DOG LOYALTY, WINDMILL OF FATE

 The iron claws of infinite Time will one day unexpectedly settle on the outskirts of the alley-smelling city, where perhaps not even the dog walks, and like a man who is languishing in a mania for pursuit, he must constantly look back to avoid being shot down. No matter how much they spin the pages of diminishing deadlines here and there, Fate is both shameful and merciless.

 With dog loyalty, every door and window closes quickly in front of losers and cannot open again anytime soon. It is as if the cruel imbalance of immeasurable years and decades has suddenly increased, because the inner interpretations behind things can hardly be deciphered. The loyalty of people is slimy, sticky, like a mass of tar; it belongs in the humus of tomorrows. 

Tortured, self-tortured, and shameful self-awareness withers away, like a withered grape raisin, when there is no one left who would fit into the common ground of friendships and human relationships as a helping intention. It is a shame to cling to the proud deprivation of opportunities that were thought to be solid; extinct footprints mark the permanent gaps and voids of a human life.

 The sly deception behind exhibitionism is as common today as the bubble bath of fashion monkey divas in the throne rooms of castles and palaces that spin on duck legs; brilliant goals and plans fail like prematurely emptied paper boats that soon sink, since behind the games of manipulation and deception, there is never and is not possible any reliability that is called lasting.

 People rarely find a safe harbor from their own trap. Only the petty burdens of permanent aimlessness grow in vain. As a useless part, man is forced to sell himself in the failed market of losers and losses. A wall of shortcomings yawns behind him.