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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With their loose, jerky-hick performance movements, centaur terminators, well-molded by testosterone, are regularly galloping into their brand-new Ferraris, especially on Andrássy Avenue. A teenage lady wearing a deliberately provocative and transparent cocktail dress also offers predatory prey, who wants to be an adult at any cost, so that later she can easily assert herself even without an advanced level of maturity.

Horse pounding - nothing more - is now left for the carefree, pitiful lazy-indifferent posterity. In the distance, you can still see a cut-off Van Gogh sunflower head caught in hesitation, which exotic women no longer wear in their hair.

The witch's kitchen of meaningless promises and petty bargains stuffed into pockets that are starting to leak can hardly be enough for the simple average person to understand this two-faced, superficial era. And while some jury members start to publicly blatantly complain that it would be a good idea to save some journals as dubious intellectual products, so that primarily the ancients, and not the young people of the next donkey generations who are considered talented, can publish - the busy, slightly stupid wild geese are already getting into shape, and they can hardly wait to lick their ***** to a mirror shine.

Sooner or later, even the lives of swindlers shrink into dubious ends, just like the remnants of most superficial, posh glitter; because now the good friend walks with spring knives just like the old or occasional enemy. It is impossible to know what a piercing, deliberately suspicious eye, flashing from behind closed shutters or blinds, is thinking?! On the razor-sharp tracks of express trains that are constantly late or never arrive, the harsh judgments of false witnesses and prodigal children are still increasingly felt...

Bricks, building materials, have become lacking from the empty chasms of time; the Apocryphal thought symbol, thought solid for millennia - perhaps - has been permanently erased, swept under the rug, so that there would be no need to think or ask questions. Once upon a time, the essential things to say were engraved on baked clay tablets, which nothing could destroy: neither time nor memory. Now, halfway to this nameless, belittling Babylon, among the squirming linguistic confusions of Babels, they are less and less willing to even ask each other: Well, tell me!

What did you spend on palaces spinning on duck legs and monthly salaries of millions?! In a hundred-foot columned solitude, Simeon also blinked at the wide world spread out before his feet; sees and perhaps is not even very surprised if brother sells brother, thief sells thief, since there has long been no honor in outlaw honor.

All petty, ***** fake deals that have ever been made in the name of man, even by great powers made arrogant, are a crushing hesitation, a turning around; the halter of shaken everyday habits pulls its victims back and forth. They can hardly understand the shell-suffering that sprouts between the petals of the soul, because other - apparently - more important things also enjoy pure priority, because the sinking combined with the sure fall, which the treadle of everyday life itself gives birth to a slow turn.

It would be even better if the average person did not necessarily have to hate himself in the cheap-tinny calvary of everyday life - but at least he could lift himself up from the muddy swamps of the yellow earth with will and conviction. The outside world can now be less and less a true home-shelter, at most only a temporary refugee camp, where many people-crowds seemingly rest, and then even the patient but passing guest picks up their tent poles and moves on, driven by the forced prosperity of their inner homesickness and their Odyssey.

The deep blue night, awaited with stars, spreads its cloak over our shoulders. Everything can be a wasteland, perhaps there is no need for lost love with all its kisses. The moment carries the habitable Eden far away like a pearl; one becomes a naked shell if one does not heed its merciful word. A fist-tamped grain of dust has become the sin of mortality; the petty word of Life should be engraved on a bench with 10 nails. The cloudless afternoon was a fleeting shadow play; it would be good to unravel the expected threads that the past still holds along hidden memories. One should live wisely, because memory always buries a heavy seal deeper and deeper on those who are still fleeing.

How many times has the ragged hope rung, all memories have burned out. Among the friends who have disappeared to nowhere, there is not one who would stand by you; because the handles are not open, man's thoughts are still roaring seas; the moment, laced in foam, is stuck in the throats of whirlpools, the churning waves. Homeless souls crouch down and still eye the food of alley-smelling garbage cans.

Like the exile or the wandering stranger, their grave sins; man alone carries his burdens like a hunted beast, because it would be good to cling to hope; derailed screams cannot be deafened. Existence no longer plucks the strings of pain. In the nameless future, it would be good to preserve the eternal contrast of movements alongside the quiet peace, instead of the decided intentions, the speech of innocent victims.

It is increasingly difficult to get up, if we have fallen completely, it would be good to free ourselves from the petty shackles of lies, to the border points that always end through a black hole.

The tiles are all shattered like dubious omens. Ice nuts rattled between broken windows In Budapest, the little child who woke up from their dreams, just like the worrywart, should have cared more about the world; there are fewer and fewer rainbows because it can be great here on earth, it should have cared more about the world.

Clusters of stars tremble on the branches of the evening star, so let's leave the silent tunnels alone, the sacred valleys of our youth, winding return roads, no matter how you hear: you were unhappy, you never dared to count your life destined for eternity. You will look back in time when old age threatens your dove-gray head.

Why don't you ask yourself if you are happy?! because you can easily find out, you would only torment yourself; Man is unable to find what is permanently there, fool, or if you want to chew on your ******* fate, you are biting your nails, you are squirming uselessly. You see, your time is running out. It is time for the fool to be wise and not to say nonsense.

If by chance you want to believe, say that it is self-deception rather and you doubt that there is an even more beautiful road ahead of you, a more beautiful journey, you should listen soberly so that the word turns into stone in you, it would be good to warn yourself sometimes, you were only human. You cannot be to blame for failures, you promised yourself that you would not be a sucker. You felt on your skin that they were making you nothing. Today you still sow somersaults and reap a storm, you grin like a cheeky, rude elbow, because lies can never be comfort and you should not be played with.

Being little people, we search further and further along the road in the holy joys of small, petty rebellions; for which we do not yet have to pay in money, and which - so far - have not been deliberately stolen from us by a higher power. Despite innumerable taboos, they still drive the bleating herd of people out into the field on certain grounds, just let them scurry and chant until dawn to their heart's content. The human-smelling movements of existence are also regulated by new and new decrees, protocols, and forms that smell of paper and parchment, if necessary or not; a road builder, a bricklayer, or a baker rarely gives a certificate, but even so, quite a few times - it happens - they spit in the kneaded bread or roll dough.

And for some reason, even the common man may feel that the intention to change spatial location, or the cheap, easy option of going abroad would be less and less legitimate or fair play, since there too interest-relations make it necessary. Perhaps this is why man is now trying to filter himself from three directions: on the altars of deficiency-filling inhibitions and suspicious doubts, as well as on the catafalque of inner psychological Deficiencies - under the crumbling burdens of wavering inner balances, it cannot be such a good thing for the old fools.

As decades come and go, he carries the cheap, viscerally raw vision and image of the fall between the grinding gears of twitching nervous systems, even though he is only mortal and a speck of dust at the same time and believes that he has managed to conserve something after all. Because they can no longer love the three billion lonely Universe or call it their home, the dehumanized Nirvana-nothing descends and deliberately ***** it in all at once!

