AN EPISTLE TO AN ACQUAINTANCE

My friend! I know it's a shame to ask, but now I'm going to interrogate you! Confess to me, but only the Truth! What is the significance of the sentence of the Executioner-Times for mortality, in which the flower pot debris of memories, stories, and lives are scattered like grains of sand? What are secret places where the wave-crested sea preserved the footprints of old lovers?!

What does distance itself matter anyway in a digitally projected age, where information is the only worthwhile fact?! - Of course you don't believe it yourself, but you can see that nameless centuries separate you from Deeds and Wills, as well as from dubious bargaining positions, which can in turn dictate the Páka thread of the confusing and complex History. - You listen to the melody of your heart with a quiet murmur and there are tougher, fateful days when you can barely understand yourself; why did the unknown-uncertain Fate assign you petty impossibilities?

Why did your Suzuki car, your Toyota Corolla, explode, which in principle should never explode! So many invisible question-and-answer answers strain into the unspeakably priceless air. There are still seagulls hunting you for ridiculous salary increases, which you usually miss out on, but you shouldn't be ashamed that you haven't given up on your humanity and fortitude.

- In the World, the grotesque performance takes place across the boards of now-unremembered stages, because the Nothing-like, dust-and-ash Spirit sooner or later takes off somewhere, where industrious, brooding flocks of pigeons produce piles of faeces, and although quite a lot of people feed them, although this - in principle - is strictly prohibited.

- Your unfathomable addiction, that you had to let go of your friends stuck in Europe, is getting more and more torturous and gaping bigger! Don't hurt me! We'll see each other sooner or later! Be careful not to let the solid darkness of the terrible Space-Time dimension fall on you...