyor belts are carried by the digital space everywhere, so that the sensationalist and the average person who has made a lousy bargain can only stare at the life of Jancsi. When will billions of understanding molecules-stimulating emotions come permanently and really fulfilled?!

It would be good to feel in the depths of the Star Eyes with the omniscient eye, and the manipulated soul could not allow anyone to bribe it at any time.

How could you know what the sweet-sad childhood remembrance, the playful joy, the childish-naive curiosity, could have been known to the moment, when the sacred gates of free sense were secretly adopted by the understanding mind, the maternal care.

That the footprint of the long-standing eternal love may never disappear in the periodical limits of the time, as they are now in the depths of the drummering perits, and as dormant Atlantis Continents are still patiently waiting for them to be re-addressed in the name of sincere emotions.

It is often so worrying everyday life in Sififus's burden on how dark the clouds are sitting on each average human heart. Or  
How unfair was all the bice-shaded bumps that we once learned to walk, and while some were crying and giggling on the ground, others sprinkled themselves and went on, glorifying the joy of movement alone.

That momentary happiness may be worth more than the continuous forty years of lasting, the bitter -sweet, lasting isolation. That nowadays there are more and more worm-heart tarcks and fewer pearls in human stars.

How do you know that when someone as a teenager was not seen in the cross -section of the mirrors looked like a duckling duckling - but the one who was meant to be. How could a crowd know what it is like to be ill in the deadly round of the dear unexpected-suddenly minutes, and the passing away from birth is captivated. I say with questioning sadness: You have no idea!

He starts, starts every day, and the man is unable to wipe the rush from his face. Between two rushes, they have a finite judgment in mortal times. A prudent citizen clings to tomorrow's momentum in the swinging stream of tomorrow. And though you know it will lose forever - you can still pay attention to the solid throne of the dawn.

The happier life with a bread-scent cannot be the unfortunate, stumbling-stumbling shipwreck. Prisoners of warfare stands for watching a hunger at night…

In cool, snow-white robes, they are in succession from the memorials of unworthy past and good friends. The handshakes that can be obtained as a win-win gift also made each other a *******-alleged promises, thread, and light-blooded vows.

Darkness on the syrup puddles of everyone is welcomed by betrayal. It would be good to open the onion peel as a wise man to declare and grow more liberated. The reverse embodiment of Marcona's wax puppets constantly testify and remind me of shameful conscience.

There is an anxious hope under the bush hands or pearl nails. Often, they are desperate for yesterday, and they crave for time. There are no more prodigal refuge in the reality of objects. Most witnesses are cowardly, while judges stare either with a dead deafness or persistent, unstoppable indifference to the outside world.

The tabloid and social media are full of root-nasty calculating glances and unnecessary shapes. Whose solid and faithful friendship could have been disappointed in every bush when they go for the recesses of celebrities in the face of won!

The truth is that it is a lot of trouble if it is a shame or failure to end a goal or a planned idea; Not only is the lasting doubt on two shoulders, but also the most distressing, sigh of self -confidence that kneads the stem cells of my soul every day. Rarely, in direct proportion to me, I can walk in the rectangular corridors that can still be accessible. Sanda's compulsion is still stretching if they do not pay enough attention and take it too seriously.

It would often be better to examine the details that are meaningful; Motioned from hair-to-hair, groping, to see if they could still be discharged by the much-awaited whole. - The often unexplored, dense crowd of the years is now increasingly vague, with a safe, rebellious crossing, as everything and everyone alone can only be warmed by missed things; What is it unable to repair it like this or another?!

The wind blows through the unmatched spiritual wounds, the healing and the redeeming intention becomes unreasonable if they notice the scrubbed, squeezed routine, as well as the bargaining. - He collects a crashing colon mad feather like a multicolored, beautified memories of the metamorphosis of the seasons, and in many cases, he doesn't even know if he could only be a passive, patient guest in the big whole, or just a more special but more special dust ?!

It is as if, as a intended intention, it was constantly going on, and even the stupidity of the free-thought minds is to be held; Now, beyond the world of tabloid media, the so-called. In the world of cheap, diluent-smelling influencers, which have been abandoned to pop culture, there could be a growing ruthless, almost intentionally brutal-hard competition for the sacred favor of followers and lyrics. Because now it seems as if all and everyone is a cheap, bribing, pathetic Jibs' sensation not only from the wide Cyber ​​network of mass-information digital channels and networks, but also from the increasing decade its rather heating and determines it.

Now they can't dare to listen alone to the reasons of the already completely left -handed, which can be made, to be logically built -in clichés, because they are better off telling others what, where, where, and especially how to do it.

Personality as a temporary or if you like; an intermediate individual, no longer satisfied with the unrepeatable magic and perhaps specialty of the individuality of the individual. Cheap, dilute, reduced simplified sentences are grinding many cheap celebrity presenters on TV just like on the digital wavelength of commercially secured radios, and of course no one guesses, and knows that if pseudo-hazug news and rumors replace a poem, Perhaps the average brainwashed, hazelnuts of wild juggle men would be able to re-discover the small micro-capabilities of their thinking using autodidact methods.

It is as if this current vulnerable life seemed to be a pathetic, complex tangle, from which a safe panic-free release from a safe manifestation on asylum routes, as well as a fled mailer!

Pudding test

As if you were at the same time in dialectical interaction with everyone; Instead of slowed truths, the era of deliberately accelerated lies, decisions, and beautiful ears were now. The bankruptcy of redeeming traps seemed to be a minute-to-one, as the events of everyday life believed to be rock-solid are merely repentant for those who stayed here.

Now everything is so uncertain, vulnerable, translucent; A gesture, or a attractive flirt-smell, a holy guarantee of given handshakes that create new career opportunities at the same time, but at the expense of everyone else.

Whether the manipulation of status and interest relationships would be easy to succeed. And while wounded hearts may suffer new, calculating, self -established pipe fractures where the souls who want to take care of the soul remain, who would have the job to heal the spiritual wounds?!

Somewhere halfway between quilting and respect, the Almighty point had long been lost: you. that they were once raised for mortals and people, who, in the company of the masses, became mobs by the time to change.

