LEVENTEN-AGE

Fetus dropped from brainwashed heads to the ground. A vile, lying, word-promise, which rather merely deceives, confuses and deceives all and sundry, but also eviscerates the present with punched coins.

To stand up today with a turning mind is also foolhardy. The metaphors of sinful speech are also a seal. The wounds of forgiveness are less and less in demand. Our bones may be gnawed at any time by the crypt-dark.

Dust-ridden Nineveh's walls of extinct moralities stumble, linger silently. Like a languishing disease, they wear ever more dubiously the secret formulas of dignity and nobility. The worms always lurk a step around us, and take a step - driven by a diligent prohibition.

They seek a narrow escape while they enrich themselves at the expense of others, and toil at the expense of the privileged steward-businessman, the inciting scoundrel. Our burdens are stretched out by some preaching fountain-headed confessor. And the apostate, too, sings the inglorious swan-song.

A shameful pervert of the law to the core. Only his glorious days of stoical truth-telling are missed. In toe-stepping regret many a hippopotamus darkens, instead of producing his own thoughts.

Even the bundle of paper stuck in its fibre, whose constructive and preserving function has been unfairly abandoned by the centuries that have left to remember. Under the crust, the ashes can still preserve the fingerprints that bear witness - if only someone can remain who still wants to search, to interpret complex connections and not give himself up at any price to insidious, rampant ideas.