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  • Distance mirror

    Surely, halfway into the future, everyone will have at least enough self-loathing to dare to say, to dare to admit the word: "I made a mistake!" - In the trapped webs of silent answers, any number of apologies could have given birth to a healthy tact, and perhaps it would have been easier to stay, if this great deceiver and swindler of loyalty had not been standing guard everywhere on the picket lines. Deceptions, and renewed promises of vows, are again caught in devious minds: while he deceives others, deceives others, and pretends in good faith, without noticing that his vile life is a mere exhibitionist self-deception, splashed with syrupy reality.

    He does not enjoy the shocking moment of unexpected pregnancies one bit, since every minute he can swell to the size of a killer whale and at all costs he radically pursues a body-control diet, since he can see on the faces of his closest relatives the extra kilos he has gained in happiness. Half as a pseudo-love, half as an escape from existence, she has been thrust out into the world to assert herself. Self-loathing has long been contagious.

    The handshakes and confidence-trading brain cells stare dumbly and noddingly at the monsters of the world, the petty slave-hairs of the petty slave-hairs of the world. - The populous company of green, emerald-leaved daily-recreated creepers defy the spitting truth, what life is his life but that of a profligate, vile debtor to oligarch-basasques? Bone-shattering skeleton wrecks march like visible legions from one fashionable cocktail party to another; outmoded beauty queens puff out unearthly slogans to gain the right to work in the media, apart from others.

    Even so, the average person continues, with pathetic sheep-like self-discipline, to peer into the dubious future: "what next?" - Its sloppy, outmoded promise is now hanging like a noose around everyone's neck. Pulsating waves of blood prematurely fall beneath a fog of forgettable memory...


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