Perhaps it was all the same: the predictable certainty of the steps, like the aged footprints of old loves, which the ocean once drew in the sand. The past shattered shards of glass into smithereens. The weighty mass of scoldings, curse words, and nasty words can no longer be satisfaction or a legitimate retaliatory strike towards the sure redemptive forgiveness; because deep down in the confused, wounded Soul, the flower *** is already rattling into tiny pieces again, and there is no more worldly, massive glue that could fit more than a million pieces together.

Well, this is how Everything is formed; the cherishing, caressing voice of the Beloved no longer calls out from the echoing silence. Silence with an intermittent rhythm walks its rhythmless tightrope dances, because the kettle drum rhythm of the waning waves of the present also beats in the deaf ears. Why is it that every moment believed to be eternal has an unpredictable end and is hyperactive and restless?!

- The ever-drifting event of Nirvana-nothing seems to culminate crystal clear in the present minutes. The wolf-howl is accumulating in the manner of mini-atomic bombs ready to explode in the throats of screaming, ready-to-climb, ready-to-dive wolves. The clustered fear stretches to the shoulders, just like the Cassandra-scented ominousness.

Many-stringed screams hang, then ripen with a luscious, juicy pleasure, like a bunch or two of nectar-rich grapes. The massive-solid prison walls surrounding a person are increasingly hopeless, there is absolutely no escape from them.

Above our heads, nuclear mushroom clouds, - perhaps - tiny missiles are circling instead of clouds. The empty, indifferent footprints of promises have long since disintegrated. Perhaps everything and everyone is beginning to find their own truth simply by getting tired or simply giving up on the possibilities that are running out. The petty tumbles of doubts and failures gradually become whole; they are worn out by the millstone of Being, which grinds and clicks at the same time and finally grinds.

Good Samaritans are not certain to arrive in the pre-determined Times; anything can happen to those who ask for mercy or are robbed, just as anything can happen to those who are already there, who are always taking advantage of others. Yet everything works badly if neither sin, nor filth, nor bedbugs can touch them, since all that is needed is a small, necessary, foreseen detour to ensure that the path of development, believed to be stubborn, is still secured. The other day, we are already convulsing in more and more Gordian knots; we are wasting half days in traffic jams sniffing out mass-collision accidents, when and where?

And while even surface transport does not really want to move under a smoke - we are forced to swallow the mole-like silence of the underground metro tunnels, tolerating it, because we are constantly missing deadlines. The wings of the angel of the happy joys that can be found have been cut off by someone; a bleeding stump rises and while a fierce suspicion creeps behind us, we will all gradually run out of time in the post-history era. - It became increasingly difficult for bleating sheep to get used to the tolerated sheepishness!

The pondering brain is almost getting more and more tired as it tries to interpret and spell out the instinct-hieroglyphs engraved on the forehead; the total brainwashed chaos in which one has to exist has long been making one stupid and miserable. On the petty secret of Being - he fears - perhaps even then one cannot loosen either padlock or lock. The network of cells and molecules hides continuing secrets.

Where will the final accounting dreams sink to, which should have been said sooner or later?! Big worms in turned-out Gogol cloaks secretly devour small worms; like a sponge, a person is soaked so quickly and effectively by a concluded, petty bargain, a broken agreement, because - unfortunately - the unfriendly thorn is still more tenacious than a violet, halfway between thorns, it is not only the kitchen garden, where even the youth tasted honey nectar in the past, but even now it is deliberately shackled by superior powers.

Every person is locked to his fate, because nowhere can he find a universal key to open the shackles that could finally open its eternal seven-padlock lock; the unworthy, lazy calvary of a small person hangs, to which no one responds. - Even apparent, deceptive loyalty breaks a huge catafalque, if the person for whom it was always intended cannot be sure of his feelings.

One should believe that perhaps the final destination is still waiting for one, only its apparent resting places fall too far away; like a lost, homeless sparrow, like a kind of strange compass, some acquaintances or friends might still accompany one. It would be nice to cross the Glass Mountain, the spacious Óperencia, so that one knows with certainty that one will return! - Sooner or later, if we are not careful, we may all become dizzy in the gaping Nothingness!

Perhaps it would be better to finally break our evil-faced, evil-livered mirrors, so that they can finally see with wise hearts that see the soul, and not with eyes that can be deceived; perhaps the somersaults and blunders of the past will once and for all be broken and they will increasingly look towards the future. Today, one can rarely believe: the only blacksmith of blessed, profiteering blind luck is someone other than oneself - stepping on the flower pots of tomorrows, Existence also leaks away unspeakably, while only reason and sober thought rise above instinct molecules. Now, mourning birds, humiliated even in their pride, are wandering in frightened loops and circles; they may have long been accustomed to the storm, breakage, and suffering that the ugly life offers them. Halfway between the ominous and the deadly, the tempted danger escaped between them, the tortured, thirsty pleasure was injected into the love struggle of hearts as a temporary happiness-drunkenness.

Perhaps only from the depths of the soul can the ancient tower of silences, rattling on invisible chains, protest, rebel; a strange, worldly voice that loses its meaning. Like the frozen Eskimos forgotten here above the fragile hole, people also stare into their embezzled future, increasingly deprived of hope. Beyond Being, Time with closed eyes still yawns towards man, opens its Charybdis-mouth, while a death's-head moth flies by the lamplight and brings unwary others to the top...

The trembling body of virtues, already washed away, trampled, falls down, then lies down for good; they slowly sink into forced conditionals. Some unfriendly buildings tower over high-rise office buildings with broken dominance.

See you in captivity How many times have I wished, when I was a grass-boy, to creep into the actors' dressing rooms through the secret snail passages, like an invisible, otherworldly friendly ghost, a wandering spirit. It would have been nice then, disappointed and a little cheated, to step onto the spacious, creaking boards and, like Pious Yorick, Fastaff, or Graciano, with his head held high among the spectators, confessing the petty, naive, seemingly innocent, holy lies of everyday life.

Oh, in my mind I was greeted in Thalia's noble panopticon as an old returning guest who would only stay until he could see his favorite actress's face up close and wish her: "Big hat" - for her public appearance.

- A sly joke, a human gesture - the theater didn't do much, because money was always coming down the drain, and because an actor's hands were always tied! He sticks a drawn smile, a glued halo, angel wings on himself, so that the average person would always believe faithfully that Reality was just a kind of forgivable, idyllic appearance, a childish little nonsense. I could never understand how anyone could play a character and radically transform his or her mundaneness, behavior, etiquette and whatnot - why is it that after stepping off the boards that represent the world, the murderer would take over hubris-arrogance, haughty phlegm-excellence?!

"That was just a role, Dear Sir! I hope you understand!" - he replied. - I watched the sadness and restless hurt flow in my vulnerable soul and, like an orphaned child, I burst into tears in protest in one of the renovated restrooms, while outside the great play that deceived everyone was still going on!

When I had met them for the last time, I was forced to lie in the depths of wild, proliferating Christian bushes, like a thief fat sarcoma, but not to hit any more; The enforced, deeply hidden, brutal-backing age asked me to testify and obey several times. They had no idea that the last time would be.

