LEASH-REBELLIONS OF THE ALIENATED

You would constantly tie yourself up and follow him with sly and conniving methods, and you would shout - if possible - at the wall of empty hopes, while you would concrete yourself into a shell-silence; your soul-stones, like Sisyphus, are pulled down more and more perversely every day. Deep in your soul, your aborted, non-existent possibilities are opened and pushed; Existence weaves together executioner and prey in the same way.

 Have you counted in yourself how much your stage-frightening loser-tumbles are really worth, with which you struggle for decades, like a robbed swindler who has squandered his own fortune. Crazy, obsessive propaganda leads you through leashes into the swamps of increasingly uncertain tomorrows. On your silent mouth - no matter how you want it - a permanent fog-gloom perches like a black raven. 

A stamp slaps your furrowed-stubble face. The World rolls ever more distorted, meaningless self-candidates towards you. The remaining, small self-awareness is already deliberately killing you; just try to wait until only you can have a roasted pigeon-laurel here. Your own silence is becoming more and more painful, because for a long time you have had no one to whom you could confess the forgotten laws of human humanity.

 Every day, so-called pious adolescent thieves steal, who are all now pillar members of another donkey generation, Your own friends are also increasingly suspiciously watching you, because secretly - perhaps - humility has become a traitor in you, and so has the merit, which - back then - it would have been better to have quietly slipped away.

 Jackal-stars are all laughing at you if you stand in line at the corner convenience store for a few jampec-pernahajder. - Outside, it seems like it's constantly unfriendly, even those who are completely alien to any sense of community would get mixed up in the chaos of rebellion.