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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SOUL-ARDS



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


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


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

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


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


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

Man-watching, starry-eyed flame Why does it promise stubborn, headstrong Hope only to others?! You tell me, fair lady, the real, the crystal-truth! Dog-hatred and jackal-hatred become blood nowadays, And vague hopefulness breeds in the place of conscious realizations; Ideas are easily crushed! From our hesitant self-defeating chess-steps only Waste springs! The ******, outcast secret of decipherable end-points; the thundering purr of ruby drops of blood in the wound-litter of beating hearts threatened with infarction is evident!

He who daily serves the ivory-Culture experiences a whirlwind! From the twilight of disillusionment a safe and reliable way is seldom found! The cosmic downfalls of groaningly cicentric life-paths guarantee success for powerful oligarchic generals to dictate new, selfish terms! - Spiral Life wraps itself around itself like a shoelace: if it could, it would abuse its born creation to grab privileges!

From bone-lungs oozes syrupy-murderous silence, like hard-healed wounds! Even now the memories of the past carry dagger-edged cares to our feet; dreams are cherished by the babble of babes, and vows are made by the unruly Heart within itself! - Under the pathetic Existence, as a gesture of exalted dignity, prison walls are erected for the incomprehensible ****** of the stumbling obstacles! How does the over-dimensioned, pedestalized Man manage in the catacombs of consumer societies?!

Above the bridge railing I stare down into the silently yawning, whirling throats; a whirling, centrifugal vortex-wheel drags me along, pulls me, and pulls! Balanced on a thin, snow-white blade, thus is he who was cast out into life! Gathering crumbs of breadcrumbs through a lifetime, Till Death, like a lawful chase, takes him! With narrowing eyes curiously fixed on me, the wan shadows of shipwrecked souls Past-remembering, meek shadows emerge from mire-thrown foam; Witnessing guardians of the possible that is!


As aerial-gymnast-samples, we may all thus balance the many certain possibilities; at another planned turn, veronal, foam of water, or poison is of no use - with conscious cowardice, human dignity confidently fails us! I stumble between reckless tumbles with purpose. I would even lie flat, like Sinbad, like a petty nobody, and probe the beating heart-******* of angelic ladies! May I remain in my falling, fallen life who I was: an eternal child in an arrogant adult world!


Thick and unsteady even now is the black, roiling stream. I feel that I have often run out of strength to face every trial like a murdering *******! The old Danube still murmurs and calls me to it! - Nowadays, the circus and the bustling ant-hill of the great world are so merged that the heart of the prodigal little man is always trembling, when he looks into the flashing, decaying Tomorrows with dignified and faltering eyes!

Like a hornet's nest - in the apostate hearts of men the knocking hatred is nesting! To the siege-voices of preaching preached in the form of incantations of incomprehension, too many are silent! Hyena-bellied, black-robed hirelings and muscle-meat-tower ******! Serpent-clouds in a lost confusion of purpose in the decaying present! Even he contemplates endless retribution Who at first proclaimed unity and demanded a soul-cleansing at every level; The accomplice and the jackal-talking shieder also forget their wicked deeds with purpose!


Like the drunkard who knocked the whisky and tequila-butcher's bottles on tap and spills his brown excrement into telephone boxes - into the gaping chasm of Theiraesia, here we go together! Their human dignity is being replaced all at once! From stripped human flesh their crunching bones will remain; to dust they will be but witnesses! It would be worth every empathetic-tolerant thought to finally act together with One-Akarat! In ourselves, we are a sneaky businessman with a silk purse!


Every hateful Satanic look is an eternal question: the future should bring change! - In one place, like cowards, unable to compromise, we have been stumbling in one place for many years in the heart of old Europe! Only a momentary idea to save the day is left: it is necessary to dress up promises that are full of holes and slipping away in circus costumes, because the loss should always be embellished!

A hundred years from now, a party girl, a cosmetic, plasticised goddess, will be so at home that she will be despised by the average man, as one who fears for his petty career and trembles! Honour deliberately digs a pit in the bottom of the pit of calculating games, and no one cares about the chattering mouth-carat of the puppets in the tabloid media!

