Exiled from the world

  
  Watch out! He who survives here by free thinking, may now lie low as a sneaky, alamusian leech. A talmudic and squalid cancer of brainwashed thoughts runs through the interest highway of proxy cultures: would Yorick and Hamlet still be doomed?

The executioner takes up the stacks of paper and throws them like kindling between the tongues of hungry flames to foam. Every movement and automatic is now silent and meaningless. They have long since been disabused of the chain of theories, of the need only to be correct, only to approve whatever sacred, individual conviction may mean.

The yearning devotion is like a bandaged mummy, and is released, for every tiny gap is there for the ghost of a tiny intellect to peep through. Vast masses of people are bred into a horde huddle by psychological and manipulative means, by the automatism of mechanisms as well as fixed actions - nothing can be avoided.

Is misdirection considered the supreme virtue?! One perceives only the spaciousness, the comfort of the given niche. - Everyone saw the naked angel with the wolf-trap in his hand - pressed ashore by the exhausted dawn.

Stones, snags, nettles, wounded his athletic body like a million thorns. It was no surprise to her that many had blamed her: a prostitute! - Many rather fell to the dust before him, whom he scolded, and none but he raised men from the mire of their credulity.

Unknown culture-trail always leaves radical thorn-question marks towards a rampant, propaganda culture, tearing into deliberately obscure heads.