DON QUIXOTE - OWNERSHIP

Around us, blind Babel-confusion, linguistic bickering, the XXI century, the ant-traffic, unemployment and abandoned Theiresis-hope, it is not too late to forget everything, to go for our real Truth, with a new faith, with a new faith, with a new attitude, to kill for our real Truth! 

And Cassandra's loves, and now in harmony should we rest: Who in his mother's sheltering embrace, Who in an equal hope's hand, which calls me dear, clings, and in the life-long punishment of compliments, I cannot myself be wholly reconciled: I spend all my time in a cultic dump, I can only hope that from above, where angels sing soothing telepathy, in the pearls of melodious stars, someone smiles back at me, and watches over me, guarding my restless dreams. 

- And among all the indecipherable Delilah glances, among all the flirtatious glances that twist my head, I do not know myself, and I understand why I was drawn by all the invisible electronic compasses to the only human emotion that conspired to magnetize me: love. - And deep-rooted behind the silence of Don Quixote, there was a game of hide-and-seek: polite courtship!