The ancient grief-accusing, the empty Present still looks back and forth on the past believed to be forgotten; fate-born sneaking fears, pitiful, small bargains-contracts frame the increasingly Sisyphean, more and more turbulent everyday lives of this modern mass-man. Fate - if it existed - drags everything and everyone down, because it must blindly lead man hesitantly stumbling, still groping to know that he could not have lived in vain. Now, the wills of withered mummies are gnawing at their nests, and the closed handcuffs-locks lock their millions, not just an uncertain boundary line, which is always reshaped and reshaped at will by great powers ready to mess around.

The decay that has already begun now - it may seem - is becoming more and more massive, since even mere everyday Existence has become stuck in a swampy desire for something tangible; there is no way out. In the underworld depths of the Soul, infected, festering sorrows speak and testify about it; what should have been done and done differently, so that even the tolerated humility could become more livable?!

- Because now, apocryphal letters in books dream their forgotten dream lives in a hundred ways instead of man, which only go to the privileged as compensation. On the wrong paths that hide the past, a chain of shame-handcuffs is already stretched, starting to rust; the sinful soul is also pregnant with shadows, that in many cases it has left it free, calculating, to be dictated by manipulable promises instead of sober, considered ideas and free thoughts, and in return they can pay for delayed reparations.

Now you are slandered to death by petty, envious suspicions, accused of treachery without evidence, like most petty accomplices, sued like webs of minutes. Because the candle stub of existence reaches down to the visceral bones, a dark pit for mortal men to reach...