Things, people, and petty moments seem to be running away from me now, even though I do not question them or interrogate them; it is no longer enough to simply pay attention to them or to turn to them in a way that is hypocritical and manipulative, when the outside world is merely playing itself out again in a hypocritical manner. Inside my soul, the earth-shaking desire to escape my seemingly restless ethereal stress and tension once and for all and to free myself from the sins of my frail earthly affairs still rages incessantly.

Philosophical tendencies that weave cobwebs still start tremblingly, hesitantly, if the interpretation of real life is the set and only essential goal; the Soul is at the mercy of, and unprotected from, a single, utterable, honest, tingling tremor, which only a heart can give to a heart. I keep shouting at the little child inside me, who often wants to stomp, and who dares to speak the truth for me.

I just don't have to tolerate the fact that the stumbling, vile memory rattles its crunchy, withered branches above my head, wanting to break off. I am still forced to exist in an increasingly vulnerable, sensitive zone, where I cannot be accepted, only a passing stranger, Silent pathnomios rummaging through the garbage of the day, hoping to find Darius' treasures. People, like determined criminals, are trying to rush along small, invisible, stretched tracks, more and more determined, after their increasingly pathetic, meaningless, useless plans!