Everyone knows by now: Mouse nibbling pulverizes the brain, reason, and culture, and every shrill, shrill sneaking around becomes unfathomable in the cauldron of souls. Everyone gets a vigilant donkey's head, and more and more often the simple court fool can only be absolutely right.

Stuttering in the soothing sheep choir is now becoming more and more popular. Minutes's field of vision is getting narrower and narrower, the superficial success of minute-man blue. Discounted autographs and superficial gestures are handed out by the privileged and the deserving. Even sweet mistakes lose themselves on purpose. More and more people are claiming that they have the right to be successful or to earn a lot of money as an influencer. In a black-and-white world, simplified things can easily become complicated.

Now, foolish brutes and wild animals enjoy themselves and parade in abundance. The embittered odious words that once spiced up the cozy night with an idyllic, sweet romance - now, in bitter, stripped-down habit, they are deepening further and further in their own, selfish underworld. That a real lady could so easily succumb to the sight of a macho testosterone Titan after a single candlelit dinner. He can't give a compliment yet, but he drives a Porsche or even a Ferrari if he feels like it; and the soul-seeing willow poet may fall on his face sooner.

Now fewer and fewer people can climb to the heights of the Heaven of emerging Being; fewer and fewer soul-seeers could remain on their feet, just like the truer, more immortal believers in Allness, who could still feel the vulnerable joys of Being in the midst of the materialized world!

The flickering sliver of night light now encloses the pitch black like a looming, cracked lampshade. Outside, the brutal cold of winter, which wants to gnash its teeth, bends icicles, even though it is only minus two at the moment. "That's plenty too!" - you think, while a lost yellow-cheese taxi carelessly passes in front of your house.

Something has stopped again and disappeared from this World that is now starting the new year. You can't be 100% certain that you've actually just become a tolerated, transiting guest, who is asked to go to hell behind your back with the very first elegant gesture, or is pestered for a while with wait-and-see, honey-glazed tactics. - A surprising number of people flounder through their own ****** lives, as if everything and everyone is already spiraling towards the great common debtor, from which there is neither escape nor return.

The fake passwords that also attack the other worlds in the form of belated rescuers rarely, if ever, arrive on time; an elderly mother collapses on the open street corner, while curious, naive, almost childlike onlookers rush around her, while her carefree and worn-out body sighs out its thought-to-be-immortal soul as the last unfinished chapter.

The wretched shell-loneliness, and rather the increased avoidance of redundancy, increasingly tempts the still-stuck living. - The fate of the lost often scares even those who are only now trying to learn and teach the acid and pepper of the capitalized but lying Life. The projected vision of the future is now even more glaring, and even more conspicuous. The beginning and end are often barely recognizable!

Who is hard at heart, or never at peace in the name of compulsive games as the whispers of the left index finger, like the convict, the son of man has been branded, except that the fussy, ragged life is still a serious matter. Man's compromised hope was also lied to from the heavens, like the diamond-bright stars, in order to somehow fill the emptiness of the great lack at any cost.

Because somehow all of them have been forced to hide the deep abyss intentions of their own selfish and greedy plunder in secret and perhaps under me. some of them are even capable of squealing out of their own skin at any time and pretending to be something other than what they really are. They are the total opposites of a relatively impracticable, agreed-upon lifestyle and social arrangement.

Only the long-lasting loneliness could not ask for absolving grace from the agonizing, mind-blowing solitude; even among the memories of the past that open wounds, a lasting, agreed reconciliation can now seem more and more difficult. - With unreserved half-solutions - he is afraid - it is difficult to cross the dimensional gates of the inner soul, which do not just open to anyone.

With interchangeable Janus faces - in many cases - like sheep led to the slaughterhouse, snarling beasts stare at each other, worms and traitors at the same time, because they could hardly do anything else. In the shelters of sleepless nights, it would be nice to have a predictable, protective hug that is unique and inimitable. Everything seems to sink relatively uselessly into the squinting silence...

I want to write something
that lives beyond me.

Something that brings joy
to someone I'll never see.

Something that has wings
to traverse time and space.

Words of rhyme that kindle love
in a formerly loveless place.

Just a line, or phrase
where someone will say-

to a dear friend,
I read this today.

A poem by some old poet,
I don't recall his name.

But I found it to be beautiful,
and it touched me,
All the same.