Now, only I look at the bench-windows of the time, close-up doors that closed, rusted doors in the alarm, spiclishes-it would have been good, like an invisible, stray shadow only to disappear once more, to disappear in the alley of the streets ...

For the curse of the presence on the wall of the Commissioner is still shining, which, as a disease, was with me from the cursed childhood; Infections of the polarities that are tensioned with each other, the infections of the small atagonisms, can be almost cozy. "Certainly, because life is increasingly absurd, nonsense, uncertain, just like the free -thought intellect, which has an increasingly expandable border and endpoints."

Can the human soul be excluded from itself; you. that you want to stay less and less for adults?! Instead, he would choose the minutes of carefree, playful childhood, and a momentary joy: it would be good to climb a smaller hill so that one could at least see through our stone walls!

In the light years of living lives, they walked, hoped, and even believed in the so -called. the sacred law of intermediate priority; But whenever they traveled, the Golgotás's Gehenna's Chinese became a bit more and more disappointed, disappointed from the curses of swamps. Ten hangman-fingers shone in their weeds. Should the passage of times really only be accepted with insight, not to celebrate the counts as a holiday?!

As an irreparable sucker, they stagnate, even for a lifetime, even those who have been eternal children as a reward for playful curiosity and have not yet worshiped. Absolute adults thought as all -powerful power. He did and word, as if he is deprived of rights and weightless than the feather easily, but once he has a sifus lead weight, it falls under the waters of glazed stones.

Our time, even the smallest, is spinning, light laws, like a whirlwind back and forth; It is precisely useless to count the curvature of existence as a birthday candle. Because sooner or later, everyone will cheat on themselves if you can't take care of it anymore. Because nowadays there are so many fierce porchine, Komis-Bohaem Part-Faced Queen, who have been well known for a full-fledged manner because they have left themselves petty-kis style, and have been bribed by showbuisons.

Like a little kid, who is frightened of total silence and nights of the nights, and crying, and crying, because the little lamp of the nursery also paints horror, goblins, monsters in front of them - their doors, windows, gates are deliberately locked up, if they know,

Under the pressure of our soles, there are increasingly sacrificial heads, who we have ever met in divine, and when they were caught and trampled on, as well as fate, as they were surplus. Kuruttyol is so many gray-color pigeons above us, while in a careless, unfriendly moment, Guáno's blood is on our unsuspecting heads. The handful of survivors started on the road, but only on the ground of realities.

There are so many celebrity-thistles on TV as a beneficial, promising excuse on TV, while deliberately shattering about the most necessary things; Antantic ants are now wearing the sincere lie, like the fake of the conveyor belt, while crumpled, liver-spotted hands stroke the judas.

Time, though, is still moving, but in broken -winged ribs, the conscious sorrow has been building a nest for some time; Instincts and thoughts are already wrapped around themselves, as they cannot know the firm conviction from their selfish, petty shackles.

Fearful in the ninive, a big city of coastal can rarely be rescued; Rather, he just tolerates his guest visitors. It is as if the soon -to -be -collapsed card castles, massive cobblestones, were falling out of our lives.

Our nails are carried into meat, as the points of contact have long been gone; It is hardly possible to hold on to more and more cramped. The soul has already been desperate, because liberated silence cannot help anymore!

Whatever you managed to say in your life, it stuck on the surface of the yawning water mirror. Because you know that no one can remain a separate island, the shore of which could not be linked to loyalty, love, love, or at least the fragmentary, momentary appearance of happiness. You have to keep your petty, translucent secrets for thirty years. As a snow -white canvas, you imagine the whispering of double life, even though you will soon realize only a burnt -out poraroid.

The pathetic stumbling blocks of your childhood are mostly forgotten, which will then be taken for the rest of your life every day; Because you would deliberately melt yourself into your narrower treacherous environment so that you do not accidentally cover the one you have survived. His dream teeth are concealed by the stray dream, and what the dawn is as if you were deliberately forgetting that you still have to do it here.

Just ask yourself the recurring question: are you resigning to the current position of your stuff, or would you rather change, but you have no idea where you can go?! Somewhere inside, you can feel that for the rest of your life, you have to beg a lot of things at the expense of others, not to be taken seriously as an equal party, to find the ways of your unsteady answers.

The deepest rabbit cavity of the Earth is not spacious enough until you accept it and get used to the parameters of your own prepared, born-of-the-bed loneliness.

Accelerated, dynamic life is now forced to take on new and newer figures; Development or even modernization - in many cases - is going to go or one another. The self -evident, saying visceral truth, may not exist anymore, at most, there are only shame spots, which, as a small -style, pathetic army of feces, cover mainly the averages of a shipwreck.

Return attempts also learn a new destination, as they have long realized that it would be an indifferent irresponsibility to do anything else; Because utility is certainly demanding the quota of Mihasna.

Here we live in the holy rust -hobbered, rotten rust, where in most cases - almost everyone is betrayed, betrayed, sells, feni to their own teeth, if they want to participate in the negotiations, Armani's suit, Hugo Boss neck scarf and some Prada bags.

Because nowadays there is a smile break and blindness here in total brainwashing, and the average minority man is uneasy as if he were vaccinated on the sediment; And because every mall has a real squirrel circle for four -time design, devalued commodities, which, for the sake of diversity, were more cheap in China, and then came here, and while Pakson is deceived by a nuclear reactor heater. In the meantime, imported hybrid models are operated with cheap alkaline element actions manufactured in battery factories to see if gasoline is not expensive again.

The stupid luxury of souls will be realized once in a lease, but in the meantime, these few people would have to be assigned and cut!

There is hardly any noticing: the sensitive or intentionally tuna indifference, like an infectious disease, is becoming more and more comfortable, making it more at home for individual people to make the nature of a fundamentally indifferent, superficial, careless. Because between the two points they are not just yawning, looking into our eyes - but the distances believed to be impassable.

As if there was no departure or arrival, just the humilizable consciousness of the crook systems between the two endpoints, which, to say the least, has long promised that what we have begun may be much better than development or the only possible attraction. Because now we can feel the sacred harmonious tranquility of times in our molecules and cells in our molecules and cells.

In addition to the rose-sleeved mornings, we should count with the almighty pleasures of the rose-toe mornings to recall the cycle of life and the apocryphal interpretation of life; It is as if everyone and everyone secretly feel how finally it is, to say, the awareness of finite trace ...

There is a hesitant shadow on the movable corpses of existence; Therefore, it would be good to squeeze your Angel's dear Babuster's hand. The tiny diodes of the ever-restless brains are thinly stunned by an exhausted constellation, what could have been a more livable and happier life, if it happens!

Nowadays, modernization and the rate of development are intentional and at all times; It fells or just caught, spinning - falls out again as a black man. Because there is no way out of the dreadful bag -shaped, fat patch body; At least that's what you see without the zero empathy of the visceral, exhibitionist world. However, staying within the depths of the soul would be so good to drill and search for so many encrypted, apocryphal gateways, low-borne wormholes, even between the tilted taps.

