I often find myself in the crossfire of my actions and words, like condemned prisoners awaiting their own execution, tolerated and resigned, who have nothing more to lose and perhaps can never have anything more to lose. My cheekbones are covered with tearful petals, which curl back halfway, because like rusting rabbi's handcuffs: my extravagant, yet murderously honest words ring out on me, which no one understands and which not even the dog is interested in.

It would be nice if there were some inner arctic melting deep in my vulnerable, much-experienced heart, which would melt everything and heal my selfish, stigmatized wounds. My uncertain Future hangs on thin ropes, as I cannot even guess the weight of the temporary questions and answers that surround me unnoticed and often blackmail me, just like the massive camp of the demanding.

They may think that just another sucker or a tamed wild beast has got in their way, if they see that I go into myself every single day to decipher the value of the present. Conscience is most similar to an oceanic howl, which keeps speaking to me from deep within, and whose wise words should be listened to and heeded. – They often cannot even see it, since it is hidden, like almost so many things: a secret earthquake, a volcanic eruption rumbles on my face hidden deep within, like a tense heart attack that comes with stress.

I will escape, you will see, like a strange, disciplined guest-courier, who was only invited as a guest, for a surprisingly short time and will no longer be beaten by either real estate or fist-law. – My dreams lie on top of each other, which are unachievable for the next twenty to thirty years due to the lack of financial and human resources.