Amidst created worries, troubles and troubles, as if I were falling into a gaping abyss, half-balancing on the edge of animals, hyena-scavengers, like a shaky-legged, slightly hesitant, underestimated tightrope walker, - I can deliberately hold on or not in the draft of depravity. In the purgatory of an endless rail, as if I were one of those Bosch could have painted in his lifetime; a gathering of hell-shaped soul-shadow visions ready to rage.

It would be nice to hide back at least sometimes in some strange, sprawling Hawaiian wilderness, where crystal-clear, raw-visceral emotions can also manifest themselves more emphatically, more faithfully to themselves. A middle-aged rose withers and withers in the filth of big cities, because there was no one left to console her instead of her selfish strawman-peddler husband; because even hook-nosed prophets fall for whales, after devouring even the smallest tadpole embryos.

Forever chained as mere passengers in spiral circles, because that is how people are now, intentionally tied to the work methods of unbearable, unfulfillable working hours, petty-gallant deadlines. Because now it seems that washerwomen and hostess models are once again selling their commodity love for tinkling silver coins, until another incomprehensible, twisted property division lawsuit comes; "Daddy and Mommy really love you children! You just know that Mommy and Daddy can't stand each other anymore!"

They would rather drown each other in a spoonful of water, if they could do that!" - Thus, the slow, conscious disillusionment can still remain. Among the calculated, manipulative genres of attempts and cheap escapes, there is certainly no one left who would actually understand their job and act as their heart commands?! - A casual party queen or a diva imitating luxury is handing out slaps with stamps stuck on guest masks.