At least on the surface, I pretend to have calmed down completely, nothing can upset me anymore. I accept the winter time system only out of necessity. Because - whether I like it or not - the World still ripens in autumn; my wandering, long-gone memories are simultaneously depleted and filled, finite Time waves within me, like the restless waves of a shipwrecked sea, which are increasingly difficult to console and calm.

The whole may now seem as if one has to look through the magnifying glass of a large worm-like lens into the great, infinite nothingness; it is surely Lack that simultaneously throbs and casts doubt, while a little selfishly waiting for its own downfall. From its split, ample poles emerge ants and maggots, just like in real, profiteering, scheming life, as if the sins that are committed were the same ones who committed them.

Because life should not resemble otherworldly whims and fancies, because the passings are not meant for self-forgetful joys to circulate in them. Perhaps one day the minute-by-minute tide will raise effective counterarguments. Yes, yes! But what will happen after that?! They will carry the only personal urn after the person, sighing, because it is still somewhat cheaper than the coffin. Heaps of petals of anxiety still want to leak out unnoticed through the openable doors; a bag of sadness, nothing more. That could only be left after an endless life!