The new-avant-garde prose line of poems is shouted down, saying: one-night stands have more east! Morals and humanity long since shed, mothers of children can't know what an uncertain livelihood and a messy tomorrow might bring!


The trembling, weeping cries of the little angels shiver like painful vapours in the abandoned alleyways of the streets! - What this present ******* Kor is extracting from itself, and creating, its pathetic beneficiaries are also, like molehills, hiding in underground, apocalyptic worlds, chewing on the hard-to-get, gnawing colonies!

A greedy food-chain insidiously lurks in the tunnels of each one's secret instincts; the strong devour the weak, the weak the weakest, and while the Golgotha-stricken vulnerable clamour for more reprieves from the company of lords and petty kings, their pathetic shipwrecked lives are consciously fearful - no-man's-land, fly-**** infects their chances of survival too!

Only laughter is cherished and preserved by the eye! A good, hearty, mischievous little laugh! The prayers of griefs, of pearls clutched in melancholy, The bleeding soul keeps shut, and we consciously fear to show Our vulnerability to our loved ones! In the walled, honeyed skies, The graceful heart-shadow hides; Like a mouldy cloak a shadow sings, at our backs! In our dizzy world there is less and less responsibility!


Like the blood from a vulnerable locust-body, something conscious oozes from me, instinct fearful of all that I feel and want to believe! Doubt and despair keep on teasing and dividing me! My boyish anguish is all gone, In a robe of stolen laughs I rather willfully weep! - The sordid layers of the unknown, wicked Future are gradually laid upon me!


The assembled biology of my body is threatened with a clattering, timed death! - The cunning, insidious supremacy of the well-informed has long since left me wanting: it would be fitting to scrape together the ruins of courage within myself, so that I may be able to Will and survive as a Man in an unknown existence! In a shower of boiling tongues of boiling catacombs, boiling in a shower of pissy bargains and betrayals, already indebted to assured career advances! The pouting vice of disguises Seems to be embodied in bargaining, selfish interests; The fierce, bickering vultures with murderous grins The bickering war of the Hienae, The bickering Mooching wars of the vultures, Drive to playable naivety!


The foolish ***** of my disadvantages! I wonder when we shall learn the selfless laws of man again, so that we may see the essence through the veneer of superficiality!

We should learn the Human being again: empathy-tolerance! Pushing into the deepening pits of the wretched while the remnants of the evil that keeps germinating! Every Man is a corpse-One and only lonely star-island, brooding in himself; His bleeding points of Odyssean wounds are bruised and bruised by inner soul-demons at their pleasure! The graceful flutter of black night-butterflies With angel wings sprouting, cherishing Goodness! Into the tiny cups of loyalty-hands Should be placed, as a secret gift of grace, The purple-planet of the throbbing heart: the palpable metamorphoses of Being!

Man may forever submit and surrender to the magically unexpected moments; fluttering shadows fly on the spider-webs of trembling done destinies! The childish curiosity of ripe incompleteness still vibrates in the balmy evening stillness. In every star-gaze, as a reckoning, there stretches a drop of untold glass-bead!

I've played my ever-childish roles often enough: the hissing penguin chubby as well as the orphaned, wailing, whimpering child! And I only wondered when, among all the curiosity-seekers, would Morality and Love ever join hands to shake my hand?! - It would be nice to get out of this troubled, shipwrecked earthly circle once and for all! To learn to believe and trust again!

To feel romantic, breathless sighs like secret X-ray magnets in another's beating heart, when the rose-fingered Dawn greets us daily with her honeyed rays!

I would like to cling at last to a rock of refuge, which has an angel face; which does not judge in vain, and does not sue. It stretches out its angel-winged back to me, And like a sure fortress it protects me impregnable! In my eyes I would have such a lady of backbone, Who with her superstitious holy glance Would lift me from the hell of the muddy earth, When all is not well in this world.