Chewing gum mass, sticky slashes have become the feeling or simplified confession; List thresholds -as you like -can only cross one average during a single shipwreck. Is it more difficult for the mere defiance to be more difficult if the conscious doubts are not haunted daily?!

Now it is resounding again, the spit-out, wild brutal romanticism, which is what many brainwashed, nameless persona-CDs, pay-as-you-go kurafi call it, is distasteful. How the hell the distressing self-consciousness spews itself out into the world. "because everything is in vain!" – his basic feeling. The disgraced, poisoned saliva lips of prostitutes cite everyone to the meat processor of slaughterhouses.

No one wants to raise their defenseless head from the row of the yellow earth, where they have sinned with zeal, lying to the stars?!

In this upset, grotesque old world, where the insidious herd-herd spirit, arrogant, self-righteous, sole-licking idiots and party-faces sizzle with unanimity, the air hisses ferociously. – They are dishonored, destroyed, just like benevolent vagabonds; fake card holders rob each other if they really have to.

Even unarmed, the soul-flame burning on your tender body is more and more ominous and dangerous. Waving shadows strangle each other to their liking in the syrupy darkness. It is still permissible for ecstasy-intoxicated party-celebs who are dully recovering, if destruction builds a permanent nest among the ruins of their existence

The split schizophrenic ego disintegrates into its **** like layers of shells. – The extended waves of murderous silence blur the complexity of self-evident essences. The cosmic Janus face of murderer or victim is already going on. The long-term, general deprivation of the same goals is already the cherished dream-desire at all levels.

The tempers of the Cain brothers are now straining against each other. All of them are lone criminals still hunting themselves in their No Man's Land!

When the restlessness is also difficult to calm down inside, one day it may even happen that you will finally be able to make peace with yourself; when you will be soothed and comforted by the truer, more angelic being of your Beloved, who first gently bends over you like a sleeping birch branch, then hugs you, cradles you, like an orphaned child, maybe then you yourself can understand the complexity of the choice, it was always in you alone.

When Being weaves new ulterior motives and nefarious plans against you, you will easily find out that in this great, infinitely fattened, manipulable game of chance, which is now being played for the pleasure of the Galad World, you will feel that you can find your own lesson-witnesses even in your fall.

Even now, still sleepily, a little comatose, the small Odyssey-like readiness of homesickness hums and hums in your heart; you want to go, set off on a journey as if it were a continuous eternity, because you are unable to lose the weight of your precious, tiny life, thought to be shipwrecked, in one place, and you can feel as if the no-man's-day sin of everyday life would immediately crush the seeds of your as-yet-undiscovered creativity.

Take good care of yourself, because you yourself can face it every day and you can see it: the average person is regularly cheated and deceived by the harlots, bloodthirsty sensationalists, celebratory, pitiful scumbags, and greedy, unquenchable longing for a more luxuriously arranged lifestyle, which you have nothing to do with, since you always wanted to be yourself.

When you feel that others can pull you around as they please, you will need a gentle nickname and some truer words of friendship cut from honesty.

How many more wasted, pitiful, nightmare-filled, futile vigils are needed for a moment that was said to be eternal, to let not only the lack that is said to be permanent, but also the emptiness to leak out once and for all?! Despite the deliberately diverted parts, it seems as if the pitifully structured scenario could have always remained the same.

Sooner or later, someone will really get to know someone, and what's more, on an instinctive, visceral level, they will unexpectedly throw them away, saying; he delved too much into the other's more personal, more modest, lyrical self, which is like a thick, unbreakable walnut gut, and it's a tough job to even break it open, especially when someone tries to protect and protect his soul with doubled spiral walls.

Then comes another love that flirts with the Universe, but is still trite, which may seem to totally replace, change, and convert the person in question, until finally, one fine day, it ends in a painful breakup simply because the secret gigantic weight, the outbursts of honest, lying emotions are no longer they can be enough to make everything right, or just make up for it.

Questions, new illusions, and insecurities surround the individual day by day, and when the registrar's finale comes, instead of the obligatory yeses, nos are heard, because material well-being is still worth more than a paltry, life-smelling petty emotion. But the long-awaited solid and eternal snail-house happiness just can't come, since both parties made a petty, calculated deal in their own way, so they bargained at the same time. It's a shame to put the apparent oiliness in yet another set of question marks.

The current social conventions, which can be chosen on purpose, are still deliberately imposed on each individual and try to regulate the life of the traditional average, while, condensed into a single minute, the given life will soon fly away, and there will not be a single witness left who knows who was, or could have been, the another?!

Everyone knows by now: Mouse nibbling pulverizes the brain, reason, and culture, and every shrill, shrill sneaking around becomes unfathomable in the cauldron of souls. Everyone gets a vigilant donkey's head, and more and more often the simple court fool can only be absolutely right.

Stuttering in the soothing sheep choir is now becoming more and more popular. Minutes's field of vision is getting narrower and narrower, the superficial success of minute-man blue. Discounted autographs and superficial gestures are handed out by the privileged and the deserving. Even sweet mistakes lose themselves on purpose. More and more people are claiming that they have the right to be successful or to earn a lot of money as an influencer. In a black-and-white world, simplified things can easily become complicated.

Now, foolish brutes and wild animals enjoy themselves and parade in abundance. The embittered odious words that once spiced up the cozy night with an idyllic, sweet romance - now, in bitter, stripped-down habit, they are deepening further and further in their own, selfish underworld. That a real lady could so easily succumb to the sight of a macho testosterone Titan after a single candlelit dinner. He can't give a compliment yet, but he drives a Porsche or even a Ferrari if he feels like it; and the soul-seeing willow poet may fall on his face sooner.

Now fewer and fewer people can climb to the heights of the Heaven of emerging Being; fewer and fewer soul-seeers could remain on their feet, just like the truer, more immortal believers in Allness, who could still feel the vulnerable joys of Being in the midst of the materialized world!

The flickering sliver of night light now encloses the pitch black like a looming, cracked lampshade. Outside, the brutal cold of winter, which wants to gnash its teeth, bends icicles, even though it is only minus two at the moment. "That's plenty too!" - you think, while a lost yellow-cheese taxi carelessly passes in front of your house.

