COSMIC MOUSECATCHER OF DAYS

 On ragged legs he mows into the diluted Moments, the ticking clock tells only mortals: It would be permissible to fall into the Underworlds only next to someone. They swim in a monotonous flow, just like the falling glass bubbles, mixed with living and dead souls, growing spider legs over dragon depths - if it were possible -, so many pathetic rogue tightrope walkers almost professionally. 

Out there, so many childish, silly cat-and-mouse games collide in the cave darkness, the rules of which are regularly violated. Thus, everyday Life has become an almost cosmic mousetrap, which rarely applies to big game. Everyone seems to analyze their fiber instincts only in themselves, but it would be good to at least once in a while build a ladder to the unstable border points of Being, so that whoever needs help can get it, even for free.

 The pits of silence have become damp wolf traps that can capture anything at any time, and then they even shot at the slightest escape. Because people have now become foolable - not only in the cavernous depths of their souls - but also in the field of their restrained feelings, movements, and manipulable gestures, to which they would cling even more and more with their petty greed. 

Now everything is just pathetic bird stomping, but it is easy to believe that the next day, or even tomorrow, this will mean nothing if even reason is dictated by snarling wild beasts instead of free-thinkers. Half inhabited, half uninhabited, man himself flows like a restless hurricane-storm, so that behind the attic stairs of minds the truth can only shine with flickering lights, because Someone is hiding there on a schizophrenic level in our souls, like a crying, orphaned child who was not able to be comforted in time, and now reflects himself - through us - like raging grotesque mirrors.