In all the minutes of eternity, two faithful petals of a flower, Our heart's voice would tremble for each other, And the deceitful, ***** play of our thinking minds Would be the romantic music of our naughty kisses. In naked bodies, confessing and confessing each other, we would solemnly open ourselves to the other, as the Alpha beginning of primeval creations. Perhaps we could heal the stigmata of the stateless-prodigal Time, which daily bites into us with its executioner's claws.

The Nihil-claws of murderous nails do not matter to him who is protected and lifted up daily by the power of enduring, secure love! In the still countable bliss of our presence, radiant in its earthly surplus, we may yet feel the mysterious-secret serenades of our throbbing echoing hearts; on the cherishing soul's mart of water-lily leaves, may we discover each other at last, like curious, deceitful little children; in mischievous-playful joy-curiosity! - What an incredible force of spirit could feed the meeting we have arranged!

The friend and the stranger would walk towards each other, and when we took each other's sweating hand, we could both rejoice!

A desolate, mysterious multitude of taboo-bending V.I.P.-partying, disco-ball, swamp-gardening, through which even useless late-night rambles, crying; in the indifference of predictable phlegm-faces swollen to a sea of mud, everyone is now merely a prisoner: no one can be free! From collagen and botox injections, like a bacchanalian company of cursed, puffed-up wax dolls, the canary-peacocks, demanding luxury, recognition, new unassailable privileges from higher elite powers!


Lonely, lonely doppelgangers mimic the taste and mass-bunkified commodity culture! A few light nights in the shade of a night's adventure forgotten, and the whole of the camouflage universe is ready! The cries of boastful infants echo from alley depths, barely heard by any! As the ancestral history of bones, if we can still piece together some important fragment of the cursed past, we should know and feel what things are to pass away!


Into the dreary uncertainty of the remaining tomorrows May soon drown him who scrambles worthily against the tide! The curious and tantalizing questions of waking sleep should somehow always be sought within themselves! On glowing golden-apple-bikini skins, sprinkling water creates sparkling pearls of truth! - Somebody or Something may still strike down swiftly - like a calculated desire for revenge - the teeming biology of blood molecules with uproarious animal howls, and no longer can one know on the pitiful debris of dried bone remains who was Man and who was the victim of the decaying victim!

The silent, statuesque shadows of timelessness are cast on everyone, if the mouth yawns in a single expressive movement, the eyes sparkle - as a light-hearted, silent blindfold, we try to capture the happy golden age of our memories as realistically as possible, and create it in Reality! We are softly embraced by the music of the flocks of birds waiting for Spring. The holy gentle melody of the tiny and inviting bells, running on the babbling wind, makes our beating hearts beat!

Long distances can be shortened at any time - thanks to the hyper-networks of our digital age! The double news-beat of joy-sharing echoes our richly beating heartbeat! The prophet-trones of balmy, brooding nights are touched by the budding love-fly; and it matters not when, or by whom, the immortal metamorphoses of kisses among the swarming, nubile desires of the wombs! - To the identity thought lost, all can find it again!

From a single gesture, a universal cosmic compassion, or a great spectacle stuck in silence! In the deception, the chase and the pursuit of hopes may yet remain! We should engrave in everyone's soul the Goodness that dwells in everyone, as another strange sacrifice...

Because it can do nothing else: in an eternal circle of flight, the helpless man advances like an ant! The Möbius ladder of transactions is deliberately avoided or chewed up! It seems a boorish, outcast, degenerative homage to perceive something of our own superficial world without the seeing mirrors of searching eyes! From the settling shadows of ghost-moons Springing on the velvet of our nights Silent shadows of night menacingly stare!


It would be good to believe that the hearts of our modern, mischievous children are not yet tainted with deceit; it may seem a cosmic eviction order to deprive us of eternal playful curiosity by "some"! For he who has already become a participant in a premeditated plot cannot yet be sure of playing his role of imporvizator credibly; the night that is being built cannot be enclosed by anything but a sinister darkness of the underworld! A chilly imperturbability fills the air: the palpable Omnipresence is enriched with a strange mixture of pitch and paste!


