Open Soul Warehouse

The Lady of Destiny flirted with hasty romance through glittering raven-eye-glasses. I see that a man like me doesn't give a damn about Get Up Hansel. And still he spared my unworthy head. For we were then just enough of us in the camp of the worthy, and on purple stools, who could be in the mood to watch the Caesars' foolish, snobbish triumphal procession?

In a cheapened mass of pulsating, topical fame, He who lies down to good fortune's becomings becomes a retainer and a slave. Illusory orbs of light, glorious comet-cirades, weave backward spark-flares in a sacred marketplace of furs, high-world tulles, luxury riding-horses, where Al-Romeos, with Ceda-Julias, clamber up the ladder of deluded dreams.

I see the decaying, worthless life promised to the new golden age. Already its seductive, cunning antennae have been stretched out like a prey-net on the unsuspecting victims of this age of excess. For their profanity, the fairy heralds of the cloistered fairy are duly rewarded with bonus points. Dormant bloodstain, or bullet-riddled vile star-sheba - immortal prettiness and complimentary moods lie for funeral arbitrary, industrial boorishness.

Those who wear gold-print jackets on blind dates, who know not on what tree alone the eternal law of hearts may grow - With straight Atlas's back, as one who holds a whole planetary continence on his shoulders, to be shocked into the moral guilt of my responsibility! You can't be the champion of equilibrium in a dreamed real existence.

I'm under pressure from a rare lot of foolish hopes, a vile self-doubt. What can I alone begin with concrete solitude?! No casual relationships, - but I would take the trust of sincere friendships!