Once used in flu grids, different give trendy-Sikk fashion, beauty, or lifestyle management tips; How should I exist in a nicer, livelier way?! Superficial benevolence is just a cheap, pathetic disaster packed in another shop window, from which the average is never profitable-it would only fit one of the uninhabited questions of forever: Do you still like to be miserable?

In addition to the misconceptions, they also possess the petty thoughts that have become brainwashed, because they think they can be better; Rather, they are in the same place, even when they do, because they believe in a given system, which - in general - is already saying who the ones who are in effect, even if this whole pathetic, rotten rotten hood is all together.

The fact that the average -perhaps -is a bit impossible and at the same time seemingly nonsense -absurd. Like the amphibian ants running around us, I was both guilty, and a deliberate desire for a shipwreck!

Now maybe you can speak calmly, wisely,  
We are still with each other now,  
Now you can confess with a very calm-heart that you have been unable to admit, undress, get rid of your perpetual pessimistic, petty, low-profile childhood, which has been organically in your life, even your instincts.

Now you can confess that in the tiring, vicinity, slightly pathetic life, you have come to you with a couple of true-heart wise friends and a helping acquaintance who may not have beaten and did not make a meaningful, lying-antle promise, laugh, or intentionally humiliated, Nor did it succeed.

Now you can recognize that you have never been able to pass through the medium concept of the coveted goldsmen and the Horatius formula of things and relationships or impose a pointless to others. In vain, you preached yourself to the metaphysics of certain "basic status".

Now you can calmly get bitter, mourn your little mice that: you dare to believe yourself, deceive your naive -child good faith, Yoricki's simplicity, if you encountered a superstitious, promising girl not just seeing the supermodible, You prefer to scrape the wall in your agony for letting things take a different direction.

Now you may admit that the price of gasoline 95 is rolling new record peaks and that the BUX has made a steep fall flight every time the diplomacy has been modified, and while the food prices are four times the tofu dough

To caress a man, like a stray dog ​​- I say - it is becoming more dangerous these days. You may first annoy yourself, either deliberately pulls you away or do not give you a ****** harm; And this - like it or not - was not only an alpine, ****, unethical act, but it may seem like it is attractive and impressive in liquid, brainwashed minds.

The hesitant pylons can be urinated just like the four -legged little pet can do it; True, they do not receive a fine or a fine at all because they could not pay tax. "Outside, they bark on each other, not only human masses, but also the little powers who, for selfish-mushy reasons, will be easily dusted anywhere, anywhere, anytime, and then there will be no lucky" intermediate zones ".

On the righteous, sinister chain, many chuckle-kicks are caring, overseeing Concise, prey, and does not want to understand that a petty chess character is only on the stage of history who can be easily trampled, paid or bribed; The bone coat of the bribed times is also chewed by the so-called. Serving Cerberus, of course, if there is, and there will be what everyday foods are available at four -time prices, and even the rubber bones that fit into toys are available.

At least for some, some more, that is what they are calculating, in the depths of their comprehensive souls, is now a total turmoil, unrelated, and does not back down for the sake of anyone.

A dangerously shrunken
Sififus world all,
cursed weight mountain as colon
puts on us, hanging on
over our body-soul up to
an iron hook or tweezers.

The average man
rather intentionally
closes toward yourself,
that even out of accident
nor can they recognize it,
don't have to
Others are curious-moss
he is finally revealed in his eyes.

The plans set,
petty, compromised
goals everywhere
rather closed doors,
Blind windows are welcomed,
for just certain
can be with key exclusions
Nowadays, anything to do now;
the mediocre kliss,
also
he is puzzled by one
*** kick, kicking,
or walking with muddy shoes
on cleaned situations.

The presence is old,
yellowed envelopes
certainly
harder to expand,
to see
The lack of care.

Steaming blade
next to the toilet
Even though it is so,
that for a thousand forints
It is only possible to let go of our *****;
black cat rushes over
from one corner to another
in his mouth maybe mouse,
or rat.

Between depth and height
halfway just just
a fading, thin
strip is visible,
which is getting easier
as a thin thread
You can break at any time.

As a dark bowle
El-Elgulul is still used,
over balding heads
guilt and shame petty,
pathetic alchemy.
Wasp
Tirgishada
chews on colonies;
between themselves the maps
they are also divided.

The tattooed brainwashed consciousness
- Fearful -, only rarely
may be responsible for better decisions.
Gross
The prison-smelling human soul!
The infinite emptiness
flawed spiral
Slowly consuming everything!

Today, it is increasingly intentionally split and cannot be. It is as if billions and one person feel that our mortal time will expire sooner than the originally allowed. He multiplies, and he first only manipulates his feelings, and he has created his smaller or larger gambling games, because now he will soon see more suspicious failures than the deserved misunderstood success.

Not only is a series of games decided in bred, brainwashed heads; Because control boards, if left, are less and less warning of their obligations that can be fulfilled. Mild stomach nerve stretches its string among the tremors of the soul, and the recent assault can be followed by the rest of the assured protection as a primary and perhaps still conditional.

- Nowadays, no noble or good thing can come from sediment masses; They will be shadows and feelings for themselves spicl. They dream of ants from scratch is increasingly detailed for Chinese loans, saying; Even the interest is intact that it is paying.

Another end-of-end length is not unnecessary, nonsensical wings, which the average person is less and less, and may not rarely cut it alive. Some of the concrete relationships are more likely to be silenced because they have guessed the more real essence. While you occupy your stunning fingers with a sense of lack and temporary happiness, and in the way of shipwrecks, they are a little bit like losing themselves!

You may even have trouble yourself, even if you crawl, unworthy, cherish thoughts that never come together enough; The dear angel scent, which makes you feel at the rose-fingered dawn, or a yellowed photo showing a forgotten wedding wedding in just as cozy shipwrecks as the rings of the trees that count on the constantly difficult collon weights of the past decades.

The unbearable lightness of life is shaking, not only on the broom of superstitious eyelashes, but also in the depths of the eternal childhood soul that we were deliberately did not show to others. With empty glue hands, like a disturbed thief, one gets drunk if he couldn't try enough luck. Grotesque mode is over and over again, and the endless time is finally cried back to missed minutes ...

The pigeon color dawn falls unexpectedly on us if you have to wake up to the still-stingy, coma body; His germination and instincts are even lined, perhaps they would like to wait for their destiny, if you could still watch the Book of Fate for us? The heart clock called the heart, like a pulled, timed bomb, threatens cataclysms at any moment, and it is not to reach the well -deserved retirement years. Cause and cause halfway away this way; It covers objects, petty gaps, cracks of cracks. The troubled mind is gone by the purposeless, meaningless clichés of reality: did it make any sense if you are unable to come out of your small alms paying?!

Even though you are struggling with sinners, the crowded universe is still lurking in your pockets, because you have long been in mind to ask others the big recurring questions: to make a bargain ease, everything else is a lie!

