CONTEMPORARY WOUND-SCRATCHING

I have never received the redemptive pardon of criminals. I was forced to lick my stigma scars like a dog, until I was totally disappointed and totally disappointed in my disillusioned impulse among false prophets, and played with full-blown worms. For whether it be a small, tender scar, or a scout's scar, or a car accident-induced study wound, the bone-cracking, fierce-galad pain reaches to the very core of the soul, and there it penetrates like a digestive poison. 

To endure silently out of the circle, its fate may at any time become accustomed to man's vulnerability, and with will and patience, even with hand-holding dreams in his hands. It is increasingly difficult to behave as a human being in a world beyond the eyelids. It would be better to be a cowering beast, though forced to live, to tell the future on the pages of the codex of the secrets of Being, to decipher: how many more trials, how many more heart-rending universal disappointments must we endure and endure?

Why can't love's harmonious metamorphosis be the ultimate place? I would like to shout the truth, the judgmental merciless: "Let us all wake up to the Real! Let no one be mean or envious!" - Let the idle moments of the yew-flower-life of happiness be valued to the utmost - else an unexpected tragedy of fate may come at any moment.

What can one answer when one's head can easily go to the wall from sermons spouting false words?! No matter what is being spouted from megaphones or through the gallows of the state media. Our days, like the scorching grains of sand, are already numbered in advance. So let us not have unnecessary headaches. The universal knowledge that brings light, though locked up in a cage of boorishness, is faithfully guarding until the last minute a sacred ideal!