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    In a brainwashed past-future riddled with delusions, when even the gallant man slips back into himself, while the eternally revolving Time rages and fights with the returning Infinity. In the presence of body odor, everything surrounds you in silence; veiled, admitting the self-conscious shame. It's as if those who could remain news-makers and truthful should be deliberately ashamed of themselves.

    Centrally specified regulated thoughts or ideas go to one. They walk their huge, bribed circles in the orbit of manipulable nervous systems, while looking for tangible evidence of the peace they have found.

    Only the scrappy anti-mortgage of tooth and nail prosperity, survivability at any cost, matters to greedy career-chasers as much as it does to raging slobbers. Our imaginary dreams are never followed by real action. The stress and risk factors of everyday life, which have become unbearable, hug each other. Even the dispassionate words promised and worn out together can no longer mean anything.

    The weekdays are indeed branching out against each other, instead of being reconciled and smoothing out with each other. On the ever-worried forehead, one inappropriate, unkempt wrinkle trembles in protest, saying: the opening and then closing scars of jealous, sympathetic concerns faithfully preserve the healing scars. The suffocating silence lulls you into a dream, fades into the slavery of eternal nights. The movements of memories of caresses and small touches are guarded only by latent instinct-interests. We can no longer dare to become ourselves even in the crossfire of self-tormenting focus glances!

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