It would often be good to step out of the deliberate cover of blind spots, which humiliate anyone who is invisible to the average little man, so that there should be this perpetual eclipse in human heads. You should not be easily lost in the puffy soul. Now this is going on: small and medium -sized enterprises can be stuck at any time on each other's hanging tree just because the larger -smelling sharks will ride everything and everyone that is possible.

Cheap Judas golds in their expensive trousers, or just their latest sports cars; Alligators are so fierce to prey, waiting quietly. For them, just an unexpectedly bad time to live on to their liking; Failure trends are increasingly being taken to the wrong direction. You shouldn't go to the east - but where humanity remains, the little spark of humanity.

The silent news brother, of course, is, of course, as an additional scapegoat, is wrapped in a single air promise. Ten little fingers sure I say was shaking enough on the trigger. - The constant restless anxiety should always be observed in the depths of the inner walnut souls.

For years, every little man has been hesitant on the edge of the platform, as if only this could have been the only place for others to be in the number of people; As if the faces should not look elsewhere in just one direction. They were stuck with stunned beetles among the neon reflectors of existence. The petty thoughts close, as are the metro doors narrow and smoky tunnels in the dark depths!

Behind the apparent superficiality, the indifferent exhibitionist attitude, human epithelial layers are deployed as chitin armor not only on inner, more jealous emotions, but also for the rings of trust. Only tiny, almost insignificant, humble pests are continuing their work with a lovable, emphatic background noise. Halfway through the subconscious impersonality, the dramatic, silent tension is still gently overwhelmed.

The found, validation metaphor for happiness seems to be geller on the richter scaling of modern mass; Because nowadays, as a chameleon, anyone can change shapes and smooth it consciously into an increasingly worse, livelier environment. They say - at best - a spectacular amount as a peculiar unit of measurement for the purchase of the soul, and the three -step distance modification is increasingly valid.

In the capillaries, hardly visible to the eyes, doubt, sorrow, perhaps even pain; The doubt and pursuit to something noble, to the right, can give even a smaller extra incentive for cumbersome self -esteem, dignified dignity. Acceptance remains, though - no doubt - that it is not intentionally. You will be unnoticed inside and out of the outside, as the dog is not interested in what's going on inside!

We should be a liar in each case, for those who voted trust for craftsmen, just like the Mihasna, to be noble, to go to the goat cabbage?! Come on! It is covered by blind shadows, groping instead of humans, stumbling in the world!

Equipped movements, love testimonies, enforcement of fallen loopholes in the spinning time, the cities of Ninivei doomed to spin; The little benefits of trembling and acts. Do roaring blood clots still reach the heart's atrial wreaths safely so that the total infarction does not occur?! The youngest donkey generation seems to have been mistakenly manipulated, as they are threatened by lasting hind legs and wrinkles.

The multitude of mass people cross homeless gillists; From the bottom of the depths - fear - maybe there is no perfect way out. There are only tolerances and preparations in the hope of survival that can be sold. Mushroom clouds multiply from the nails of the nucleus of nucleus; Teenager diva are increasingly behaving childhood as if they no longer remember the memories of saraishes and babies.

contagious echoes yell at the deaf ears of the people; Promised benefits are deliberately thrown into the trash cans, saying, be satisfied with the minimal life you are currently. The world shows more and more visible apocryphal signs, and there are hardly any who understand. Portable conscious loneliness stifles his victims, - they have become a grin, and the old well -deserved laughter, which dissolves our inhibitions and may still be liberated.

The source of all the troubles was that the world was still a talmi, which could be easier to die! Halfway between the awake and the actual subconscious, it seemed as if the instinctive, instinctive hesitation ...

It would be good to know that you are guarding the coals, even under the rapid ash; Will, humility, humanity should not go to landfill or lose, just because the superficial, exhibitionist world is now to make ritual head washing in brainwashed monkeys. You should not leave yourself, just like the mass people who get on with each other, they are suspiciously suspicious of being on Lamburgini, Ferrari, or Porschs, mainly on the Andrássy Road of Paris.

Unfortunately, you know that noble intention to be improved nowadays is getting stuck more and more, like some efushed Robinson's shipwreck, and leaves more creative-creator thoughts on robbery chains, since only some more influential circular companies produce a profit profit. Goodness and purpose are now turning your back, because in dark moles, you are looking for labyrinths, and you are now unable to use the cheap use of practical survival: you sell or if you don't pay attention!

Even our naked soul preserves the tamed evening light of inner visions, because it never benefits. Ancient harmony and tranquility perhaps only on the ocean-party pearl Island, if you can find a man in the earthly paradise, where angels are happiness and enjoy the fullness of life.

Once upon a time, it would be good to throw away all the small -style Sififus terrestrial burdens from our anxious inwardlessness, and to keep that inner coals with loyalty to someone while possible. As a radar screen, sincere love is perceived by indoor echoso sounds, only the current modern man is scared of him precisely because he puts only cheap material things in the order of the emotions.

Whether it is a miserable monkey puppy on the tree, they kept the world and the future on their palms, "some" our idyllic, well -deserved dreams have long been sprinkled with salt and concrete, but the actual average should never be able to prevail, though it is a qualification and qualification.

They disappear in a long-standing holy silence, who once existed to flourish a library or a school, and to enrich existence with cultivated heads of people instead of taho-bowling. The walls would not only collapse as they were built, but newer ones grow up, like toxic spore mushrooms, because they might not be wondering, but as a livelihood, this is still done.

Echosating echo pregnant is not just a comfortable guilt, a temporary success, which is good to be redeemed for small money, and while coupon codes can give you some food, and you are paying for the cash register as a salary.

Nowadays, soul and consciousness rarely match; They both sink into a duplicate traitor to themselves, as they could be quite reckless that they still dared to trust and rely on either good friends or the dear angel. They also have timeless time the counted time, which we still have to spend here in the way of happy-sad eternal worrying children.

He squeezed himself out there into our maze. The humble, small-style toys of logic believed to be an invincible, even smaller or larger situations, are filled with a filth of the present time, which can no longer be improved. We feel infallible, and we know that we often need to go through the impassable, girbe-gurba roads, even if we can hardly change it.

The silent, accomplice, start -up - can still come in handy. Just the refreshing, refreshing tingling of the found soul harmony, which can only be offered by the Savior Universe -if you like -as a gift. In the russians of the Justitia weighs, we can trust more and more rarely, as well as in our handshake, spicl-like friends.

Halfway between the falls and the falls, we are all walking over a half-or two millimeters of rope dancers in just one or two millimeters; For a long time, the redeeming moments of bean, cherishing caress, ready -to -call consolations seem like an unattainable distance ...

Stigma stamps were now struck on adults on adult, cared, dismantled faces, which still had a curious playfulness of eternal children. Lame anger, disgrace, seems to be more and more fashionable and stays in fashion. - We dip our clown image in the flour powder of the weekdays, but we no longer dare, nor do we want to laugh with ourselves.

Once we will just look back at us mirrors from the bottom of the curve-groteszk, an unknown torso face, and then the judgment of the crowd sakes: how and how we got here?!