In webs of lies insidious breeding dwells; deceivable, radiant lights fall on dying, pale moonbeams! Into a fading Nivive-nince the throbbing human soul becomes! Like a rattling robber-lock now clicks on the throbbing heart of us all, Iron-clasped, locked padlock! - The uncertain Future is already a soundless, outcast wolf-confrontation with conscious despair! In the cold space of a voidless Arctic, only the vulnerable can remain soberly clear, silently awake!


In the pearl-veils of sincerities that open the cloud-fractures of eyes, the immortality of the moment trembles!

The fear-tension in my heart is growing to literary proportions! My eternal-childish self is constantly fighting battles of existence between peace and eternal anger! I feel I cannot run away from the haunting dragon-demons of my uncertain future! However, if I were to ask friends to know with calm empathy the hidden reflection of my self, many would already give up their secret, cohesive relationships; superficial exhibitionism would hardly leave them any choice!

In my soul, there still exists a sinking, tossing, more peaceful Atlantis: a micro-macro Cosmos in the process of destruction! Sisyphus, disappearing on a bulldozer, whose pensive, otherworldly voice is for the umpteenth time deliberately distorted into nothingness! From a succession of memories, memories melt into smiles! - It seems triumphant annihilation when the Universe goes round and universally proclaims the universal naseous desire of blood molecules!

The trembling despair of rich shadows clinging to each other is like countless desert lives! The balmy evening breeze still circulates on high. The restless night, like a chill envelope, shivers and shivers the complex nerves! The honey-coloured sunbeams still cling like sunflowers to the scaly blood of cracked petals! A sky-high air, pregnant with proud light, is drained and dewy! - Unmerciful Being, like brown eyes, stares longingly at me: mortal minutes cease, for only the mischievous, pure curiosity shines like a sizzling magnet in existence!

The ancient calamity of the relationships that can be made on earth, The torment of all torments and shrinks me further! Often the consolation of new-sweet saintly-misses is of no help, if they reward for little trifles! No more need of the temporary possibility of continuation: cheap promises, false hopes! I should erase from my past the cursed minutes of my past, and what bleeds me daily! In the catacombs of my unhappy mind, I would in vain forget, The smelling filth soon accumulates!

On the infinite wall, once more, it would be well if a tiny, tiny crack could be found! Vain, obstinate epochs of defiance keep their hold upon their own! - Our disconnected, socially-hybernated senses may say otherwise; as if everyone else existed here in a dim, transcendent dimming! As now Celebrity dames, disowned seventh-coast V.I.P. faces parade in their every movement, playing the self-deception of calculation, and the unhappiest among them, who bathes in the radiant optimism of his being!

He who deceives himself with the antidote of consoling lies, Seldom receives from his inner self the redeeming message, That from the sincerity of his soul he has lost the known Essence! Were we to walk the sure path-way of things' definite, predictable emotions, and see in their context the beaded holy-eyes of others, we would be the embodiment of a hard, earthly Golgotha! - All farewells are now the stylist's made-up veneer of faces: long since run out from under them Executioner-plagued Time! Seldom can a change of age mark a sure bet!

Insanity and disregard for the most elementary human interest is always unavoidable and often fatal! A series of ingeniously tragic coincidences can at any time challenge the individual, still thinking childlike individual while too much of the World is lost without end! A rush of creative ingenuity lurks in everyone, and all ideas and plans go up in smoke when there is less and less to choose from the industrious chain of multiple connections!


In this century of the information cyber-revolution, conscious, lazy idleness is just as visible and tangible! A wide variety of spectacles and cleavages are always caught by the curious camera: the retouched smearing of indispensable eye make-up is rarely noticed; the question to be answered is: what has changed?! - The booming melody of horns blaring from the bones of horns screams in our faces, proclaiming that something has happened to the city and its fallible people! The stench of "Nothing's right!" is getting worse! - is not right!


It is as if everything and everyone has turned into empty shells, sinking in on themselves, like our stinking refuse to be thrown away!

