Analysis of BEING IS FLUTTER

The throbbing, mucus-pain creeps in alive, the nerve the size of a rabbit's tail hisses from it; a cold settles under your sweaty clothes in the bitter winter cold. It's creeping up on you, like a molecular army of ferocious bacilli sneaking up on you, surreptitiously going to war - that's fine!

Only medicines can open the prison cell door of your body again! You can stare at Bamba like a foolish sheep because of your failed failures: what could finally have given birth to grumpy-headed Time's little kings, little gods in skirts?! Now you should marinate it according to the recipe, like smoked ham in the torture chamber, because you are forced to fight an unnecessary battle with your organs! As a diligent judge, you will now be able to examine your own conscience with interest: why did you have to be a bachelor so many times out of virtue, when you knew it yourself; wasn't the unattainable profit-wages made for you?!

Now the infernal Golgotha-torment is driving you more and more, so that your vision-creating holy rebellion can be quenched; unattainable views of heaven and you yearn for your Beloved and stubbornly continue to fight against your Time, which is constantly cornering you! "Your soul can hardly do anything else now." You show off your life in Adam costume. Demanding, whispered words are still buzzing like a swarm of bees in your listening ears.

You have already decided to confess yourself countless times, if there is still a glowing feeling for each other, a secret burning loyalty, to offer your shipwrecked life as an ember; the summing up scream of woe, a childish plea flutters in my chest: Darling, where are you?! Is he waiting for me with embracing tenderness in a kiss-flavored night? My pain is that I'm worried for everyone, like a hard-working, waddling rooster - I'm still listening to what my hide-and-seek heart is hiding in the cages of my rib basket: and now I can only hope that after my years, with my loneliness doubled, I can still find someone for sure!