THE HORSE-KICKS OF SERVANTS

 Even though it hits you in the face - nowadays -, the simplest question-answer; you are forced to stand half-heartedly between crossroads for a long time. In periods written on untearable papers, perhaps the compulsion to conform may seem more difficult, because small-style or petty stories start and arrive unnoticed by themselves. Emotions are already abrading, not only in the depths of lakes with sharpened stones like cave entrances, because the annual rings of vulnerability are certainly tightening more and more tightly on the borderlands of soul and body.

 Someone has repeatedly cut off the fluff of tolerant acceptance and understanding; Existence often gives its answers with horse-kicks, instead of comforting the person. Torn-up compulsions play hide-and-seek from one extreme to the other's consciousness. The maturation of inner attention should also begin as soon as possible, since a whole lifetime is not enough to understand connected things with certainty. 

Random, deliberately relaxed questions are piled on top of each other like houses of cards - not only by directors and bosses - but often even by civil servants. Clumsy, meaningless thanks are mumbled as a compulsion if anyone does something selflessly good and noble; a person becomes a squinting ant if he lets himself be tugged at by higher powers. Even now, vultures are roosting in rocky stigma wounds. The cradle of passing away often rocks its defenseless victims.

 The wart of wild hours itches nerve-wrackingly even if it has to be scratched incessantly. Misfortunes approach man with determination, and not only because he has not acquired the necessary pretense or routine for survival; because sooner or later, Existence torments those who are fortunate enough to have it for life.