THE SECRET BULLSHIT OF FRAUD

 A diligent cat's cry is now pulsing in my clicking brain; the diligent gears are bustling like mill wheels, grinding like mill wheels, to which I still have to cling halfway, because my daily sins are secretly kept in check by compulsion. Many people lightly wave at my childish, petty donkey-regrets, the future is also increasingly unmarked, a silent parrot seeks and searches only for its own benefit and never asks for a holy apology as humility. From a bird's perspective, many tiny diligent memories still circle in it, unshakeable, it would be better to hide in the world from reproachful, angry glances, - special friendly permission is required for the secret, inner planes of myself. 

I stumbled upon greedy, gnawing sharks out there and quickly realized: in a lifelong chess game, which might not even be about petty deals, but rather about promises of bribeable favors and pitiful bargains, I kept falling short, because I only stuck to my own stubborn, stubborn rules of the game. - Now the yoke, the robot, is still being pulled back to earth by the bitter, cruel chains of decades; it would have been better if they had listened to the truth of that other self in their inner soul, the testimonies of small lives that were destroyed, destroyed, because many see before them only an incomprehensible mumble, like some childish stutterer who has not yet learned to express himself normally, that even the hieroglyphics of silenced, cryptic speeches could be deciphered, only empathy and understanding tolerance are needed.

 That as a grown giant baby, the man who cries and whimpers, who has been moved by his selfish emotions, can often only coo, through closed dog legs, unconditional loyalty and trust towards me still purrs in someone's heart in knots of loyalty, and - perhaps - now I have to struggle and swim through the labyrinthine corridors of Existence for the color-blind, with moles-instincts, like someone who steps from a mirror into crooked grimace-mirrors.