DISAPPOINTMENT OF AMORPHOUS DESTINIES

 

 Nowadays - quite a lot of us - are increasingly urinating against the wind. The certain realization that something is wrong hits many like an unexpected stinking shower. They teach swarthy faces to walk around - it's true - with an increasingly brainwashed consciousness, since washing powder can no longer clean the shame-stained laundry of souls. Because no matter where a person turns these days, they bump into restraining walls or sink from the start, like in a swamp. 

They can finally return as a holy loser-sucker of self-pity, only to finally crouch down into themselves. It is appropriate to cherish and coddle the well-proven, sure-fire way of procrastinating before one finally commits to actual humble action without manipulatively, compromisingly selling out, a shrinking, increasingly grotesque Reality, fought with expired promises; as if that certain imaginary balloon, or house of cards, could burst above our heads sooner. It is also appropriate to make increasingly stubborn, obstinate defenses, but why, if there is not one among deaf idiots who would listen to it?!

 In eternal secrecy, it would be more beneficial to finally exclude the whys of things and connections intended for digestion, the spores of total chaos, and then turn the padlock that has begun to rust on them. It would be good to lead the average individual out of the labyrinth of creaking, unlubricated hinges. Just no fuss or ceremony. 

The amorphous Fate, like the fading constellation, is ultimately disappointed, and like distorted owls they hoot madly at man; because they themselves are no longer interested in the formulas of conscious interpretations. To remove the daily stains of sticky everyday dirt - no matter how they want to - is certainly becoming more and more laborious and difficult.