FORWARNING

Like pathetic idiots, the darting pernahajders from a disco loiter in the streets, while the dingy clouds of dirty, grey dawns turn into streams of water. Not one yet wonders what will be next, and that Life should begin.

I'm often tired of being poked by the Real. I'm disillusioned with the sneaking, sneaking silence, which, like a snitch, follows me like a shadow, and tries to suck me in like a shadow. I have become disillusioned with promises that ring as well as with empty consolations that somehow we should endure and prosper here in this no-man's land.

For this is what is already being heard from everywhere by the eagerly nodding and bleating sheep and enthusiastic goats: 'Oh, how good it is that new projects, plans and dreams are deliberately being put on the back burner, and if anyone speaks up, it is an untimely accident or an accidental assassination, lest anyone should be held responsible! What for?!

Ahead of me, the gaping chasms of hangman's ropes, the sky-eating concrete wall, the scarcity-fed Nothing and its pledge of Nineveh... a wolf-catching, useless trap that deliberately does not release its victim. All around me, cynical, unfriendly wrecks of men - as if vile, forged documents were worth more than a life's work.

Can no one know when and where blind and uncertain Fate will run?! - Can perseverance and determination still produce a laurel wreath of honour, or is it all just a kiss-ass flattery?!