BEGINNING OVER A RANGE OF TIMES
I stand in the depths of myself without ceasing. Now over forty years old, I have become well acquainted with the labyrinthine paths that have woven through my shipwrecked life. In the secret depths of my soul, a bottomless lake rests seemingly undisturbed; its calm, balanced foam cherishes the billion tears of true pearls. Only those who sincerely accept it can now recognize it, and of course they cannot want to change it anymore. The one who comforts the incessantly chattering, rambunctious child in me as selfless kindness.
- Over my head - maybe - one day the holy steps of guardian angels will ring, and I will not always be viscerally alone. Even the inner personality, which nowadays everyone likes to hide from others on purpose, is single-minded, secret, and unknown, because if a wounded and disillusioned heart is already broken, even consolation cannot be considered a salvific medicine. Even now, I can only crouch on the iron bed of my fears, drums po...
FRAUDS MORBID DANCE
Now the profane, festive silence set in, and like a compromising, false, word-breaking friend, he immediately blurted out all the small-minded secrets of others; out there, the ancient, well-rehearsed tactic of wallowing is maintained based on the predictable, petty principle of "it's good to give and receive", which involuntarily trickles down to a small side benefit not only for celebrities but also for sensitive celebrity faces.
It's as if they are deliberately stripping their cheap and salable souls, bribing them towards the uncertain Tomorrows. In the eyes of the beholder - if there are any still here on earth at all - how much is a couple of kind friendly words shoved in a mean way when it costs almost nothing just a bowl of bean soup?! Unwittingly, the frail person constantly categorizes and tries to think back to the holidays of his shipwrecked childhood, when perhaps it was still good to cling to the beard of playful curiosity, k...
The natural history of grief
The interrogated Past always turns back faster, becomes a fugitive. Relentless recognition keeps him at bay, haunting him like a tamed shadow. Humiliated failure shakes a leash just as it faces humiliation, like the fever possessed by lovers of raw instinct
In this bittersweet, forced exchange, it seems that the hugs are getting more and more prominent, and honest surrender can no longer be a real shame. Time, as merely a selfish vision living for itself, as a devastating, pitiful defeat, scolds suspicious people with double voices.
Between the fall that caused many somersaults, condemned to forced stagnation, and unplanned life paths - no one could have repented more cheerfully, trusting in long-lasting guaranteed happiness. The organs of Life follow petty ceremonies, they demand independence in the encrypted passages of molecules and cells.
It is no longer permissible to believe in false promises, tinsel, much-promised illusions,...
LEGACY TIME
Voices of extraordinary
Contributions past
Their actions in determination and preparation
Wisdom and knowledge
Their honor in privilege
Leverage Mind
Standing up and challenging
Overcoming principles that bind
Turning foe into woe
Swimming to the surface of creations without drowning
Knowing what they know in how to use it
Overlooking although
Believing, Can and Shall
Legacy has spoken
Their words are far more than a token
Each letter in encouraging vibes spoken
Soulful status
They are all distinguished
DECEMBER AGE FIND
In our moments, it is not yet the iron-heavy dream that has hit the homestead like this on the approach of the holiday, but rather a kind of destroyed, permanent shipwreck, nicknamed permanent disillusionment among the ruins of a worn-out, much-destroyed present. In the leaden night after midnight, a raven-black jaguar or a panther purrs as it stalks its prey, as if Life, the eternal director, as the great, fatal mangrove press, sooner or later grinds every created soul to its liking.
In the dim light of street lights, a lost five-minute-famous Celeb-face appears; with self-help advertising strategies and new like-hunts, because recognition can no longer be guaranteed otherwise, only with manipulable, lead-seeking tools like this that are splashed everywhere. The faces that have been very familiar for twenty or thirty years, yet unknown, are covered by some mysterious, charming frosting smile, which is both a lie and a lie, and remains false forever. It ma...
