You would surely search in vain for the place of the peninsula where we once stumbled: Its place and name only appear among the secret maps of your brain at most! In a dreamy age, the village is steeped in the subtle curves of swaying valleys, - now I still stumble myself here: Like the adventures chasing the thrills of a rusty iron cat, they are more frightening but not inspiring!
The incentive is much more frightening than it would encourage! Then it is more the lasting Loneliness, the loneliness, the active inaction of one place; Writing, word carving, different things! Among millions, you would be looking for your independence, your liberation from everything: you can only be an exiled, taunted son, because there has not been a son of man on this earth yet who has listened to you with patient silence. He has long been disappointed in mercy and compassionate and faithful friendships! - I'll leave my hand on paper! Let him ride and cover. I intersect hieroglyphs with protest indifference to Time: Its immortal eternity should not be threatened by the most obsessed Boredom.
Would I be amazed at the Mercies? I did not ask for mercy, only dying compassion for the fragments of goodness; sometimes it is good to escape into a warm, *****, worldless oduk as a target of sanda gazes, they cannot catch! With indifference, I keep listening to the half-sentences of Being: "Our budget does not allow for salary increases!" - In vain! - Wages, at a slamp rate, that hardly helps!
Anger, anger, swearing hardly use it here - it is slowly approaching half of my life, and years of service make mistakes as many juss columns when establishing retirement! I will find the peninsula, where my full harmony will be over sixty anno - afraid, I may never visit, I may not discover it!