Unfinished business is the most difficult business of our days! Where are the formulas of our Faithfulness in handshakes and hide and seek?! Grimacing and smiling long in the fierce curved reflections of ***** pools, Our self's sad, bleeding gaze! A faint suspicion might be trusted and always justified: for the conciliatory feelings of homeliness, all that is needed is a little unusual cynicism!

Something within is shrinking, at first barely perceptible, then greedily gnawing away at the hell of human souls gone gangrenous! In accordance with the laws of humanity, a belated realization signals its protest that we must necessarily drop out of the fairy-tale wave-net system at last! To the thought of a single romantic *******, many eyes are already scattering sparks, responding with dry flashes!

What can the man of the Age imagine the trampled humanity, the continuous mud-dripping of his personality's Celeb-bubble?! Having gazed into each other's disembodied eyes, we suddenly found ourselves in a hall of mirrors, a seldom-seen earthly copy of ourselves; still the heartbeat of the heart is still beating and beating! Like a poisonous greenhouse effect, a sprawling crowd of jerks and jerks is growing, and if no one will be a prophet-scholar to speak out against pop-cultural, superficial cultures, the paint will soon peel off our faces!

Not a single encounter - not many - will be made in the sacred spirit of the harmonies that can be created! - Soon there will be at least ten billion self-serving droids serving with ant diligence, wandering willfully without independent thought in the halls of mirrors that cover their lives!

If I could still have a clinging, wide, hopeful hope; When in the cell-deep of my home I could bend my discouraged, shipwrecked head In my sweetheart's balmy, cradling lap; When our beating heartbeats in the bantering Universe would blaze As they would be reconciled together, and the Past would hold easy, useful trophies, Or secrets of prey! Even if the pieces of Existence were exchanged in a chess-board order on the plane of our little lives, love as a sure point of exit for our restless hearts!


If I could have a comfortable, cushioned rocking-chair; I would be lulled by the pearly, truth-telling voice of my angel, As when she cellists in a spacious concert hall, In evening gowns of protection! I would open the ghastly-grimacing scars of my soul, and let its caressing, dandified kisses dangle the sins of my unworthy years of *******! In an embracing, romantic meeting, the holy birth-moment of Immortality might be found!


We would feel, in a time of distress, our musical heart-chalice throbbing together! With its roaring waves would sing tiny, secret echo-choes of autumn's Theiresias-walves above us: nor on steep Sisyphus-paths would we give Fate her rightful sanction to give up the goal, and feel ourselves smaller! Nor should we now, in the foreseeable world, necessarily distress ourselves as two orphaned children!


It would be a fabulous, dreamy consolation, a true, priceless treasure-gift, if we could see together, in the sacred sparks of cherishing halo-eyes, the happy-sadness of our late childhood, and cease all petty anxiety at the sneaking portents of the Coming!

I no longer care about fashion because of old-fashioned flavours! Rid yourself of your newfound susceptibility to new fashions, who cares only for the telltale signs of appearances! The reconciliation of interests may soon suffer from a difference of tastes! What does the exceptionalist trend mean?! Have we stopped noticing others simply by their dress code, so that we can mix with the sophisticated, elegant elite?

The Acts and the Sacrifices are thus placed together, in a conspiracy, in a pretended stalemate, for fear of what the patrician public would say if many of them showed their teeth! - And if the superficiality of the health-obsessed, all-embracing superficiality is enough to make you very nervous; it might be a problem-solver to try to see the exceptional One among many like him! In the glass of curved mirrors, even difference looks different!

In penultimate glances, can the Good Friends of Faith be recognised?! Gyugyok and Timotheus Tikitakik?! - Already in every respect there lurks silently the cold rejection withheld; a conceited misunderstanding cleaves their heads and may yet keep them in cage-captivity! An imperial rank of impossible dreams, that someday Someone or Something will do without them all! Even now some conscious distrust is spreading among them!

More interesting has become every cheap-fangled sensationalist Celebrity-pilot; peaceful at-home sit-at-home conversations with sticky masses of secrets, instead of messages from sinking airships!

