MOLE-SOLE MOVEMENT

 I know very well how easily, frivolously, almost manipulatively not only the mean-spirited character of people fluctuates, but also that of power; perhaps it is better if we do not expect a miracle of fried pigeons, because our sad heads are dropped quite easily by wild pigeons and cooing turtledoves. What do I care if they think of them as grumbling old men, whom they laugh at as they please, inside the mole-depths of the Soul, even those who could only have been shackled prisoners outside are still independent and free-willed in every case.

 The petty, transformed worldly tension of our selfishness vibrates, then zigzags through a life situation, now many gentlemen have been humiliated as servants. The longing for the poor has been thrown into the dustbins of the homeless - not only the lifestyle of poverty, but also the hiding places of everyday life among the damned, because the lies that shackle the mind are massed in the early days, and spread like some infectious disease, for which there is rarely a sure antidote, unless it is in the depths of the heart. 

Now the razor-sharp knives of gangs of cool thugs flash in the silver-mooned night; bald, jerky skeanheads gather at will, like herds of wild boars at the sight of more attractive, more vulnerable prey; with a huge roar, a nuclear mushroom cloud spreads its cotton candy funnels. Growling tiger teeth gnaw at our flesh daily, while the simple average person is already so crushed and ground into helpless indifference by the pitiful bitterness of everyday life.

 And that the gravity of souls can be pulled down at any time or buried under themselves by the fateful tragedies of everyday life. Fewer and fewer people can understand the sacred rusty clicks of time locks, that on a broken globe of the earth, one should somehow survive bleak, alley-smelling, uncertain tomorrows.