ECHOES OF THE SUBCONSCIOUS PLANE

 My tangles, like ivy vines crawling on a vine, wanting to hang, often hold my creative, avant-garde ideas and the methods of their implementation captive. Perhaps it would be better if I left the instinctive inner subconscious, where I myself have been trying to descend voluntarily and more deeply, diligently; it would be good to listen to those telling unnecessary noises and noises: where are they coming from and where are they going in their selfish purposefulness?!

 Black and white film montage-like episodes of my forty years that I have already experienced are playing out, as if I had to cross somewhere, scorched by the holy crossfire of mosaics running along a long, winding, spiral corridor, because I would only hear the echoing echo of my shadow that follows me faithfully, and my limping steps, and I would feel crystal clear that it is still mine when I go somewhere in Life.

 I can tell you for years that something is no longer permanently and perhaps cannot be in order in this world, and that people fall into their own pit-trap in a selfish, greedy, defenseless way - if you like - voluntarily, manipulated, or just bribed. The price of investments and profits is not always certain to pay off, - because only interest dictates law, benefit, or prosperity, to the exclusion of everything else. 

Like a weightless straw, Existence tries to hang on a single false thread, trembling, because it wants to stay alive; a wedding-ringed hand dismissed it from the intimate home of All Beings with an ultimatum, while in a prickly soul, man - he could not do otherwise - took with him every scattered fragment of memory... Everyone carries their fate on an ever-thinning thread!