Like a shipwrecked, he clings to unknown shores on the last soul, but he may never reach shore; my throat was hoarse silently many times and my voice continued to sound like a muffled sigh! As a rodent worm for my heart attack-stressed soul, the greedy and insatiable Compulsion settles like this! I would have to, even if I had to be selfish for myself, sure of Man
 
survive! The haunting moonlight tattoos my face like shards of silent shadows! And while you ask, asking with jagged tentacle teeth useless, "What happened to you?!" "The sure answer will be written on the trenches of my wounded Face if the glass bead of True Beads trembles again in my soul!"
 
My broken body guards the burdens of tough-konokan and what many discover on me as a redemptive smile - Suffering! I feel like he is howling every day with the intention of squeezing my muscles, numbing Nirvana-Dark, erupting from the depths of Executioner of times! I am already struggling with selfish, selfish pride: how could the man-trying burdens of this Being be better solved?! Suicide - if there was one - didn't even hit a wooden stick! I cling to the consoling-hopeful shreds of blissful days like this; I stare terribly at the Report with trembling blood-eyes! The Nobody's House, which slowly frees me from everything and deliberately lootes it!
 
Wandering, fast stigma-Souls are plagued by coding, vile evenings: it would be good to unravel the chains of my ominous pains to be redeemed - I listen in the present pregnant fog of the bottomless cavity of Time that it gapes Damocles executioners.

Female Eden smiles sparkle toward my wounded Soul; in the depths of my purple heart, tamed monsters purr obediently! In the jungle of my dreams, I remember the superstitious play of mischievous eyes laughing at the subconscious night inside! His eyelashes fluttered gracefully like the wing-dance of night butterflies; the earthly, classic Beauty flew like a pillar! My empty evenings are buzzing around wasp stars! I never tore up the superstitious fruits of forbidden gardens, but I wanted to caress them kindly!
 
I was attacked by jealous, flame-burning Cherubim who could only flirt overnight with the immortal crumbs of Happiness while wasting the treasures of the beautiful Universe! "Lions and tigers farm under our gardens, while deep-seated beasts are waiting for their prey!" How can we stay again Humans if in this Age of barbaric usa the idiot Stupidity alone thrives ?!
 
The sadness of the passing Being is therefore torn to us at every moment and the cranky Time is mercilessly swept away! "I'm a spark, and yet Alien forces can smash it at any time!" Yet my soul embraces the changing Universe and vibrates with it for a single beat! Space statelessness often rumbles over me and makes me account! Can all finite human stories be heard, or are celebrities just remembered ?! - Graffiti crashing into a sensation-hungry society!
 
The stimuli of escapes in the soul must have already infected the deeds of the Prophets! The phlegmatic stupid indifference is grouped into unconditional reflexes.

Dreamwalking Reality-mistaken alleys stumbles and deliberate devil-convulsions the Third; signs of mistaken madness are visible! Vulnerable man's shadow may be deliberately transgressed by bargaining bargainers, treacherous cops! More and more whispers of odd eccentrics sink the beginning of creative days into baseless mood-setting!

Collapsed hoppers leap like grasshoppers in a dance of the Spirit's march, restraining itself even the puffed-up All! And in all pseudo-news there stands the possibility, as a vocal, obscene-music to be shouted with full throats! The infinite depth of needle is scarcely to be sought and discovered! Money and luxury have become the new age's newest pseudo-god! From the pits of endangered credulities Only the curve of descent can be described! In the melodious pauses of melodious raindrops, mood-steam is created: a rainbow graveyard as a consequence of precise interplay!

A series of secret was-nots! In the conscious moments of wakefulness, superstitious eyes also perform a total-entire cross-country; with a reverse change of style, they could even cling to the pieces of fabric of a rathartic, proud reality! Among the murderous impulses rooted in inequality, the traitor changes hands for the umpteenth time!  They may think: a series of crushing, bans will solve everything! No one thinks of going down the road of reconciliation of interests!

