A SALIENT-EXAMPLE

In the noise of the deserted street, just like in the secretly whispered Morse code of prison walls, the entire series of bat-observant coincidences is still lurking there, almost in protest; the ceiling of our hopes was swept away one by one by a Hand with an Executioner's fist. Our dead can close the lonely walls of the Soul against us.

The buzzing, deceitful half-dreams often tempt the living, who are preparing for the sober robot in the morning and hear the Jericho horns of the factory sirens wailing mournfully from afar. Wouldn't it be better to fall back into the Infinite, or just fall out of History right where we are?! It is as if the Yew-life Existence, which we once believed to be our own, now depends on Latrok's chess game. Our crooked mirrors slowly curve towards us.

They are tricked, led on and betrayed by the scrambling Tomorrows. Crying wrinkles on the marble faces of Time is still better than lying to ourselves with a full throat. Halfway between reflection and stumbling, Man would prefer to get lost of his own accord. - Even now, the persistent mild intoxication of irresponsibility cannot be resolved 100%. Now they exchange their still fat dreams for ringing money and believe that they are fertilizing hell on earth; more and more envious, quarreling over their selfish juss-kons.

The loose confusion of all subconscious Deficiencies, they glimpse curses into the shipwrecked lives of others, because the Man starts to hurt deep down there - whether he wants to or not. Because out there, the World spins and somersaults around its own axis a million times, because it knows what mortal, exploitable specks of dust we are.

Because even our uninteresting, transparent functions - sooner or later - must necessarily go, so that the so-called there will definitely be a temporary development. Our high blood pressure and nerve-ending stomach cramps get rid of us with a fast heart rate.