SEESAW-DANCE

The discarded, half-empty can of the old, pitiful World - you have to be careful! -, almost swallows him, the winds with knocked out teeth are chasing him, while in the totally closed virtual space, such wretched little people appear. On the dirty stone terrace of the city, more siserehad gangs are looting to their heart's content; The heavy trickery of the manipulations drags me along, if I let you. But many times I immersed myself in the full of secrets of the Spirit.

Inside, a deliberately slowed-down compound of sensations thumps, bustles, and gives sage advice conceived as a devilish convulsion. The scars of his mark still itch and there is no safe ointment to find on them. The depth of sleeping senses is slowly awakening, which perhaps draws from hearsay, and that is why it is still unsuspected. The Soul should be peeled, like the skin of an onion, so that one can see more clearly, not just stupidly blindly. Surrealistic mole holes meow even in the evening, when everything should be calm and quiet.

Life - if you are not careful - can lose its meaning more and more; through second-hand things, and the emaciated crust of wages smelling like hunger strikes. Runaway milk is the aggressive temper on any street corner. Rusty paternosters creaking up and down, conversations turning to: Well, what benefit does this or that difference of opinion promise?! Is the World really just a cacophonous language disorder that started as a gangrene?! You should study feverish phantasmagorias instead of dreams.

If the son of man wants to live, it's better to stay out of the unstoppable landslides - I'm sure! The value-price ratio of things is more and more mortal.