IN A SHOWER OF CONSERVED SUSPICIONS

 Unanswered complex questions and answers wander in the human soul incessantly; conscious uncertainty is not always a helpful refuge. Even the mosaics that seem innocent - sooner or later - will only be put together. It is as if the promises, rumors, and moments that can be experienced as gifts shrink into a distant point. In a time of big lies, there is hardly anyone who can offer their help of their own free will. Biting suspicions, like nettle thorns, wound the suspicions hiding in the instincts that are awake and vigilant.

 It is as if the impassability of the weathered path that has been taken so far is constantly awakening in a person; his battered sense of self - in many cases - rather commands immobility. The uncertain Present has also narrowed to a razor's edge, since only a few can answer the question of "how to continue?". 

Torn, bare nerves are now straining against each other and are starting to break dangerously. The persistent, preserved curse of being expelled from society makes the survival instinct of those who remain here harder and bitterer every day. The shame that you don't dare to stand up for your convictions or you will fly from your position, from here to there, is pouring down on everyone. Only the knotted nerves can now keep the guts in check.

 The tiny fragment of voice searching for truth and honesty echoes in the soul like lost, blind chants. There is general haste in the Times that have been weighed. It would be nice to set off with the sure instincts of migratory birds into a world where there is no need to fear that you will sell, sell, or embarrass people for profit, in exchange for success. Where harmony is at least as general and palpable as the oxygen of everyday life. The hooks of manipulable misunderstandings can get caught in the skin of everyday life. The survivors still cling to a misunderstood fever.