Something has stopped again and disappeared from this World that is now starting the new year. You can't be 100% certain that you've actually just become a tolerated, transiting guest, who is asked to go to hell behind your back with the very first elegant gesture, or is pestered for a while with wait-and-see, honey-glazed tactics. - A surprising number of people flounder through their own ****** lives, as if everything and everyone is already spiraling towards the great common debtor, from which there is neither escape nor return.

The fake passwords that also attack the other worlds in the form of belated rescuers rarely, if ever, arrive on time; an elderly mother collapses on the open street corner, while curious, naive, almost childlike onlookers rush around her, while her carefree and worn-out body sighs out its thought-to-be-immortal soul as the last unfinished chapter.

The wretched shell-loneliness, and rather the increased avoidance of redundancy, increasingly tempts the still-stuck living. - The fate of the lost often scares even those who are only now trying to learn and teach the acid and pepper of the capitalized but lying Life. The projected vision of the future is now even more glaring, and even more conspicuous. The beginning and end are often barely recognizable!

Who is hard at heart, or never at peace in the name of compulsive games as the whispers of the left index finger, like the convict, the son of man has been branded, except that the fussy, ragged life is still a serious matter. Man's compromised hope was also lied to from the heavens, like the diamond-bright stars, in order to somehow fill the emptiness of the great lack at any cost.

Because somehow all of them have been forced to hide the deep abyss intentions of their own selfish and greedy plunder in secret and perhaps under me. some of them are even capable of squealing out of their own skin at any time and pretending to be something other than what they really are. They are the total opposites of a relatively impracticable, agreed-upon lifestyle and social arrangement.

Only the long-lasting loneliness could not ask for absolving grace from the agonizing, mind-blowing solitude; even among the memories of the past that open wounds, a lasting, agreed reconciliation can now seem more and more difficult. - With unreserved half-solutions - he is afraid - it is difficult to cross the dimensional gates of the inner soul, which do not just open to anyone.

With interchangeable Janus faces - in many cases - like sheep led to the slaughterhouse, snarling beasts stare at each other, worms and traitors at the same time, because they could hardly do anything else. In the shelters of sleepless nights, it would be nice to have a predictable, protective hug that is unique and inimitable. Everything seems to sink relatively uselessly into the squinting silence...

They already say - not only the wiser ones - if they still exist here on this Earth, that we will surely fall a lot, my friends! Even Existence will become more and more expensive, and as soon as one or the other willful moles-mums are kicked out of good-sounding jobs, where it is exceptionally not necessary to work thirty-six hours straight, the state of permanent-total weightlessness will still be in half of our lives, if it happens.

It's as if the external and internal gravity has completely disappeared, since deeper psychological and subconscious forces are at work there, even if anyone has any conscience left to do it. Because those who already step inside, they wander by themselves looking for a way out through a life left behind.

It is no longer possible for the creative person to simply put his head down to creative, feasible ideas, since the so-called about filthy-***** financial sources, sponsors, and producers who, with little brains, are even willing to finance a private project - of course with a fat, twisted profit -.

This is how the synthetic, uncertain Future devours and inhales its unsuspecting victims in seconds. My false metronome keeps clicking in the ears of people who are hard of hearing, and even now they don't really understand which decision or answer would be easier: to survive this *******, confused Whole, or to hide in your tiny holes and mouseholes, maybe everything is easier there?!

The last, ending fatigue almost deliberately wears down, withers, and determines almost everyone. The great Nothingness of the single, finite minute-moment, just like a sloppy lighter will - maybe - extinguish itself now, just like a stray matchstick...

It is unnecessary to take back the polite right of self-indulgence - he is afraid. In vain! Amaga reduced to cordivat is proper, good manners, etiquette. And although - supposedly - the code of conduct is still in full force in some places; if one catches a brainless wild fowl **** for a change, it is better not to engage in intellectual and literary ramblings, but to simply move on with measured English.

There are more than a dozen businessmen-oligarchs, but there are only very, very few patrons who support culture, and they don't support just anyone, only those who can turn over their capital with a huge profit. People believed that everything of value, the golden mean, and humanity would one day find a way to the heart, to a well-considered, rational mind, but in reality we are once again at the point where everyone is playing against each other, playing the rules of the game that were still thought to be solid, and throwing a fit easily at certain mementos, to emotions belonging to humanity.

Because the tiny pieces of the given existence - if true, if not - are even now more and more consistently defining the unfinished facts of the smooth Present. Because the things that have happened at this moment are a bit clichéd together with the have-nots, which would still have been nice to implement in one way or another.

On the ribbon of the infinite world, they exchange messages that can be amplified to the point of pettiness, because they have long since forgotten what honesty can mean, when a stray teardrop unexpectedly falls on no man's land, and uncaring palms catch the trembling half-chest. It would be nice to follow one or two more rules, so that people know exactly, feel that even though they are stumbling in one place in the Hyena World, they are still there, and that crazy point of reference exists!

The more and more difficult and difficult to survive decades have already turned into clouds. Like pigeon guano on the windowsills, which cannot be picked up once and for all, or scraped off. Only one thing is certain here: if a curious bird, reluctant to stare - be it a raven, magpie, or tern - takes off with a light, almost airy movement between the far-seeing cotton-wool continents of the horizon, sooner or later it will look out for the more unfortunate and stupider human son and once and for all drops his stink bombs.

Because human life shrunk down to an ant-millimeter can be worth this much, while pigeons, ravens, and Tandori's favorite sparrows are also feathers clinging to the ground. - Surely the immortal happy ones are still hiding somewhere at some point, who fully enjoy the fruits of the Garden of Eden of Being, and they have no idea to ask anyone why the other is miserable, why he has degraded and lowered his own selfish standard of living and is therefore so grumpy?!

Scared - the thin Reality can hardly hold the considered formulas of dreams, ideas, instincts and desires anymore, from which it becomes consciously clear that each person still existed as a separate, eccentric-stubborn island on this mud-ball, and paid the price with interest for it, if he stayed true to himself because he became a Judas-traitor to others, then they could read the petty, small-scale judgment of his failure enough times chased, humiliated on his head.

