HUMAN PORTION

Even now, it may seem that the simple, mortal Man is just staring at the ornate appearance-Universe, and can imagine himself as a Lord where he is actually a Lilliputian resident. He doesn't understand that he can only be a simple, but all the more valuable speck of dust in the chain of connections, and he brags about the infinity that originally imposed his fate as a shipwreck as a Páka yarn.

He believes that his blind luck will suddenly fall on his head one day, and he flirts and flirts easily, if he is addicted to adrenaline. It's tiny - it's true - but it's still Life, and he wouldn't trade it for anyone. His delusional dream, like his repentant past, is shallow. Even now, he thinks: he deserves more, more noble, yet he avoids the holy average ratio. He immoderately consumes the wretched spirits, how he has to pass in the suspicious eyes of others, because the assured fatality is still a weak premise-enigma.

As a pitiful, arrogant animal who spits condensed pride, first only to the tabloid media, then in the face of delicate, up-and-coming influencers, later almost as friends and acquaintances. - He is missing less and less towards the end of being a duck, and he knows that very well. The everyday filth and filth talk is almost already arming its victims.

Because only very rarely can the long-awaited great Future, which everyone only dreams about; in the diver's depths of the soul, the memory-preserving past is immediately paralyzed, because it still guards the shame spread out. We stumble hesitantly into the melody of our groping, feeling heart, and we cannot understand how we could have been so wrong that we could not recognize the equal, vulnerable Soul half in the other?!