Some desperate, fierce impulse, Some exasperated temper, with many handfuls, Has gathered in us; from fierce hatred A simple word of help is seldom heard! The sound of indigestible preaching is carried abroad by a howling wind! From fire-breathing, roaring throats Peace can seldom spring! A cheap legion of micro-quakes of small lateness goes forth, Even sneaking suspicion-men are cut down! Some secret flame of love should be planted anew in the hearts of men, to blossom again!


High-energy vibration-sounds, soughing at high freckles, in cacophonous alarms, frighten us needlessly! Stubborn dissent is better off as a sneaking thief, searching and searching for only forgotten and non-acute experiences! This degenerate, degenerate civilization is being measured again by the new, profiteering distribution of material wealth! Ladies of ebony body, like enthusiastic, exotic consumer-mediums, dance out of a vegetating, man-wrecked existence; nor should the dignity-laws of the Golgotha-service be violated by outward, parade-like celebrations!


Under beams of eyebrows carved in stone, redeeming love might once have been born at any time, and the superstitious, smiling Deity sought to quench his ardent passions with kisses: from cordial meetings, whoever feared or dreaded ***, might boldly flee! - Wonderful knives of noble steel glide flickeringly sly on the frightened faces of petal-crystal gazes; the wing-cracking of night-butterflies is heard hesitatingly even in the deserted doorway!

From the torn stillness of nights it rips with a thunder, A capricious edge, a wide tear of memory's storms! Rust-resistant, twisted honey-coloured pitch bubbles, While from the distance some forlorn desert of stone Seems to rise and rise in search! Purple Sisyphean rocks teach patience, and mature silence for themselves, To prophet-wise, and to those who pass through themselves!

Sunyin yet ***** the end-shadow of the red-skinned skeleton-sidereptile, declaring war on the screeching flocks of ravens! Let the well-known, acute or even trivialised lies begin: the obligatory, preaching holy commandment of saving lives, and unworthy, reengineered echo-songs that the mouldy plaster on the walls of our health care system is getting more and more rotten, and the cracks in the wards are growing! - We can only rarely count on the kind attention of our mortal, and therefore evolving, brother states!

A swarm of pigeons, falling from low heights, splashes over our heads, and some would sell the final product for sweets, if it were all that could be gained by the deliberate explosion of sound they themselves create, to enliven their wealth, the truth they have dripped is clogged up! The proliferation of idiotic, idiotic exceptionalism in a self-expanding space is incomprehensible; idiotic constructions should be replaced by stable and balanced production instead of the brainlessness of oligarchs!

Caravan routes often **** in the lost man if he is not careful! Self-righteously, who can still dare to swing stubbornly confidently in people's tin-can ring cannot remain in his honesty!

Female Eden smiles sparkle toward my wounded Soul; in the depths of my purple heart, tamed monsters purr obediently! In the jungle of my dreams, I remember the superstitious play of mischievous eyes laughing at the subconscious night inside! His eyelashes fluttered gracefully like the wing-dance of night butterflies; the earthly, classic Beauty flew like a pillar! My empty evenings are buzzing around wasp stars! I never tore up the superstitious fruits of forbidden gardens, but I wanted to caress them kindly!
 
I was attacked by jealous, flame-burning Cherubim who could only flirt overnight with the immortal crumbs of Happiness while wasting the treasures of the beautiful Universe! "Lions and tigers farm under our gardens, while deep-seated beasts are waiting for their prey!" How can we stay again Humans if in this Age of barbaric usa the idiot Stupidity alone thrives ?!
 
The sadness of the passing Being is therefore torn to us at every moment and the cranky Time is mercilessly swept away! "I'm a spark, and yet Alien forces can smash it at any time!" Yet my soul embraces the changing Universe and vibrates with it for a single beat! Space statelessness often rumbles over me and makes me account! Can all finite human stories be heard, or are celebrities just remembered ?! - Graffiti crashing into a sensation-hungry society!
 