Out there, in the urban festive whirlwind that has hibernated to ice, it's as if a constantly humming, buzzing beehive is singing: "Buy anything now, because it's worth paying for later!" - And the cat-and-mouse game of chance between each other goes on and on with petty, squealing pleasure, until - unfortunately, in most cases - the average person loses anyway. That is why game theory is much more a it is determined by blind luck, like anything else, and that in the crowded, posh casinos in Monte Carlo, you cannot see the sunlight, so that they can create a deliberate eternity, an inner stressing restlessness.

And while high-world, hysterical checkers-queens parade one after another on the red carpet in the whirlwind of their big evenings, where - as you know - only success, fame, lowly assertion, pushy intent are the latest trendy chic - they can hardly notice them in the alleys of street corners in cardboard box cities survivors, or that sooty-faced little angel who sells bouquets of flowers during shivering minuses!

In our moments, it is not yet the iron-heavy dream that has hit the homestead like this on the approach of the holiday, but rather a kind of destroyed, permanent shipwreck, nicknamed permanent disillusionment among the ruins of a worn-out, much-destroyed present. In the leaden night after midnight, a raven-black jaguar or a panther purrs as it stalks its prey, as if Life, the eternal director, as the great, fatal mangrove press, sooner or later grinds every created soul to its liking.

In the dim light of street lights, a lost five-minute-famous Celeb-face appears; with self-help advertising strategies and new like-hunts, because recognition can no longer be guaranteed otherwise, only with manipulable, lead-seeking tools like this that are splashed everywhere. The faces that have been very familiar for twenty or thirty years, yet unknown, are covered by some mysterious, charming frosting smile, which is both a lie and a lie, and remains false forever. It may seem that the constantly thinking mind can rarely create for itself a cultured home-shelter, secure library-ports.

The one-World, now rotting to the core, is experiencing an unorganized lack of space for an uncertain future. The waist of winter digs viscerally into human tissue with its frozen tiger claws, and no matter how much it wants to, it won't let go. A sense of cold and mixed loneliness has now moved into the cocoon of insomnia. The well of life is an ever darker pile-chasm; getting out of its labyrinthine spiral lines is an increasingly self-evident impossible undertaking.

The slapping lesson just got easier; as if only those who openly lied to themselves and made more and more small-scale bargain alliances of dubious value in order to live at a high-quality, elite level or to prosper! "Nowadays, no matter how much anyone can ask for a small number of people here, if they don't have enough money, they will die!"

Now the profane, festive silence set in, and like a compromising, false, word-breaking friend, he immediately blurted out all the small-minded secrets of others; out there, the ancient, well-rehearsed tactic of wallowing is maintained based on the predictable, petty principle of "it's good to give and receive", which involuntarily trickles down to a small side benefit not only for celebrities but also for sensitive celebrity faces.

It's as if they are deliberately stripping their cheap and salable souls, bribing them towards the uncertain Tomorrows. In the eyes of the beholder - if there are any still here on earth at all - how much is a couple of kind friendly words shoved in a mean way when it costs almost nothing just a bowl of bean soup?! Unwittingly, the frail person constantly categorizes and tries to think back to the holidays of his shipwrecked childhood, when perhaps it was still good to cling to the beard of playful curiosity, knowing that he could receive a real spiritual gift.

Unfortunately, this current century will also become increasingly sickly suspicious, where all kinds of dirt and filth accumulate involuntarily and it is not possible to clean up or fix what has already been damaged from the ground up for a long time. From there you can tell that nothing is going to work, that we immediately become worried about an unlikely friend invitation, about which we knew nothing until now. There can be neither a happy, self-deprecating ending, nor catharsis, only a brainwashed mass of deliberately deafened people, whom it would be better to console and forget forever.

They will stumble into another whirlwind New Year; who's drunk, who's afraid, or maybe quite sober, and again, beyond the usual symbolically puffed-up, fireworks, or firecracker slogans, there isn't and can't really be grasped at the tattered intentions of human sympathies!

Now we have to live more and more in the age of Caliban, where everyone deceives, cheats and robs everyone. The channels of existence close in front of our noses at an early age, while there is no one who does not fall halfway to the afterlife. Man, whether a wanderer or just an exhausted traveler, takes minutely into account the one-time limit points of his predictability, condemned to mortality.

It may be that there is no longer, nor can there be, a chance to definitively explore the innermost spaces of insight, which are hardly visible to the eye, because everywhere the superfluous appearance, the ******, manipulable interest prevails. Conscious self-destructive decay bordered on petty, childish folly; honey-glazed sugary words will soon lead to a lot of boiled bile, which tends to be accompanied by persistent nausea; out there, greedy, pitiful little worms with a penchant for fighting are robbing each other according to rules of the game that can be permanently rewritten, but can also be broken.

Now many petty Darius and Harpagon are counting their cursed treasures in heaps, and no one would ask the average person what troubles he has caused in this no man's land in the countryside?! Even the common man now carries corruption by the hand, like a weight-carrying ***-heaviness, as if deep inside he knows that dreams of luxury in paradise will never come to him. In an age where voluntary submission has become a trendy fashion, the frail man makes deals and breaks them. When locals?!

And they will be and remain the servants-mascots of eternal losers-losers who only dared to fantasize about a simpler, happier life, and have not yet intentionally sold themselves; Nowadays, there are more and more secondary side tracks for people who like to push themselves, where they can stream to their heart's content and pull the profit. In the end, the broken, often humiliated person will be a silent scream at the bottom of a lace bush...

It's like you're an increasingly shaky pillar of your own petty, pitiful ceiling; you still try to hold your uncertain future with your two palms. Do you still want to build something while, like Orpheus, you constantly look back and see if you did, thought or did everything well and carefully?! The cornerstones of the past - it is possible - can only give you yes-yes answers that you want to get wise.