We crouched together, halfway between the jaws of the present and future Janus, and no matter how much we decide where we have no idea where we go. There are tremendous prison chains of existence hanging into raba-winged souls. In the forgotten, confidential handshakes, the secret apocrypes of the eyes, the transgression of the universe, which is a bit bordered by the immortal tingling, which is already unnoticed there is something strange; The eyes are more like dripping stars.

In any case, the soul has a new bone bridge smell, massive silence, and it is not yet aware-at least for the time being-whether we have been a fashion beast on the altars of our strained everyday life, or just a casual Yorick-mood?! "Because suddenly, the order and system of intent-by-intentioned order and system run, while the mass army of conscious madnesses often dart."

It is customary to guide silent wildlife on halves to know their own place in the world, which may seem, which may seem, becoming more shallow, superficial, and small. - Axis, medium, or if you like balance can be the writing, text, books. Rather, rather than some self-sufficient, deliberately exhibitionist celebrity-idiot.

Because Hübris, Sanda Döjf, pumps into a sticky small camp of the fake, dizzy, and rogues, which the simpler average does not even know if he dares to believe anyone even.

The stunning, mushroom-smelling mole trick now, all of them, are all galatically, as the clean balance and the ability to reconcile the permanent reconciliation are increasingly insensitive. Embodied ideas, such as exaggerated phalanster theories, are involuntarily grouped in wild ideas that are their own grotesque cartoon.

The more real, real meaning of being is shown in the same way; More and more people are chewing on obsolete roots, gillys, beetles, as even the excise tax on durable everyday food prices has risen well, and this is not a joke in the eyes of many. The roots of the digital neo-avantgarde network are rocking their victims, Y and Z-generation members, who have been involuntarily sniffed by the coach profession.

It was as if arrowheads were drilled around the stigma-level stamped-souls, and at a accelerated pace, the human empathetic and tolerant emotions were purely purulent, which could have been good to make lasting compromises. - Long bees stick to that particular sticky fly paper - true useless - because everything can be swimming who has trust relationships and enough money.

Why is the best feeling nowadays the restrained, but lasting pity that is actually sniffed when they are going to wicked and teased?! -The mass-man Darido tumultus also became a concert hall, and the order was still believed to be an only person, but he could hardly know.

In the furrows of the foreheads, unexpected problems and troubles are now settled; The hopes that were believed to be missed would still be so good to get back from the whirlwind of the sea. The dark rags of the overwhelmed nights, like the tangled amber, unexpectedly wrap the body and soul's complex instinct molecules, which are absorbed and can be integrated into the cells of the cells.

In the midst of increasingly difficult overtime on weekdays, they ventilate their tasteful, swearing sieves from motorists when they are late or are sitting in the rush of traffic jams.

In our world -wide anxiety, why can we feel that everything and everyone is for sale, bribed, or just emotions swap and falsify at the same time?! Human-wreckage offspring, even inverted roots, sprinkled or even scapied from wet drained lands-there is no new blood vessel length, in which man himself can only be transit.

Nowadays, it is not good to be a lot of slit, after all, puzzles guarding secrets can be ashamed of the universe or love-believing love with enigma-level Morse signs; Why do you have to drag on a rope like the vulnerable stray souls with the delicious diva ladies, consuming angels?! Soaked eyelashes are dripping like dark, tattooed ditches, while confetti-racks sprinkle a small bargain.

Between artistically composed gorgo heads and centaurs, they can look less and less in the way of humans; It is unbearable, not-deserved, useless, superficial applause for the ugly, fornica!

Peace pigeons Believe me are rarely flying; On their broken wings, burning storm clouds gather. They can't even strain in the long curve of the rainbow, because the silence was destroyed down there. In all cases, proportions and shadows lie exchanged, with no prices for forgetting steps, small -style reality of petty lads. The semi-opening tulip also seems to be legally closed by a rustling wind.

Snow-white walls would still be good to cover-of course, just as it can-he set up romantic evenings, and the superfluous excess of the soul could no longer be enough. In the hell of time, our deeds' footprints are abandoned. The instinctive lovers who want to shrink into embryos, which would be good to cherish it a bit.

Playful naked waxfaaces are fateful to us, and often we don't even know what to do with them. Peace pigeons are still ****** on our heads because they can't even start with the phrases.

In the scarce passages of increasingly drained doors, we pull the tattooed stubborn revolutions of our face, while our nodding, staring grotesque-distorted mirror images are trying to answer questions and answers.

As the yellowed midnight moon is smiling at us, the yellowed midnight moon is smiling at us. However, it would still be good to travel to the smaller or larger buzzing of the goal-free-free-free-free-free-free-free-free-bun, even before they finally decide to get out or give up.

Our memories raise sifus weights because they would have to testify; The heads of our stinging figures were scattered with sand. The rude hopes believed to be frozen are relocated, while the germs of common sense fold the folds of the forehead!

Unnoticed kitsch-suspicious movements manipulate, distort, and surround their unprotected victims; It is as if they could not swam the fraud and the multiplied collapse themselves, because only the sincerity of souls is the only viable path. The moment is no longer divisible, as well -thought -out lies leave molds in the pores of cells.

The tamed faith of pipes often bleeds on a nippy lips if they cannot feel the amber laundry of the righteous universe; Hammer strokes of breaks and suspicion remain with people, if you want it or not, because it becomes part of it. It would be so good to bandage the broken wings of iron angels, not to wait in exchange for financial benefits.

The lashes are extended, and in the shade of the man, the man's tanned, wake -up coffee is still staring; His chronic mornings are delighted, thirsty, as if he were no longer drunk, but it was sobering the origins of instincts. Life often rings us unexpectedly, like a set alarm clock that goes around again and again.

The decades have come back and forth into the haunting periods of unemployed childhood, when everything could seem much more predictable and maybe simpler. Sometimes only truth can examine the holy sins of the eternal moments broken. It would be good to leave the camp of the fixed liar believing once and for all!

It is increasingly limping or shattering, Mihasna's Perpatvar, Vocabulary preaching is an obsco of the long -brainwashed thoughts. Because almost everyone already knows, or at least guessing that chess steps - sure, sure - should be harmed with a higher power, and do not press unnoticed the certainly prepared, symbolic red button that can deliver a giant mushroom cloud.

They put on the infinite, illusion sheet of lies, if necessary, if not, as if the human soul would have been more ancillary loss or a commodity to its waist; There are plenty of people who may even have a weedwriting in fruit flavors with a calm heart, as it serves their wise interests. It is as if they get used to it in the cells to be angry with themselves in the cells, not just the world that has become a place.

Because all depths, falls, are also a mouse hole in itself, from where it is not possible in the spiral labyrinth circles, as they deliberately removed the clamp-opening, redeeming keys to existence. Rather, everyone is deliberately nesting in the tuna indifference and forgotten behind their fence, where the silence has long been filled with dirt. Temporary immobility, like some silent betrayal, enters the pores of the mucus skin unnoticed.

