SOUL-GERMS TRANSPLANTED THROUGH CENTURIES

Sometimes, a person involuntarily outgrows the boundaries of rationality that are believed to be stable; he grows pure swampy swamps if he does not know which way to turn. Their insidious, weedy tenacity - anyway - makes all weed-howitzers or weeds settle. Although a person could do his everyday handywork, thousands of years of everyday life throws him into a flood of basic formulas that are difficult to implement anyway: new digital codes and even more incomprehensible legal paragraphs guarantee the universal weight of complex confusions.

 Every day - anyway - new riddles arise, because even the deaf-depths of the earth no longer address human souls who bear their fate. Now a wandering scoundrel pours out the Apocryphal signs believed to be indecipherable, and no matter how many scholars and thinkers remain on their feet, who might one day finally understand the rules of the game, there will still be enough human lessons left, which the next century has transplanted. 

Floating halfway between two destined events, waiting even for divine inspiration, instead of cruel underworld game theories, how much easier would it be to prosper if one person were not always the cripple and wolf of the other. As if by staring at the other, everyone would simultaneously take action, since they are listened to, like the majority of spies and accomplices, who betray almost everything and everyone at any time and anywhere.

 Self-destructive complicity sprouts unexpectedly and suddenly from the depths of the soul, like a three-day-old skunk. The emphasized disintegration, once it has been tense and sprouted in the air for a long time, easily stretches its intersecting boundary points. It becomes increasingly difficult for the average person to struggle to get up from the successive Sisyphus-like falls.