You can only forget and hide under the carpet the millions of cellular instincts of permanent insecurity for shipwrecked people with the comforting, sustaining love of the One-Dear One; the conscious, deliberate fear that: you will be completely and suddenly left to yourself, just like your Alzheimer's memories or even the brain-shaped core enclosed in a walnut, may always remain with you. Now you are still looking into the aching, wolf-crying ice-blue eyes of winter, even the central heating can only barely pass through your hardened, cat-like bones. The drooping blood-red petals of your geraniums, saved from the frost and beginning to wither, are still hiding in quiet humility in the corner of your room.

- Now your accompanying instrument is the cello, which plays the sonata in G minor, but with some kind of intense, inner experience, like when the music also gets a cathartic euphoria, and you can't understand how, or how could all this have happened?! You would call upon the calmness of your immovable toes, so that it could finally accept your restless, restless soul, but you yourself know very well that it is not possible, since you still have important things to do here on this Earth, even though you only got about twenty or twenty-two years in a no-man's house. With your often petty, persistently obstinate and intrusive questions, you have already - perhaps - too much peppered under the noses of many people, who - it is true - could see you, but could not really get to know you like that! The massive, explosive temper held on the emergency brakes narrows in the cavernous depths of your soul, still whimpering.

Only the color and at most the shell, if you can see it. In the seed house, the black-brown seed is soaked and dried on the sand. He looks like an outsider wanderer, at the same time confiding in him, and at the same time even luring him in with an insidious desire.

Its insidious layering is revealed by a regrown thick layer; it always escapes from your grasping hands. It inevitably dictates and interprets the meaning of Being; it casts enticing shadows in front of you.

When the comical moment comes, you can see him slapping and deceiving his peers clinging to the branches of trees: perhaps people also beat each other up in this way, take advantage of each other. Judgment trudges towards everyone with black lead weights, just like the executioner. At the frozen, silent bottom of slimy dreams, everyone can already guess that the rightly dreamed proud present is just a lie that started as a rumination!

The innocent gaze is shocked by the fact that greedy worms, gnawing on the flesh of juicy, southern fruits, have stealthily invaded the farm like silt submerged in mud. And that the well-deservedly praised exotic looks merely pretended to play both flirtation and the intentionally orphaned true love.

The scorned and destroyed revenge shines in Dúlt's eyes, that he was led and deliberately betrayed the emotion of the immortal Allness.

The loyal, truth-telling mirror of the eyes, when did your gal become a traitor?! This current money-hungry, misusing the World's victims every day. And while the seed can feel comfortable inside its seed house - trampled by the harsh outside world every day, it makes use of its defenseless tugging puppets!

We should now tighten the gauntlet of marcona, thundering courage. All of us, like the blindfolded blind, are deliberately stuck in the gaping gloom.

Who would work in the pissy dawn of day, can't the unfortunate - God forbid - reach the meagre farthing for a pittance. Treading, among crawling roots, among underworldly terrors. On us every petty, telltale movement is now tightened.

And so the community called civilized, sluggishly dull and stagnant. Our lives, if we hang in the swamp of indifference in the air of tesped uncertainty as unworthy victims, hanging silently until the next tweaked relief.

Yet we feel our yarrow-life bliss among the hidden career beds, camouflaged ceda-romantics - making us Ariadne's thread of Existence the thudding beats of our hesitant hearts.

The greed for money demands our clarity, ever more violently. We might as well dream the American dream if we could - let us not yet stake our only life on these coveted, pink syrupy, temporary dreams.

It is not good for something to be right or final merely for material gain. Above the sinking souls there must be a winged angel to redeem and protect the light that shines with fragmentary light.

We do not deliberately ask for spikes of power that can be hurled at us. Let the gains of treachery be left to those for whom everything and everyone was but a petty plaything, and who are now all sons and servants of No Man! In defence of the feared Existence, it would be well to look within ourselves one last time!

Empathy-tolerance within ourselves. Nice speech nobly subversive sermons are all too little for the graffiti preachers of this century. Our days are swarming, like the million-year-old volcano that slumbers for the last time before eruptions, and while party queens flash their drunken self-consciousness in the latest fashions - the glorious company of lobbyists misses out on winning bids: the present gallant, helpless world can only hurt and gripe - tabloid media broadcasting sensationalist deceptions, spouting and screaming brainwashed propaganda.

But it is in vain to make education impossible when self-educated people have survived. A million times more conquering stubbornness, protesting resistance, than shrunken submission. An age of wrangling litigation rather than false submission. No longer to bow and scrape to Rolex-watching nobodies or kiss *** in front of canary-voiced titters.

We must oppose this inglorious, grotesque century, which daily tramples on prudent common sense: no need to blink at it, nor is it inglorious. From now on, it is no longer the insidious hypocrisy, the merciless chess-hazard game of points - in the depths of our souls, it is not only the yoked, fake slogans that make us universally say no to the boorish styles of judgmental morality.

Intellectual ideas should be used to educate the true heroes of the Age to become European gentlemen, with thoughtful responsibility and not with protection. If only we could have time to regard the eccentric, the blind, the lame as human, peace would be restored to our troubled hearts!

While life and level differences are already layered on the human soul; conscious construction also has its drawbacks. The verdict of an authenticated, deliberately falsified reality is almost unappealable. It is now less and less possible to extort the maintenance livelihood, as some stupid, forbidden-taboo hunger pang. Because the light of reason and free-thought quickly boils away even in meat pots; it burns, or, as they say, it sticks to it, like mud-jam.

The Present Time - if it exists at all - is certainly not an encouraging promise. Because it can never hurt if the little man builds his castles of cards with internal motives. Inner, instinctual movements shrink into walls by themselves, and because it's as if the person already feels it; with its individuality, almost an entire changing era appears. The cat-and-mouse game of Time - in many cases - is exposed, as it is so obvious. As if Life no longer wants to record itself on canvas, so that Apokfrif's encrypted coordinate codes can be deciphered, more and more hairline cracks squirm in front of the uncertain Future.

Before Doom, he will warm up again, maybe even turn his face back, the wanderer who has been consciously running away all his life. Because what happens when there are no more memories, thoughts, or ideas after the Man?! Is the metamorphosis of the Beginning and the End slipping away? Because the seeds of reason should blossom in the conscience, even if there were anything left here that was still human. - Because he knows it well! A tiny speck of dust, you can only be a sign that you were here alive alone!