The stimuli of escapes in the soul must have already infected the deeds of the Prophets! The phlegmatic stupid indifference is grouped into unconditional reflexes.

Is there anything moving in the redemptive descent? Discover the exfoliated tears on the retinal lines of broken eyes with compassionate regret! As the smaller beetles glide apart, a hesitant giant-foot tramples on them by chance! The given, idyllic anthill can hardly receive regular travelers and contemplatives back into its bustling community! In the gaping lap of depths - only they can know - undivided Dreams graze!
 
The blood-boiling instinct-greed of visceral possession is only the exception! - From the micro-world below, where can murderous virtue be measured by certain methods? - The chattering company of loosely swinging golden boys and chirping kittens has never seduced; there, many people blamed emotional ammunition for luring exploited defenseless people and believing! Are the reports left to themselves simply because Someone always betrays them with words?
 
Deliberate yawns in deep dark gaps, however, cannot dissolve; the redemptive gaze of self-forgotten serenities can no longer be forced on the other! Greed became an indestructible umbilical cord: as many gains as possible in the jingling pockets of compromisers; but even the only comedians of Judas who are now giving themselves up are all sneezing or lurking! Secret doors open to everyone, only the secrets can be kept by the Spirit alone!
 
Is it too much to envy overstretched reciprocity? You’re forced to wear the shower spikes of mutual compromises on purpose if you want something more out of life.

In the memories of broken Hells, our luck and grief often turn; If we are looking for a friend and an enemy, we are already investigating! The Dark sends us non-bargaining Morse signs from another, unknown world! The beating gods of the Heart have lost their favor many times! Being, like a water jug filled to the brim, pulls us deep! The blinding of dogs of conscience echoes all the way to the shells of our listening ears! In our dreams of Sisyphus, every stone and rock recreates itself as a judgmental judgment!
 
Anxiety moved as a single body in us! In Congo space, our gift-fortune strikes here and there: the reaping laurels of silent opportunity were not reserved for us by the little kings of Being! In the long hours of our loneliness, we should first deal with atrophy together! The retained heat waves of memories hardly hurt anymore, yet they are necessary for us to reconcile with ourselves!
 
The familiar unrest swirled round and round! A stone block of silence breathes in our heads; we were forced to measure the night with bouncing weights! Our windows, still guarding our consciences, testify to our minds of fog-piercing Truths when asked! It is also a fertile, silent envelope flowing to our pounding hearts; all goodbyes converge as an outer glaze! Our predictable stick dreams are less and less alerting us to emergencies; the final formula for deprived expulsion is suicidal intent; direct inaccuracy appropriates instinctive
 
our senses and makes us back down! Conscious sleepers can't even wake up with the muffler! Our prodigal souls have become overturned trash; among perishable treasures, when can we finally find treasures?!

Underworld, obscene galaxy underworld catacombs; mazes without entrances! They did it themselves with disappointed prophetic votes! We drag the swearing with ourselves! We are constantly clinging to an extended presence! The fleeing Time is no longer pursued by anyone; a ghost death leap or somersault mortuary pirouette should be performed so that they can finally pay attention to ourselves! Is the loss survivable?
 
Insidious nights lined up in a sleepless moonlight; a terrifying tick-tangle imitates somewhere in a circled clock! Vulnerable human wrecks like undulating leaves fall into the shadows of Nothing every day! “You could only feel like a yellow sponge deep in your chest when the beating heart was offended; fancy Celebs chattered about their *** life spread out in silly shows! Factory chimneys also became crows hanging upside down; it would also be good to demolish the brick piles arranged next to each other!
 
One can hardly pay attention to the friendly voices that want to talk even in a tangled underworld noise; in the force field of lost vulnerability, everyone deforms into a weak coat-shadow! The tearful magic of your breathing eyes torn by fire! A whirlwind light swirling behind you! Guards' detached aura can barely be guarded by budding eye-stars! "They will commit your sins because they cannot bear them, even as the culture-sanctuary will be for ignorant judges and beasts, while the delivering Prophets will be strangled by insidious snakes!"