While life and level differences are already layered on the human soul; conscious construction also has its drawbacks. The verdict of an authenticated, deliberately falsified reality is almost unappealable. It is now less and less possible to extort the maintenance livelihood, as some stupid, forbidden-taboo hunger pang. Because the light of reason and free-thought quickly boils away even in meat pots; it burns, or, as they say, it sticks to it, like mud-jam.
The Present Time - if it exists at all - is certainly not an encouraging promise. Because it can never hurt if the little man builds his castles of cards with internal motives. Inner, instinctual movements shrink into walls by themselves, and because it's as if the person already feels it; with its individuality, almost an entire changing era appears. The cat-and-mouse game of Time - in many cases - is exposed, as it is so obvious. As if Life no longer wants to record itself on canvas, so that Apokfrif's encrypted coordinate codes can be deciphered, more and more hairline cracks squirm in front of the uncertain Future.
Before Doom, he will warm up again, maybe even turn his face back, the wanderer who has been consciously running away all his life. Because what happens when there are no more memories, thoughts, or ideas after the Man?! Is the metamorphosis of the Beginning and the End slipping away? Because the seeds of reason should blossom in the conscience, even if there were anything left here that was still human. - Because he knows it well! A tiny speck of dust, you can only be a sign that you were here alive alone!
