UNKNOWN STORMED SALT ECHOES

 Like those who are hungry for scraps of food, the world is full of frightened people, with a will to fight, and they are hiding in the world; the modern mass-man is covered with a running madness, and does not know: what is the purpose of his unmanned humanism, his dirty-mouthed behavior. Why, that now - often - the human soul, which should sprout a bud, seems to become a silent wasteland; one should never embrace the house of silent screams with stupid eyes, - but the inquisitive curiosity drives even the passive-indifferent person out of the caves of silence into the outside world. 

Like the industrious ant, man is involuntarily forced to measure every day: how much he can be worth in non-existent career desires, just like in a set of broken, sounding promises; Why has every angelic hope been reduced to a deceptive, vain dream?! As a wayless traveler, or an eccentric traveler, one often does better to measure the given century.

 From some self-consuming, invisible abyss, a D minor chord sounds, like a prolonged tearing in Time... Why is it that the agile, misunderstood Lacks are increasingly hammering and demanding the already unstable balances to the core, which the average person is forced to perform daily for the sake of his own peace of mind?! 

- Many foolish failures rush through the filth of the surface like a gushing waterfall. Their songs echo with SOS screams ready to burst forth in pulses wheezing like a smartwatch, because even weathered Fate-compulsions are made of nerve bundles and spinal cords, which are the most difficult to decipher and interpret throughout a lifetime.