Inter-play

The Earth has become a small room-globe. A small room has become a small world. After the hypocritical adventures of the daily harangued, preached and haranguing hypocrites, we should live here as humans, not as animals.
The promising badge of understanding and a sober handshake no longer counts if the active, free-thinking mind and the workshop-smelling, alamusian creativity are left to itself minute by minute.

All submission is forbidden to such petty man-gods, whose only aim is conceited milk-power. Wise memory is not wise at all. What was a frivolous colony, a throwaway, a shabby little trifle, is now eaten up by rust.

And yet, if we all wanted to do it at the same time, we could find out all the astonishing, sordid arguments, or admit responsibility as a heavy burden. Tiny larvae-bugs swarm and swarm in grass-land. Everyone understands this. Most self-deluding, self-deluding, rather scaremongering Guliveres are deliberately elevated in the eyes of others just so they don't have to act.

Already a fragile bird's wing is a hard-won peace. It should neither be humiliated in a meaningless way, nor destroyed for good. Sooner or later one leaves new marks, new footprints...

Life-and-death virtue stung by the gallant, pathetic guerrilla warfare of beach-faces - no decent beached fish can survive. With more drips and drops than a few prodigal crumbs. He pads forward so hesitantly that he's forced to take an immediate step.

He changes his means and ends, and knows no longer whether it was worth while. - The alamus flea-blood of frenzy busily pecks and gnaws its corroded victims; it has tied up its unsteady fate by a thin hair, while its existence is at once tunnel and ferry.

Little men, or sweat-sweating iscagons, grow a perpetual spiritual hump, For they may secretly know, if there be none to combine with reason-arguments, or to reason, The free flow of thought is a loss!