The modern recording machine records a falsely composed bed scene with a broken lens, set in reverse, with pseudo-manipulative movements. The derailed formula of movements and hasty grotesque situations is reflected in the cat-and-mouse fighting feats of effective plays. Both actors: each other's corrupt, pretentious, vile accomplice interpreters, simply because they want to captivate at any cost the vibrations of truly important moments in film history.

In the set room furnished with illusions, in addition to the arrogant, phlegmatic director and cinematographer, greedy, prowling eyes scan the prey-creating inspiration with vulture-eyes: how could they do their authentic-original work even better? Lumpy, ***-bellied bellies, athletically slim, navel-piercing bodies strain against each other while, with longing, playful instincts, both immerse themselves in the effective lies of the devilish flirting game, and if they're lucky, there's no need to repeat anything.

Between casual timers, money-laying hens and roosters nestle in tense restless uncertainty like the best blood professionals in the film industry. Suddenly, a clapper clicks loudly, and the director who got bloodshot stood up to everyone in Heureka mode: ,That's it! Thanks!" – The two characters are still standing, seemingly hesitant in their ecstatic indecision; there is, and certainly cannot be, anything to blame on them.

They shake hands and kiss each other on the cheek. "You were able to give so much of yourself! I think the recording turned out great!" - And the hypocritical version of congratulations, blabbered to the point of mutuality, rains succinctly and benevolently on their disbelieving heads. The World and its sensation-seeking, curious viewers were once again successfully and effectively beaten for one and a half to two hours, freed from their temporary, small-scale, pathetic problem.

Now it is still a questionable mass of doubt and persistently massive uncertainty; a whole series of tiny, smallest manipulative links, when suddenly, unexpectedly, a person can't really know if he can endure any longer and instead decides to compromise with himself and the world, thus selling his selfish and greedy soul, because destined to live and survive.

He becomes a pitiful, petty echo of himself because he wasn't careful enough. On the secret Apocryphal network of blood vessels pulsating in a uniform rhythm, the pure One-essence suddenly emerges on the map of the mind: instincts-feelings, the constituent elements of the Universe, as well as the romantic overtones, revealing gesture-dialogues, which - especially nowadays - do not even seem to have a woodworm. they could not be sold for value, they could be exchanged at will for any amount of money, since the inner composite Soul would be an integral part.

Any number of decades can pass and the frail person will not notice how many details he has missed just because he was forced to listen to the advice of his slave-owning, sociopathic, gut-wrenching boss, according to which: as much profit as possible can create blissful happiness and satisfaction. - How petty, transparent, and nauseating are all the pretentious, small-scale attempts, with which they try to make the simple average believe that they, too, can be worth as much as the dominating Stroman-heads.

Now, step by step, it is necessary to step on sticky, slimy, sandcastle soil hesitantly, wobbly, like a drunk tightrope walker, and the moral axiom is becoming more and more true: "You can't trust anyone, because they will betray you, destroy you, leave you alone!" this is how a person wanders from his shipwrecked, storm-beaten step-life towards his shadow country!

You are standing on the penultimate rung of the ladder, looking at where you can still find yourself in this filthy, cesspool, hardly human, useless, miserable existence; stale-smelling self-awareness supplements are digitized not only by websites, but also by meaningless reports of vain, superficial, arrogant monologues between people. Your morning musings are guarded by the *****, worn drawers of your desk.

Because you know: again the desperate, fruitless trying, the wingless, senseless scratching, that nothing and no one is what it always seemed to be anymore, and that the human onion skin-Soul does not voluntarily open the floodgates of its inner self. And again the Sisyphean silence of the terrible, soul-consuming weights; you can't be free here, only abroad. You languish in timeless captivity decade after decade, like a prisoner who never finds a place to roam, as the life-giving marrow and idyllic memories of romantic loves suddenly and quickly leak out of your damp bones.

If you think about will and actions, they shouldn't seem like compulsions engraved in yesterday; moments are petty, the grinding mill of Alamus is also nervously unrelenting. Everything that you can still see tangibly can be easily realized: it is a false illusion, which was used as a temporary bribe by a pompous and delicate stroman director.

It's a revolving dream-vision that you want to gag, when you're fired the moment you commit the crime, because you stayed true to yourself and for Christmas gift baskets, for a predictable party - not so much - you never degraded yourself to the point of searching for opportunities to assert yourself in a pseudo-consecrated manner.

Now ask yourself: how many bumblebees, fools, and fools would hold a chance as a helping hand for you, while they would be dragged to the stake unnoticed just because of their misdemeanor in the wrong place at the wrong time?!

It is becoming increasingly difficult to survive in the court of time-spinning frog-kingdoms, since - it seems - worms and insect offspring seem to be permanent, and faithful ***-lickers and sole-lickers continue to appear in the long, slimy trails of snails. A well-known game of chance, just like the Russian roulette tricked into the spleen, will be a predictable downfall at the same time, since the person himself is hiding himself in it, and because nowadays the wise donkeys are laughed at just as much as the fools in Hamlet, because among the vile and inferior moles only the the blind tunnel that serves as an escape is the only worthy one that can still merit the possible alternative truths of the proofs.

Why are the more important explanations behind things barely decipherable?! In mass communication, which has begun to atrophy, someone always makes mistakes for selfish, greedy, manipulative reasons, symbolic intentions, without exception. Pimples and padlocks on the corners of the lips were handcuffed by one stray word of truth, while there are more and more brainless roots in the crowded parking lots of supermarkets and plazas. Skilled people give and take not only *** portraits, but even human lives. The rye-marred, raven-fateful autumn season also labors with deliberate obscurity, when the ever-increasing number of witnesses and watchers are barely able to light the world.

If he has already crossed the Threshold of Being in such a way that the human-smelling, Calvary-soul cannot tolerate determined or revenge-thirsty anger; at most, only the eternally creative and renewing intellect could start new actions and things deemed capable of development. Once again, unforeseeable events had to happen, if at all one wants to come to one's senses.

