NO REVOLVING DOORS CAN BE SEEN HALFWAY

Someone is always born and dies somewhere. Somewhere, someone always has to go on a long journey, leaves someone on purpose, or just out of cowardice, because he is unable to account for his feelings and confess his feelings; somewhere, the Beginning and the End are already the same as birth and death, or depth and height. Being captures a person in a single, finite, closed prison circle and shows its undulating vortices falling into the depths. One can feel the tendency lurking behind the unspoken phonemes of human life not only for the germs of self-pity, but also for creative self-expressions. 

Today, the crowd of minutiae wander from street to street like drunken hordes of hungry, braying wild animals and devour our immediately alarmed hopes that there might be something out of the tamed question-and-answers, not just the continuous wallowing, deceitful, stupid good-naturedness. Now there is no one to lick the wounds of the eternal tree of free thought and knowledge, which are bleeding from several wounds; rarely if anyone protects the feeble son of man from himself. - Somewhere, a brand-new baby-life always cries out, screaming its treasured life from the hidden depths of placentas into the world, and just then another life leaves the earth like a butterfly effect.

 Happy and sad tears of joy would belong to the ceremony just as much as to the inimitable, genetic movements, which are honest, the only real ones. Man necessarily opens doors that are considered closed by himself, but carefully, because he could not fully trust the other until now; revolving doors rotate on their forever-imposed axis, and while one is the surviving past, the other is increasingly lost to the uncertain present. Even now, the Sisyphus twin towers of silence are only a single step inward, which even the one-Dear can only sense secretly.

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

Who knows, can disprove, hold to heart or otherwise judge and accept a possible or probable science:

' Somewhere, a brand-new baby-life always cries out, screaming its treasured life from the hidden depths of placentas into the world, and just then another life leaves the earth like a butterfly effect. '

An improbable possibility? An impossible probability?