Because the present time, in which we are forced to live, seems like a crumbling race; we live, although it is undeniable, but rather as a burden for the common good, who are burdened by utility bills just like tax burdens, and man would rebel while only his meager existence endures, but in vain he seems to be burdened with heavy burdens, measuring out a fate-future that has been freed into the fabric of defiance-accusation; because no one is really curious anymore: how much more in dust must one crawl and slide like vile snake-spawns for a lifetime?! Is there someone still waiting alone for man on the actual edge of Being, so that they may have to cross the otherworldly rivers of their passings together?!
Many still only suspect that when they carried the baby out at birth into a lifetime of solitude, they could not even know that deep in his soul he would be burdened with the power of conscious solitude. - There were those who, with a smile, contemplated the destruction of the average man, existing among wolves was already suicide in itself; the whole pack, licking their torn wounds, chased him. The entire fold of the forehead was a deep furrow of worry, as if he had deliberately forgotten to smile. One can now know for sure: in the weeds, the roots of Being can only rarely be completely destroyed.
For one marches along secret, invisible caravan routes from the womb to Death, as if the silent accomplice-patience, which is now everyone's worthy companion, were visible everywhere at once; small sparrows flirt with shark-toothed cats, and while here and there one would still have to sue the passages of the parchment-yellow paragraphs, even the average person can quickly realize that he never had any special grace.
Dec 18, 2025
Dec 18, 2025 at 12:56 AM UTC
Because the present time, in which we are forced to live, seems like a crumbling race; we live, although it is undeniable, but rather as a burden for the common good, who are burdened by utility bills just like tax burdens, and man would rebel while only his meager existence endures, but in vain he seems to be burdened with heavy burdens, measuring out a fate-future that has been freed into the fabric of defiance-accusation; because no one is really curious anymore: how much more in dust must one crawl and slide like vile snake-spawns for a lifetime?! Is there someone still waiting alone for man on the actual edge of Being, so that they may have to cross the otherworldly rivers of their passings together?!
Many still only suspect that when they carried the baby out at birth into a lifetime of solitude, they could not even know that deep in his soul he would be burdened with the power of conscious solitude. - There were those who, with a smile, contemplated the destruction of the average man, existing among wolves was already suicide in itself; the whole pack, licking their torn wounds, chased him. The entire fold of the forehead was a deep furrow of worry, as if he had deliberately forgotten to smile. One can now know for sure: in the weeds, the roots of Being can only rarely be completely destroyed.
For one marches along secret, invisible caravan routes from the womb to Death, as if the silent accomplice-patience, which is now everyone's worthy companion, were visible everywhere at once; small sparrows flirt with shark-toothed cats, and while here and there one would still have to sue the passages of the parchment-yellow paragraphs, even the average person can quickly realize that he never had any special grace.
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