SMELLING GARBAGE HILLS
This current weeding century with a distorted-grotesque face runs further and further back, deliberately hindering itself; who knows for which tower the answer to the flood of many mistaken, useless questions might be?! Even now, what remains is the alamustic impulse and hesitancy of the impotence and indifference dubbed permanent. A person would prefer to deny not only his stable insecurity, but his officially completed schooling, and would rather pretend to be a vile, bambam fool, just to win a job for himself unfairly.
Could the question posed deep in the soul be true: Choosing means giving up on yourself in a hundred ways? Why does a person have to stand in one place for sixty years so that he can pass away embittered and disillusioned?! - The city is now bathed in deep fish and rat smells, despite the fact that many protestors are declaring a holiday; many of them are more likely to be deliberately sloppy, swallowed, or just regurgitated, because they...
Petty loans of being
On me - who knows why? -, blind, unfortunate clashes rage on and on. For me, simple complicated things turn out to be ill-fated. At any age, momentary, fleeting enthusiasm is sweet to me.
It is an increasingly superficial, increasingly worse fact that the inexorable law of the grotesque, brainwashed Reality is hidden in the atoms of evil interest cells. Before I even want to do a stubborn act, the inevitable, cowardly intention rises up in me.
If it fails, even the subject's right to legitimate revenge can turn into vicious, vicious hatred. Underneath me, in the web of stretched minutes every day, the ordinary, healthy self-awareness, if it still exists, breaks. It must have been bad for a long time when the simplified Sisyphus stone had weight and guilt.
Still, I say it: it's wasteful and now it's bad that I have to get by on the ruins of everyday life in some other way! To my hardened, yet mortal heart, all imagined a...
THE CONSCIOUS NATURE OF UNCERTAINTY
Free-thought and reason stretching in degrees are now more like dry bread; the meager Apocalypse-pledge of lasting self-sufficiency and survival gnaws and gnaws at its innocent victims like iron teeth. It would be nice to really and fully see the inner, hidden Apocryphal voices, which perhaps even the seers are less and less capable of these days. Instead of convoluted, false, compromising plans in brainwashed washing-up liquid brains, the universal humane message of cultures should be discarded while it is possible.
During the lulling snowfalls, it would be nice to forgetfully enjoy the snow, like a carefree child, instead of having a bitter weight-carrying cart pull down our heavy shoulders every day. Every once in a while, a person stops hesitantly from behind the lace of snowflakes and wants to turn back to the more livable worlds of the idyllic eras they lived in, which are no longer there; with ceaseless restlessness, he would search for and besiege ...
LOADED LAYER CONSCIOUSNESS
Even now, like stray shadows that have become smileless, the years are gathering in the furrows of our faces, the innermost, conscious fears are stuck in our throats, which we have consciously tried to destroy in the darkest recesses of our souls; torments, tragedies, hand-to-hand betrayals all follow us like increasingly insidious raids. Let's throw away, like the clothes that have started to fall apart, our petty secrets that seem more fearful.
It would be good to put your useless worries and troubles in the corner for at least a few hours, days, or years, so that they don't even accidentally tempt you on a permanent basis. We are increasingly trying to prove that the final settlement may not be delayed soon. The uncontrollable temper also flares up, because he cannot know what to expect from a more complicated, risky life situation; In the dawn of agonizing days, we should now watch over our own sound judgment with watchful eyes, which should ne...
GETTING OUT OF YOUR INNER LABYRINTH SELF
It's like you're an increasingly shaky pillar of your own petty, pitiful ceiling; you still try to hold your uncertain future with your two palms. Do you still want to build something while, like Orpheus, you constantly look back and see if you did, thought or did everything well and carefully?! The cornerstones of the past - it is possible - can only give you yes-yes answers that you want to get wise.
You can only forget and hide under the carpet the millions of cellular instincts of permanent insecurity for shipwrecked people with the comforting, sustaining love of the One-Dear One; the conscious, deliberate fear that: you will be completely and suddenly left to yourself, just like your Alzheimer's memories or even the brain-shaped core enclosed in a walnut, may always remain with you. Now you are still looking into the aching, wolf-crying ice-blue eyes of winter, even the central heating can only barely pass through your hardened, cat-like b...