Because now man can hardly do anything else: mere Existence is a pile of straw and a foolish faith in survival, needles and thorns constantly wound his bare feet until they bleed. Afraid or just an addict, a blind eye, a solid fairy tale about the promised dream lives, which at most only flow through a few tabloid media sewers every day at their pleasure.

A sluggish indifference coordinated to the inexorable rhythm of life instincts follows as a paid extra, to walk on the edge of the threshold of Existence on black and white squares, - it is true - only a few dare to do this.

As if restless, rebellious minds could hardly walk in slow motion through the undulating peaks and valleys of the soul believed to be immortal, like a buzzing link, like an ant together with the excluded inner loneliness of man creates the system theory of its symbiosis; because only great powers are able to rid extreme living conditions of pests. Stripped vacuums of timelessness are created and destroyed in seconds.

Each and every outgrown situation is increasingly strangely devalued, because the intentionally tamed childhood, which should never have been intentionally forced out with its raw brutality, has become a paper coffin in itself. Some similar, petty finite beings may sooner or later still recognize the one-essence: only seconds separate the bearable struggles of existence from falling towards the certain depths. The uncertainty hasn't made the days any more predictable.