There were many, it was illegal to have a pessimistic weekday, a worn out, useless desk and a climbing Sisyphus ticket: Insufficient - mostly - and sufficient. The crossfire of promising grains of pride, and the pathetic judgment of the Inquisitions lurking in the eyes: “Let's see! Who dares to do more and more ?! ” - There was a murderous rage in the hearts of the people,

"What did I know then: What can I expect?" "Destroyed nervous system, suicidal pessimism?" Nice promises or Janus-faced compromises? In which the victim is always his own scapegoat! "In the conscience of the people, they beat a homestead and strangled it with stigma stamps, handing it to you as the title of loser, as an honor in the camp of innocent fools!"

There were many, it was illegal for the pessimistic weekday, many were the self-destructive consciousness of Nothing: that you would stay that way, but only the Apocalypse-bad guys rushed at me every day; miserable, trampled on, destroyed! If I look back, I can still see it as fooling and humiliating the germs of youth in slavery, the reliable cornerstones of spiritual libraries, because “someone” mentioned the word in defense of imaginative and new ideas! And still, I can only guess: Did I get the magic D-letter document in exchange for the omniscient silence of my silence, or just for the awareness of my sooner liberation ?!