Testimony of the visionary

 

Something always gets in the way: your atomic bomb-tempered father is still threatened with a salty death. Would you confess to him your love of literature as a holy will and would you show him that your Beloved could never see him. You would say that even in the midst of his unstable, wild-roar-angry nervous breakdowns, it would have been good if he did not often practice the debilitating and evil means of open humiliation.

It would have been nice if, in the middle of romantic foot massages, the immortal spark of the Universe between two human stars could have sprung out unnoticed, and two loyal hearts in love could have smiled and giggled at the end of exams. The gala nightmare could have been an exotic instigator and not an executioner-forbidden stroke of fate - I could have dreamed under a million pairs of true pearls hugging veiled waterfalls while romantic kisses would have comforted me.

The superstitious lips of the treacherous bride would have opened to honest, noble truth - before she could say "I do" to the accomplice groom. You could have dreamed, because there would have been something! �" You could have been a Hero, or even a hero among petty, small-minded people, or an actor who could skillfully manipulate his self-important emotions with humility.

But of your own free will, you allowed the lukewarm half-truth to be spoiled by lies. After all, the little people need reduced hunger wages and financial security these days is like toilet paper with holes; splits, splits. You deliberately postpone the further playful possibilities of the shipwrecked Existence deemed tolerable because of things and small trifles that suspect vital importance.

And even if there is time left to catch up on the sole-licking camp of the privileged, you still prefer to step aside with quiet humility!