VIEWERS' ROW

I should be anonymous among the rows of spectators. Can there still be a faithful friend, a loving Dear, who faithfully accompanies me along my bumpy bumpy road? My shipwrecked life, playing Russian roulette over a shaky precipice, finally reveals and gives itself completely.

I now balance like ominous times of the day - fistfuls of teardrop bitterness in the grip of an invisible palm. Blinking servant-shelter - not so much - never comforted, could send light.

I would need the Suspension Bridges of Being so that I can hold on purposefully even alone. I've been pushed onto blind tracks many times on purpose. This unworthy, weedy, stunted Age has learned neither empathy nor human attitude without me!

Time, like a comical patron, urges us to do something, to act, always seemingly without a response. Here, the commissar's authority is always the hair-czar, and the scientists or the well-intentioned leaders no longer speak on purpose. Everything that was once essential and important will slowly become transparent.

The holy footprints of immortal loves are washed away by the wave of ruminating Time. The careless, uncared-for voices of wild animals and bagpipes would turn me over, and then eventually trample them to the ground.

Even if there was once a crown of ladies' hearts, there couldn't have been a single foot of space left, because false, lying rumors rang out over me: "We can't trust him anymore!"

- The adventurous grains of sand of my existence are slowly being degraded; among my memories, the rock-solid prediction of the events that took place still looms large in my memories: admonishing, far-pointing fingers - if I wanted to - could not recite the hard-to-implement truth.

There can no longer be another future that can be evoked, because only things that can be experienced can matter. Crystal balls must be smashed if we want the real faces to still look decent. The fossil of a knowable life cannot be split apart by successively suffered and tolerated rejections!