KNOTTED APPROACHES

I examine myself; I still don't know what, when, or just where I could have made a mistake, but enclosed in the grain block of Time, my raven-legged mistakes are patiently waiting for me, just like a sudden Death. Sooner or later, I will unwrap the onion skin of my Soul and maybe even forgive myself for my stubborn tyranny, that I believed with myself with strict faith that I could achieve change on the threshold of Existence.

My petrified wings are now even more heavy with lead than a new possibility, and - all in vain - whoever talks about it, orates it, simultaneously untangles Space and Time-lanes of Life; now even more than a million umbilical cords tie him to his prodigal sins. I would wait for some tangible finality; cursing, or just happily absorbed in my own troubles, because from the thicket of my frailty, my soul-seeing eye can hardly see the reasons and benefits of usurping-vulgar actions, lousy actions, and lousy promises. The three-day stubble grows like nettles on my face, and no one can touch me.

My neurasthenic devil's convulsions would still hold me - as it is - firmly and together: invincible bands of nerves, bound in knots, I curse and curse the great Whole at the same time. - It would be easy to immerse yourself in the foam of soul-scrubbing waters, that oblivion would completely erase the brain computers as a more effective remedy, but in the deepest part of the inner personality there is still mud-gold, a secret Apocryphal treasure, which is not to be possessed, but the most difficult to protect!