BETWEEN YET AND NOT AT ALL

An invisible chain is hanging over me. One eye is to be afraid, while the other is to beware. Deceptive career-dream-cherishing net-channels can pull the luring honey string away at any time, even under the noses of others. The earthly, needy, eye-catching stigma is worth more when you can see real tears than laughter bubbling up with fake-Maier smiles on grinning baby cheeks.

I am like a fat spindle; I bind my shipwrecked past, my wasteful memories of desire with unbreakable Ariadne threads. I whisper into whispering ears my honesty, the pillars of my frail life. Anyone who sold himself a long time ago and now expects profit and recognition at any price stares and stalks down here with wolf eyes.

It is known: he remains underground, without a dream career, he can hit his ankle by the careless researcher he stumbled into. A complex pyramid of corruptible faces stares at us usurper; as if the fallible, man-made virtues had long been squeezed out of everything and everyone, so that even honor could be uprooted out of time, it could cost the thirtieth of these.

Everyone is already only halfway between the boundaries of the certain but and the guessed not, and the flowing plasticity clings to everyone like the octopus tentacles of creepers, as if it were the only possible guarantee of survival. Hasn't man in this current bribed age become a conscious questioner by mistake? He who does not fall into a total panic even when standing in the coordinate system of connections or arranged answers - but raises his judgmental voice when needed, like most introverts.

The permanence of slippery mystery trickles down, flows like the juice of fleas. Surely there is still a way out of the donkey ladders of fermenting worm-failures and sellable compromises?