If the fear of despair, the depth of self-pity infection, thrusts you into a vortex - there you will ask for silence and have you ever been silent? Your poisoned pain will increase your selfishness to the selfishness of the disappointed sinking of your Prometheus ruins in your daytime, if you pay close attention to dog loyalty, it may disappear forever - and here again, your grimy, clogged cry for your nonexistent coffin!

The only personality that you can be yourself, and all you know, is sheer treasure treasure treasure dumps every day instead of just profitable kitchen pigs instead of you - like an inexhaustible like an impregnable Mont Blanc - a prison of your own self: to admit,

this is how you protect your seeming independence - even though you depend on the best-called wolves for your neighbors, the swap-cheap János camp, the Ness-nothing-grab-well-loggers who stand on a traffic light with a bumblebee hesitation, while the apocalypse in the chaos behind them drowns in traffic!

Your self-conscience, illuminated by solid halo light, can only speak if you surrender yourself, part of your petty, lowly sins! - You can do no more than the truth than is absolutely necessary - you are not judged by the heartbeat of the heated desire, and in vain you desire it, and you inevitably sigh ever more complete harmony, without dubious ringing dissonance, cheap and small-style sidebars watching, secretly researching, and flirting shyly if need be

- the extortion will devour the Existence! If you push your self-pity into the abyss of all-consuming suicide, you will be thrown into a vortex, giving you a single answer as an excuse for yourself: Listen very well! "Be undetected, yet consciously present, for you are never alone!"