DOUBLE SOMERSAULT

How many layers has the layered gloom become in man now?! It moves from one layer to another. The shadows of the lyre ore of the thickening night become permanent, grow, but they do not hurt yet. In pre-human defiance-light, rustling material, the watercolor levels of obscurity converge. From the secret apocryphal signs of faces, empty rolls, gutters gape. Nothing almost immediately and always stirs the silence of the listener.

Honest, even from human eyes, as if someone had moved away a long time ago. Bodies first open up like flower petals opening up, and then, if we are lucky, they accept us. - A cheap, treacherous tax collector of desires is also degenerated into an uncompromising man; there is still an angel and a serpent lurking among the mazes of the ego-layers.

Under the broken roofs of shelters, it would be good to find a different peace, but there are not yet those who would clean up the ruins that have been unnecessarily forgotten here. Sonalon, you can get old at any moment, and then you can live any way you want. The weak island of The Nobodies cherishes a tilted Sky belt. There is a romance left in the middle between the interrogative punks and the word-squabbles. Poor, pitiful sins are darkened by Dead Souls.

The splendor of the worn-out costumes always conjures up. The smell of humans is no longer only felt by the constantly barking Carrion. Even Broken Memories - if they were-decay more slowly, predictably. The deliberately superficial exibitionist hesitancy of externals infects gentlemen more than ever. The main and supporting characters, like the ardent, vicious accomplices attacking each other, always run into each other with their debacle and fall. - Movements, pretentious gaudy speeches can no longer be what they were-the consciousness of being is deliberately degraded into sluggish, indifferent food. Now all mummified into the membranes of silences, as a final chord, everyone turns to where they hope for more benefit!