Our footsteps rumble, like the wind that smells of Avar, our souls are still bathing even several times a day in the bleak, puffed-up filth of everyday life; we cannot leave the sheep clouds of childhood, because it still belongs to us. The awkward floating between Being and connections, the longings of diminishing instincts scratch marks viscerally not only under the poles of the skin, but also into the personality within.

The heralds who enter into alliance with the living have also arranged for vigils beyond dreams. In the lap of Being, it would be good to give up once and for all all attacks and defenses deemed futile against something that will totally entangle us anyway.

And although the nightmarish night is accompanied by incessant resurrections of light - man cannot always surrender himself, stripped bare. In the opening wound-darkness, instead of a forest of clenched hands, some kind of understood, squeezed empathy-tolerance would be good. In the atomic-stress feelings of eternal haste, in the vigilance of vision, the human soul can easily get lost; the beginning and end of internal landslides would unwaveringly crush the cracked shell of completeness, so that the separated Reality and idyllic illusion would be separated once and for all.

The secret current of the suppressed anxieties nicknamed permanent may still emerge here and there, a ring of shadow-memories of piercing shadows, a distorted face that remained was all that could remain. Every day, a person constantly feels when and where he has reached into a wasp's or an eagle's nest, which repeatedly wounds his stubborn conscience. A horde of angry people tempts him in a deserted, alley-smelling doorway, because sooner or later no one even notices and the endless silence quickly runs aground!

April 23, 2024
I sit in the dark with her breath warm on my lap
Watching the way sleep softens her face
I have never seen beauty like this
I have fallen for her so hard
Words scatter in my mouth
She is breathtaking
I write letters in the hush
Pages for her to find when she wakes
My thoughts curling around her like a blanket
I wonder to myself; “How did I finally find my forever?”
Just after midnight she wakes and texts me
“Babe, you moved me to tears, your letter. I felt you in every word. I haven’t been this happy in forever.”

July 12, 2025
How did we become strangers?
Inside the story we wrote together
Why weren’t my words, my hands, my hope Enough to keep her close?
I love her so deeply, she will never know
She’s gone now, moved on from us
But I am still here
Lying awake revisiting April nights
When she was the answhere to every silent question I ever asked the dark

Now I can still digest what my prodigal soul has swallowed; My petty, selfish, weary conscience makes me count the minutes of my existence on watchful, nightmarish nights, if the round executioner-moon appears, because it would be so good if holy peace could build a house in the courtyard of my aching, shattered heart, even for a fraction of a moment, like the basic formula of "nothing will go wrong!" I feel that the festering, infected World is too much for me, if old age comes, like the invented burden of becoming superfluous, perhaps it would be good if someone could look at me.

Now, not only the seasons - but also the wild Siberias of restless, manipulative souls - are pressing themselves into the depths of the caves of souls, because the desire for flattery can quickly dry up at the fountain of secret souls, just like telling the truth. Human personality should be preserved with a shadowless conscious indifference, as a kind of rebellious testimony of worldly things.

Perhaps it is better to simply step over the pitiful, pitiful traps of intentional insults, while the decade passes by. One has long felt the unwelcome thud of rheumatic hooves pounding over one's pitiful head, between the viscerally ingrained bones; like scraggly, earthly, drunken puppies, the members of the newest donkey generation bicker over each other's backs, taunting each other to their heart's content, for they have rarely thought about the secret nature of inner feelings, because with Nirvana-Nothing and with the assured consciousness of solitude one can only be in sole alliance, everything and everyone else being now totally excluded.