As in confused water, the sludge sits down in the heart and soul of man now well a memory, past, and present; What the other is interested in the exibitionist embryo surface, when it does, scraps its own selfish-mushy profit-making every day. Wave-broken, crushed torso images clings to the fragments of those who have not yet been forgotten and may not really be able to recreate or re-create a broken situation, a gesture of gestures, the dance of manipulative pupils that can be seen on waxy faces.

He sits with a curved soul, tame, and obese the hesitant indifference, if there is none, no longer, which would actually be rebellious. Soft, snow-white babies rumble roller drums and pikes to see if someone else hears. Why, how can a man be only a spinning sacrifice for this current nonsense, vulnerable age?!

Distorted sermon speeches proclaim sufficiently rotting ideas, which, if no one cares, lightly pimple and wash the brain's thoughtful creative tissue. The thought - feared - can hardly scream. Because perhaps a long time in man has been accumulated in every reason to be disgusted and nailed to the stupid, humble wickedness.

For sure, what is certain, it would be good to understand what is certain; Man is running deeper, even in the spiral of refugees, if you think you want to finally understand yourself for a lifetime. Every lap will run around, maybe you can come back to you once!

With a naive, almost smiling, faithful faith, I did not know for a long time that the world was saturated with blood, dirt, filth. Wherever I look, I look like a crowd of human-mass dariders, like so many flat-off worms traveling in flat-off, who would be able to ride each other, if they could do it. The only question is who is better off with the ins and outs of bribe, manipulation, who has enough dare to dream and step forward with a great big ostrich steps?!

I feel like pulling towards the vortex of depths every day, pulling down the many millions of scrambles and petty intrusion of everyday life; Because everyone wants to get ahead of the rank, but in love, just like the superficial, exibimentist words of the pseudo-pads, just as just the ladder, but in love.

This currently disappointing, fat flattening in this current world is a bile mixed with nausea towards my throat, and if I need to, if I need it, only my own sins, pathetic childish clown shots, if they can count on anything.

I deliberately left the company of dogmas that preach, and I deliberately left the moles of ivory towers, but I don't have to listen to so many incomprehensible, folly rice texts about the promises of the uncertain future.

It is not possible to slow down the rarely stolen time to become a holy shelter of instantaneous rich words, just like for minutes; Because it can be delayed for decades, while "some" continue to bury the old-fashioned cannibal time!

It would be good just to have a child-faith, even in a playful time in the Garden of Timelessness, just a little bit to understand a little to understand the absolute references of the Kitin soul. Or maybe it would be better for Robinson's shipwreck to survive forever, who would rather escape the country of dreams because he dreads the wolf trap of reality?!

It would be good to drop every duty jacket once and for all; The thirty-six-hour verb-robot burden, which not only carries a harsh body of the body, carrying lead-in-the-scrubs, but also an office public official is at least as fed up with the small campaigns of constant chopping. The slightly confusing life drive, which has been closed in lines, is extinguished by the misery of everyday life.

The equalized voltage contradictions will wake up, then tense to each other, even under a careless moment or a lost sigh-era: Is it worth it?! Only the next transient time can only be done. - The tree of wisdom, free thoughts, as well as other insignificant so -called. Freedoms no longer grow by themselves, because "some" first sprinkled the land of common sense and intellect with salt and later acidic acids, which made almost everyone at the time of the brain.

It would often be better to have a total disappointment, because then the wise man would no longer be able to trust his mere coincidence to the otherwise uncertain fate or the forces of invisible doom.

The uncertainty that had already been crushed halfway between my teeth, like some deliberately fragmented emergency bird; The prison island of the weekdays is disappointed. Filling clichés are pushed by a perceived-to-deceive sensation, so many hand-catching promises, which, at the time of its conclusion, is blurred into a violent bargaining bargain. The heavy, cumbersome chains of long -term self -references are rusty, but they cannot break.

What matters to the moldy, Avitt scents of the semi-cooked black coffee, which you have to empty to the bottom, if you want to start with a healthier self-esteem. What do the yellowed, exposed pearl-glossy, brilliant smiles, which once flirted with the guardian fires of immortal fulfillment, flirted, and when two hearts could find each other at home.

Now, black herringds are piercing the tissues of the brain first to formulate thoughts and questions incessantly, and then the soul is inner and more spirally received well from their bleeding stigma. Placed, designed goals, ideas - feared - can never take shape and body again, because there is always someone who deliberately hits, or willingly will volunteer their fellow human beings.

Laughing wolf herds also have ironed, expensive well-defined suits to make busy, useful, useful shops, while the simple average only eats the brush between the unfortunate, while the Taracks are not surprised. Because the ghost-shades are tossing hangman on the little men's heads!

Like the winged oak hood, the wounded soul is increasingly closing the petal; which remained faithfully. He could never want anything but believe in ourselves. Delived, if you need to do ready -made will, modest, noble humility, until you can. Perhaps the secret to everything is that it remains a bribe in one place - but it is resistant.

He expects a receipt and hopes for the nirvana-nothing's *******, giving up existence as a careless, twisted minute, and he will not deliberately greet himself if he cannot understand something that has nothing to do with the transparent coordinate system. He understands sooner or later, like the overgrown head, that he was not referenced to himself, in a lonely loneliness because it is so cool or fun-but because he needed the momentary illusion of his calm.

They turn over his head faint, almost invisible decades of decades, which have lost historical ages, or that no one may remember enough; Baja will sooner or later come to everyone.

For even now the bribery-surviving soul is increasingly sinking into itself; Not only the alchemy of the bodies, but also the unceasing spiral passage of the bodies, preserves a vomiting, difficult look. The coast of logical reason should never leave or get rid of it, which is a matter of thinking, because it gives a question of a suspicious question of a falsified age!

The fierce fervor is as if every minute of drawing a lot of tolerant psychology with straight lines; The unmarked play of rope-nerves, whether some amateur, or rope dancing, falls on the face of our rope dancing days, overlooks spider web. It would also be good to redraw the whimsical shadows, while they can be scrambled so that they can not be treated in any way.

Not only can the crowded tyrants be replaced by the crowded, constantly competitive, shaped career desire, but also the betrayed love if he can follow a desire for selfishness and possession. - interrogating handshake, unexpected redemption of the things that have happened in the past as answers,- because the conscious deficiency almost always closes its open soul-doors, because now it is now, as if it were to be filled with *****, bargaining, agony; Sooner or later, human memory and fate-nourished blindfold are all over-the-go, and it will end what it may have been.

Cause and cause of swinging scales, as if they were going on, it would be tense on a single desk until it bounces; The wise man makes himself a sacrifice so that no other miscalculation hurts are caught by otherwise. In the lost haze of stateless roads, even the blind moles and fits are marching without a flashlight; They don't even know where they can go, so far they only smell the nasal smells.

Once we will judge a draft, underworld walks, where Virgil himself will be a guide to our guide; Prepaid suspicion puts a beetle in our ears again and again.

Moccan in my soul is a hundred thousand years where China says s Juang si. It would be better to put my head down, like ostrich birds permanently. After all, a little creation or creation is already trapped - just so - on halfway. The vapor of a silent stuttering, which is multiplied by the number of stuttering, is panting: how and how to carry on, if a well-ringed, pre-planned plan has passed through, or is it a left-wing ladder of fate?!

