As if all dislikes were now uniform; like an iron ball wishing to hang on chains, it swings unnoticed in the depths of the soul's mine, harder than granite, yet still softer than conscious Nothing. Almost everything is now made up of manipulation and a series of pretense. It would be nice to spontaneously get stuck in an idyllic, well-deserved dream as long as possible, and where the expandable concept of Time does not exist.

Mobile smartphones are now unexpectedly and intentionally ringing into the chaos of already total-comatose awakenings; as if our crouched objects were gradually swept away by obsolescence, contrary to the supersonic levels of technological development. - In addition to small and large victims, small and large executioners and privates also regularly wield the scalpel, or even the razor, at their pleasure.

Because the Cerberus-devouring dogs are not allowed to join the holy choir of the persecuted these days, that would be too much of a snare for them. Packs of prey are grouped into starving hordes, while outside, strayed flocks bleat into the lost flock; for a long time, no redeeming forgiveness has flowed from the grass, even if it is trampled down once and for all. Every relationship becomes ambiguous, even if it does not want to - but is deliberately disemboweled or humiliated. The only question is: who will believe in survival and at the same time guarantee it?!