The fearful, trapped mighty ones are no longer held by the trap of dug wolf dens; they are chased and devoured by the pack of sheep bleating insidiously, vast scenes are all split open like the piercing dawns of a fine day, if the treasures of human well-being and attainable happiness must be measured within a set deadline.
"Some" turn back into hungry monkeys yearning to go mad if they interpret the extended, universal principle of "it is better to receive than to give" only for themselves. The various egos and the mind's haughty worldly love - in secrets - still bet against each other, as if they were playing a game of chance with each other, because ideas that are too full of themselves can fail a person at any time, because the burden of past events weighs down the head of a weathered and worried mind. The counterarguments - which anticipated sincere trust - remain here, in a despicable way, orphaned, abandoned, and can fall on people's heads.
A dwarf historical age is not yet certain to put a worthy end to the great beasts. In the servant moments, as in some strange process of vulnerability, they still grab their living victims by the scruff of the neck, and Balázsa Hübelék will be the one who does not act. Because this No Man's Land, which was previously claimed to be stable, is full of stumbling, full of doubts. Silence repeatedly belies those who still listen to it. A wind-silence conscience nests in the human soul in the form of a careful flock of birds.
- You see, the World coincides today; between the plebs and the aristocratic diva-queens, increasingly deepening social chasms yawn. The pearl-of-tears truths are now increasingly reserved for the chosen few and not for close friends, who might have known what it meant to be a janissary child who was chased. As if the endless mine-yours were now continuing in a permanent manner, even on a global scale.
Dec 25, 2025
Dec 25, 2025 at 1:36 AM UTC
The fearful, trapped mighty ones are no longer held by the trap of dug wolf dens; they are chased and devoured by the pack of sheep bleating insidiously, vast scenes are all split open like the piercing dawns of a fine day, if the treasures of human well-being and attainable happiness must be measured within a set deadline.
"Some" turn back into hungry monkeys yearning to go mad if they interpret the extended, universal principle of "it is better to receive than to give" only for themselves. The various egos and the mind's haughty worldly love - in secrets - still bet against each other, as if they were playing a game of chance with each other, because ideas that are too full of themselves can fail a person at any time, because the burden of past events weighs down the head of a weathered and worried mind. The counterarguments - which anticipated sincere trust - remain here, in a despicable way, orphaned, abandoned, and can fall on people's heads.
A dwarf historical age is not yet certain to put a worthy end to the great beasts. In the servant moments, as in some strange process of vulnerability, they still grab their living victims by the scruff of the neck, and Balázsa Hübelék will be the one who does not act. Because this No Man's Land, which was previously claimed to be stable, is full of stumbling, full of doubts. Silence repeatedly belies those who still listen to it. A wind-silence conscience nests in the human soul in the form of a careful flock of birds.
- You see, the World coincides today; between the plebs and the aristocratic diva-queens, increasingly deepening social chasms yawn. The pearl-of-tears truths are now increasingly reserved for the chosen few and not for close friends, who might have known what it meant to be a janissary child who was chased. As if the endless mine-yours were now continuing in a permanent manner, even on a global scale.
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