BAREFOOT ON HOFFMAN'S FLOWER POT

 Be just a gap of breath, where only a few unsought, kind words can enter, when the touch or the movements of the Universe seem to have ceased, like a crescent moon, jealously guard the life of your Beloved, as long as you can. You have to step on broken Hoffman pots with bare toes, so that you can't care about petty, petty slanders that the outside World throws at you daily.

 As if you were experiencing not only your selfish-stubborn Death, but even your living life in relation to others, just so that you don't have to face it, so that you don't remain just a human wreck lined with wind until your death - but let no more vain, meaningless sermons be glued to the palate of listening silences by lying-vile speech. 

Take care of yourself. Don't let others get in the way if you start a gull-wing dive and your parachute doesn't open halfway; You know, your pitiful fears were unleashed upon you when you were born, and Atlas's weight would have pulled you back into the still-cherishing cell-shells of placenta pits, because if a little-lived comet-star fell from the outskirts of Being, everyone would stand in bewilderment and question it: _"Why could he do that?!"_ 

You can still observe the valley of deceitful deceptions on the lying and false canvases of faces, of course only by stopping the little person in yourself who is fleeing on his back and forehead, who is trembling with fear of manipulable, compromising interests. It is not the law of loyalty to yourself that will bring you down, or contradict your conscious, well-thought-out arguments - but the initiatives for which your adolescent spirit was never sufficient.