Now just think about that little boy who was sad and anxious to the core, who kept crying, and then there is no need for false words, curvy mirrors, another Janus face, another mask that covers everything. If something binds you, chains you to life, to the world - break, destroy the obstacles that bind your existence with the defiance of a lion and the courage of a swaggering pepper.

If you can no longer be free, because forced happiness, an arranged marriage forces you into rage, even then DON'T GIVE UP! Just think now of the millions of treasures of unbridled memories beating inside you, and then there will be no need for unnecessary words. Then there will be a face from the present, a mask on it, and also a third person who is taking shape, who can now manipulate the explained, convoluted lies at any time.

Then your once innocent, naked face—your soul—will be less visible. Then the brainwashed, deliberately blunted, dumbed-down reality is worth nothing more than a renewed, falsified consciousness based on an already unprofitable formula.

In fact! You don't need them, because flattering words and sweet-sounding promises are completely unnecessary for you. Your vanity is a murderous, narcissistic desire. Everything is embodied in a mirror, ready to show you - your soul, not even like that - can guess or feel the chemically pure truth.

It is enough if you collect a single bright but honest teardrop that lasts until the grave and immediately knock on the door of Someone's heart one by one until you gain admission. "Your troubled past violently pulls you out of your life every day."

Your life - whether you like it or not - is an ominously lurking metaphor, or just a silently resounding rock song, which always needs Someone to fulfill the completed finitude within you!

You know very well: the breast of vulnerability fed you, and you soon realized that you are all alone in the face of the temptations of the confused, sneaky world. The inner boundaries of your personality - take good care of yourself - can collapse completely in a single careless moment. Thorns of stigma-pain flourish in you, while you have an incurable longing for the pitiful love you have stolen from others, which - as you yourself know - cannot be unconditional, let alone selfless.

You are constantly rather dissatisfied, while the weight of tons of years cries and wails over you. As a clinger, you tend to invent varied, deliberately colored lies for yourself, just so that you can escape and survive the next uncertain Tomorrows. The Universe - you once said yourself - has totally destroyed you, humiliated you to the ground, and even trampled you quite a few times, since you were never able to claim for yourself even the crumbs of the degraded, extinct human rights. The now permanent solitude connected with creative solitude has turned into desolation in your everyday life.

Your ever-doubting mind, eager to think, would constantly search for missed opportunities, but - as you know - there are fewer and fewer cultural value-saviors, who do their work not only for cheap interests and unnecessary, inflated fees - but for the sake of May the legacy of anonymous whistleblowers, deliberately hidden, be preserved in safe hands.

Even now, your hesitant movements and gestures are increasingly filled with unnameable expectations; your shared secrets - he is afraid - no one can protect them enough. There are harder, tougher days, when in reality you would rather get rid of yourself, but in every case the demanding Present pulls you back. There is someone sitting on the edge of your selfish, tyrannical torments and self-mutilation, pointing only at you!

I've been through this many times. I carried humility like an evil little garaboncia of resentment. The heavy shackles of despised destruction, secret promises-guarantees for better and happier tomorrows. Many left-behind eccentrics flocked to me, until eventually they too soon wore off and ran out.

He held an angel-scented flirt, a charm-grinning look, and if I had to, I showed: who, when and where can it fully prevail? I gave everyone - who hasn't told me yet - a chance for a second fresh start, so that this time they could get to know me better and really.

I put before them the trust of true friendships thought to be forgotten. – When suicidal, wandering thoughts began to take over, and there was no one to talk to or report to.

People with families have a million times more to do. And instead, they appointed more fluidly the official, legal, online connectors of friendships. Rather, they distributed the right to make false promises and links among themselves. "I've been through this many times."

In the neighborhood, a baby-child screamed in a nerve-wracking way, as if this was the only way to protest and argue with the existing Order. Connived and frivolous, sooner or later everyone gives in and even the gentle stars lie down from the high sky. Those who have had a secret assignment here and there cannot forget for a single minute that their existence as a cultural rescuer is more and nobler than even everyday challenges!

Caught on the merciless defiance side of indifferent shadows, in the lap of filth-powdered wind-funnels, what can be identified as defenseless or even defenseless, I wonder what will happen if a person is insidiously mixed up in sterilized gestures and movements with an unflinching, statue-rigid face?!

The life belt of objects that provide intimate security will surely soon let go, while indifferent look-alikes stuck on the surface dictate the latest useless fashion, for trends. Even the unfinished things are not allowed to be properly completed.

Even the most beautiful harmony often becomes like the flapping of a butterfly's wing stuck on a needle. With a transparent umbilical cord cover, it would be nice to be securely attached to Someone even on invisible threads.

Without wings, the dreary days of Time swing in our unconscious self. Man has already become a leech, a parasite, rocking on the shores of Nothingness, lost in purpose: his swaddle is lack, and the even more useless emptiness, which - no matter how much he wants it - doesn't ask!

Unlucky souls, they all slide to the ground on the broken ice of the moment. The insidious creatures of the merciless, hectic hustle and bustle of everyday life could hide behind their contours. Disguised messengers and prophets of bygone times are forced to roam around in the bushes.

At a time of lurking, enticing, riotous danger, legend-dropping darkness, brainwashed idiots dream of just such fairy tales. – In the stillness of the wind, it becomes more and more difficult to break up the hazy night.

You have become what you never wanted to be in your whole life; closed book, closed door. You never denied yourself in a million ways, because you were guided by "be true to yourself" in your shipwrecked life; even so, you were pushed aside many times, trampled on, deliberately laughed at, and amidst the shackles and cries of public shaming, at least one person who would honestly lift you up would have been fine , and it helps.

A deafening silence embraces you with wailing despair, eternal promises that come to nothing, just like ice drops, sooner or later start to melt. You can't really warm up to a single word now, since most of those who stayed out there betrayed you a bit by always only promising their affairs and that they would visit you in a dignified and faithful manner. Your convulsive clinginess has become more of a curse than a blessing.

