THE VOIDNESS OF CONSCIOUS SELECTIONS

 The desire for self-assertion tightens like an ever-tightening coat on a person; exhibitionist, superficial movements, like the stomachs of starving dogs, quickly tear apart the star-like subspaces of minute-human Celebrities. It is as if conscious selection were immediately carried out in a selective TV manner, only at the very first judgmental, personal meeting, when everyone tries to brag and bray from the inside.

 This shameful enthusiasm, which can be repeated several times a day, after the incomprehensible achievement of connections, when the basic formula of "it doesn't matter" is already in effect, because now most of us are used to speaking in the first person plural, and no one dares to say: I! Tormenting, oppressive puritanism, and of course, torturing nervousness, even gold ointment, can no longer help it, because even sucker-losership has its own specific rules of the game. 

The current hippie youth sniff liquid glue-gas from discarded, air-swallowed chip bags; in neglected, apocalyptic marketplaces, where once the blood circulation of a buzzing hive-life flowed, now only the Zhivág wind sings alone, because they are filled with lack. In infant lights, the end of the world of a no-man's land often trembles like this. As if they hesitate in everyone's eyes - not only -, the unspoken, encrypted Morse codes of sincerity, but also the intention to get ahead.

 The choreography of the movements is regularly photographed by the brainwashed brain, even the freethinker; a seething swamp of sewage, and its smell of algae can be felt behind a half-million dollar toothpaste commercial smile, if we pay careful attention and do not just dwell on the physical factors. In the endless decrease, we tumble up and down like tiny cells in our selfish misfortune.