The minutes of the pockets have long been sold to the wealthier stroma frenys and money-people, that they only own the possibilities, procurement and tenders only; They themselves are increasingly noticed now that they are increasingly able to mimic the petty joyful dariders of their greedy selfishness.

Perhaps nowadays, silent witnesses, or forced to listen, have been fled, and they wanted to testify, because they could secretly realize that almost nothing could change here, but everything was dilapidated or permanently ruined. - The Peace Promenade is less and less possible to find or find it, as everyone is in the interest of selfish-worsening. Silent cavities are in the depths of the tin can-souls empty ...

There are often arguments and counter -arguments in the volume of the lungs, because they cannot be proven; Things and situations are less and less exhausted, and they do not accept the good friend or the beggar of the bark. Rust scent on garbage waste!

I would often take my own destiny; What I once thought could not own, and maybe it can't really be mine anymore. As a hesitant, lame, ***** person, I would just look at how many more ways I have to do to survive they could get along. The man, whom others looked at, spit on, exploited, as if to start slowly, disappear in the retina of staring mirrors, with a bending waist, tormented shoulders, which often carried atlas burdens, instead of others, if not. The squeaky sand grains of existence are their gears - so they often get crazy.

I was just forced to rotate a potted number; Say, do I admit the true, wounded word, which God really hurts, because the dog is not very attentive to patience, through-fear-I would be a mistake to chew on the Hungarian Ugar-pendant, where the average is taboo-til and cannot be.

To the core, my visceral stigma heart only shapes me, shapes me, and with step-by-step tools, I have a hard time squeezing in, raising my head; The pain of disappointments, handshakes, creatures is no longer pilling, but I prefer to be warned, too suspicious and too careful at three steps away.

All of my hesitant moves turn back to me when life is about to me, and while my cumbersome, ship -wrapped days, on the barren, rushes past me, even the deserved happiness, and I can feel a little human.

Like the rootless tree, which is forced to tolerate its harsh fate, the screams of ruthless, ruthless fierce windstorms, and the emerald-green scaly foliage; My drooling, sickly organs whine; Permanent hypertension and hypertension are infected. I've been forced to carry the absolute treasure of the facts for a while!

Childhood should have been gentle and clean until possible. The gloomy, deliberately dark nights can hardly bring comfort to the souls. Street lamps, neon lights, alley -smelling winds, their teeth were carved into all of our vulnerable meat when playgrounds offered people a symbolic gift instead of idyllic peace in the age of idyllic peace.

Rather, we deliberately crossed the many distressing cradle of decades; When was it easier to survive and bearable to the born tuna indifference?! With the universe, immortal fulfillment, only the cheap consolation of our ******* body, because emotions seemed to be deliberately empty and became a dirt.

In vain we could have wanted to understand the hangman time plowing deep hind legs on our face, which rather takes away, but gives nothing in return, it depends and passes only according to our relative reality. -We have been stuck here in a barren, or maybe most eternal children, who hasn't forgotten for sure that he had once had a nursery that had a Jojo, a whirlwind, Moncsicsi, Lego, and Matchbox color switching cars in the military order.

Where were the beautiful times that were left, when we could feel that everything was much simpler and clearer because there were no obscure, unclear questions and answers?! Many times it would be so good if we were eternally comforted by the everyday vicissitudes of reality, and someone would be pushed away! It would be good if someone who is comforted in our lives!

Already everywhere, it is self -indulgent, manipulating, stingy, boiled sheep. "Yes, Director! How did the weekend pass? Do you command coffee, tea, sweetener? The professional conference and meeting may not be more deadly boring anymore! " - hears a powerful head in the murmuring heads of the monotony.

Chattering, chicory-sounding collapse, universally, was also overwhelmed by the mass-wreathed masses; Hebrencs priest, promise, rubbing, greedy, lustful salivation, maid-smelling ringworm-pitian pitching no end or length. Wildlife, Celeb media of Hübrist. Because for the most part, you will have a heartbreaking heart at any time, if no one is willing to watch or noticed that more and more things are wrong and ruined in Central and Eastern Europe!

Wandering, afterlife's griefs have moved to our forever guilt -in -law, which do not want to start to start, but even to sew well; stubborn, hard, or scrappy, easy -to -peeling onion?! As if there were no many choices nowadays. For thirty -six hours a day, a free infarction in captivity in the upcoming organization is stabbed, which - usually - no one counts.

Gravitational idyllic dreams are drawing down the long -term and precisely planned harmony and prosperity; In the piano teeth of the piano, the problem is, and while people playing riddles around the loud illusion, the rope nerves that are racing and troubles are being responsible for each other.

Fossilized smiles, starting, small -style, superficial gestures, splashing, rattling as broken flowers, not only in the heart of bribes - but also from ***** syrupy, self -stamping shows.

The question of the already boredom, how am I in the boredom?

The sober, logical free -thought thought -if at all -stops the sans, to discuss sans as a meaningful, intelligent adult, because it is customary only in the top ten thousand, or in cafes renovated for billions, gentlemen.

Romance, beautiful eating, helpful, unselfish love smiles are no longer what was and could have been; The handcuffs of pity came, while the love passion of the universe is a sharpened spear, which leaves killer-stigma wounds, which are increasingly difficult to heal. The uncertainty disillusioned from the whites of the soul is echose's ventricular response: a crumbling, smelling blasphemy every five minutes, any kind of sour cream, like a parent or an attractive nurse.

The entire Alamus line of compromise negotiating positions was deadlock: "Do you still love honestly and really nice?! Or do I just need a good social status, and do you need relationships that you can boast of any of your partner queen girlfriends as a diva?!

You may not be crying for your forgotten pigeon hairs here; It began to scream, and for the nights, when you have almost gotten the nightmares of the nightmares, the dog could not remember it. Every decade, you still need to take all the lawyer of your life, the guillotine movement of the petty, envious, insidious gazes, which will get closer and closer to the promises of small-shaped retaliation.

Straits wounded the outlines of your childhood back, which, in a short time, was completely tired, but you couldn't say anything, and you didn't pay attention because you were a minor legally, humanly.

In your eternal child, the weathered, slightly stubborn face shows the harsh-trenches that you believe to be lost that you can no longer get back; nor in the form of gift or privileged gestures - your inner soul falls cannot even erase the traces of your conscious selfishness. - You book your losses in a nice line, your Talmi-ócska merits, with which you either intentionally bread, or trampled your remaining dignity.

The stigma mines faded in trembling, trembling inside are tense, shouting, or just begging: "Where do you stay for such a dear angel, who with your one glance you comfort the restless whimpering, orphaned worn-out kids I stayed?! Apocryphal secrets.

Celeb-smelling exibitionist **** is the romantic self-pity of sentimentalism and the glass pots of mosaic. The last adolescents cherish dandelion loves because - maybe - they have no mood for the world of superficial, muddy absolute adults!