Distances have been impassable for a long time, because you don't know who's motivations might lie behind each manipulative, petty-puffing decision?! Ghost-shadows lying on the edge of alleys comfort your stubborn temper, even if you go behind the scenes of a sparsely lit, dim street detail. Now, all time-wasting rants are grouped into senseless, cacophony.

Your truth-begging sadness, just like your self-conscious orphanhood, is still holding on, but - maybe - not for long. You still have to somehow scrape together tooth and nail and preserve your inner independent freedom, while - for now - they can't censor it, and they can't even ban it. The grim, rowdy, petty man-million damns me! As a stone on the side of the road, somehow you're just out there listening more and more humbly!

Sooner or later, the person himself will be crushed, he will compromise in the indifference-silent uncertainty that drags the averages; it is necessary to clean open stigmatic wounds daily with Lethe water. Will and just compromise kills with cursed Nessus poisons. It would be good - at least - once in a while to evaluate things and actions from the other side in detail to examine an essential, significant perspective.

Duplicated, meaningless, pitiful chattering mouths should be locked. Your mother's protective wing can comfort and cherish less and less; after all - says the World - you yourself became an adult as an eternal child. How did you really cry out your miserable, shipwrecked childhood?! Hard to believe. If every five minutes you still find yourself crying in a dark, lonely alley, where even the saving tiger light can penetrate less and less often.

- Now the rude, snarky Time is asking you some Apocryphal question marks; the self-awareness wearing the Janus mask disguised as loyalty and trust is branching out, looking for a selfish and stubborn place. Whether it's sliding down from the edge of steep banks that collapse at any time, it's rarely worth giving a helping hand - you often feel that your everyday worries have towered over your head, and it would be better to retreat once and for all to the universal tower of silence.

The constantly falsifiable facts seem to constantly raise their hangover faces at you, while the hungover, groggy mornings unexpectedly hit you in the face, you know: The world is never ashamed of other people's sins, because it has never felt guilt, moral inhibition - not that much - but it has never felt. The unsmiling, rat-gnawed pulsation of the city is also becoming more and more unrestrained, giving rise to repulsive nausea and nausea...

The Ordas-like night roars like a flute in the Senkiház wind. A population of wild fowl scurrying around human animals scatter their disposable Janus masks. On the face of two crypts, a worn, time-stretched memory wave-law rattles, while large stones bearing witness in tearful eyes toss and turn to their heart's content.

On the frozen backwaters of trees with skeletal claws, crows' wings croak and flutter, proclaiming ominous myths.

I don't intentionally wander in jungle machine music, in a peppered crowd of people. Rather, in the tame warmth of my home, I try to wait for the mysterious destinies of the blind and invisible threads of Fate.

In curved mirrors, my familiar face hits me. Snarling disguises and bloodthirsty men swirl in a buzzing mass of cats. Another year passes and I question myself: Who was I once? and who could I be now?! In another life, the impersonation of myself could act bravely, armed with temperament.

Even then, he wouldn't want to beg for validation, immortal love, final permission to die. I've already built a solitary confinement, a cage around my onion-skin soul, because everything I once believed in can't be degraded into an insidious, calculating lie?!

The rainbow can be broken into pieces by the light, if the gullible eye allows it as an optical illusion. Therefore, it is better to feel sincere emotions with beating hearts, when I feel that every superstitious look has deceived and deceived me at the same time, as if the secret, heavenly signs and every honestly spoken word were just tinsel toys, I don't want to be angry with anyone anymore, I can only quietly make a separate peace and then die out!

I wonder what it will be like in the future, standing in the ring of what can be called polite handshakes believed to be respected, among the profane self-seeking attempts, groping glances, when everyone already thinks they can do whatever they want. While the inner soul sheds its rain-smelling crocodile tears and finally moves out of this earthly existence?!

After repeated compliments, the sole, insidious goal of which is the all-encompassing bed scene, the unconditional culmination of Everything. Even the golden and heroic ages - if they existed - are exalted only out of habit.

Among the raging daily grind and inhuman hunger wages, what will the miserable life of forty-year-olds, which they tried to scrape together for themselves, be like one day?! – What kind of cast will there be among the familiar faces?!

Again and again, everyone repeats the pathetic dog comedy around themselves for their own petty and hypocritical amusement. Self-important, boasting, and licking Alamus *****, he climbs the donkey ladder, jumping over the curses of successful and unsuccessful generations of donkeys.

And each of the babies stares at him, bewildered, in a barrage of brainwashed obsessions. Will the earthly metamorphosis of the vulnerable, human-smelling calvary and immortal lovers be recognisable? A cosmic comet-sphere beaming in the rose-scented holy glow of dawn, which got stuck halfway and then finally fell to earth?

Can we still find our way after so many self-inflicted, painful disappointments? In the manner of obsessed emotional frenzies, we even cling to the last straws, which we once approached with a humble heart!

Because sooner or later, someone always returns to the houses. No one can yet know whether it is the betrayed husband, or the bohemian lover who holds a grudge, the diva lady who tries to hide her own girlish confusion by pretending to be a superficial, hysterical canary. So many questions and answers, to which we can rarely find proper, logical answers. -

The self-destruction that is so envied by many in the intoxication of LSD or ecstasy, in the usual ******-warfare, when the manipulation is no more than a transparent and definable chess game played by two competing parties, there are wild jerks who just like that fight with stone axes , and they fight, just like their hairy-backed ancestors did a million and one millennia ago.

The gravity of the Universe sooner or later pulls everyone along and pulls them down. Because everyone is locked in a lowly cage of minimums and pitiful deadlines, so that they can languish for a lifetime between the prison walls of careers. There will be no one to take a direct interest in the life of each person!

"Just tell me, my friend? Do you still have humanity left in your heart?!" - Lét manufactures and distributes hijacked, lousy end products, as if everyone can be recycled and replaced at the same time. Curses and actions that want to curse have become a daily headache because of indifference and lack he already measured us by the kilo, like straw puppet wrecks, and that's precisely why you can't look into the depths of crooked mirrors with impunity, because he is ashamed of himself whose grotesquely distorted reflection is wolf-eyed Apocryphal codes...