As if we were just robbing each other, we would be robbing each other by trying to assert ourselves by trampling on anyone, in a world from which the appearance of tolerance and empathy has completely disappeared. Our inner, sinful destruction carries the fierce, Sisyphean weight of a huge self-destruction. The giant projector of the soul preserves more than a million memory slides, until Alzheimer's or dementia catches up with it. The ancient secrets of the Universe are already kneaded and coded into our instincts, and yet we often do not dare to safely open our vulnerable hearts.

It is also increasingly difficult to decipher the love of two unknown beats with its bitterly perverse Apocryphal symbols; because sooner or later everyone, increasingly sympathetic, just stumbles upon themselves. Our everyday annoyance is thus devoured by the tolerated patience, whose voice - at least - we do not listen to for the time being.

On the corridor of our dreams, we continuously distance ourselves from the fabric of real reality, of which we are still a part; in an instinctive vacuum, we shrink to endpoints, like the humming worms in the passages chewed by moles under the omniscient surfaces. We stare into the empty distance for a long time, since no one can yet see the certain interpretations. The silence of the outcast - fearful - although it does not teach us to live like a wise thinker, because it is becoming increasingly difficult to survive.