Coatings

 
Some time must still be spent here of necessity. All Time is a tremor in space. It would have been good to know Babylonian examples. What good was it to set up the formula of theories of time for ourselves?! Silent resignation to the immutable, quietly treading in miniature time-trains.

Why is it necessary to face each day with anxiety the permanent states of Being-destruction? As when shadows huddle in the sleepless darkness, only to be incinerated by the sparking change of days by the fear that feeds itself.

Exiled mother-in-law tidings could not be counted. Like loose plaster that is starting to mould, old age is getting more and more dishevelled. It hangs in sprouting curls on the wax-sketch of faces. The whimper of an animal crying out in its dreams when it has no one to turn to. In a Hatholdian wilderness, even the feeble man trembles to survive his last, livable moments with selfish, accountable will.

In the gradually deepening tunnels of remembrance, it only emerges as a pang of conscience - like a recurring illness, a persistent complaint of the fear of death. Almost aching, nameless to the soul. The heart limps like an arrhythmic moment, when it lies that there is and will be a Time.

Slowed-down memory-records are divided and multiplied on the inner screen of the marcona, Alzheimer's-brain. Time can be felt because it is deliberately invisible. Where will the unconsciousness go when the common sense and the self-confidence we have built up are eroded?! Self-absorption always blasphemes the present, poisons the uneven contents!