AGAINST THE TIDE

Nowadays, you walk imperceptibly on a single blade, a world that has become manipulable, and you can no longer be more than a vain delusion-dream, a tightrope walker flirting with meaningless, promising careers or even pathetic and ridiculous little comedies. What is not clear is whether he dreams what he really and truly wants, and whether the city that smells of Nineveh will suck him in with its evil-lying abomination, like a vile living?! What kind of pain, humiliation, suffering are you called to? His emotions were sewn from lust and crocodile tears, while outside the roaring Zhivago wind thundered.

Behind him hangs a hangman's noose his shipwrecked past, perhaps as well as his no-nonsense, despicable present, and the ever-ambiguous, further trampled uncertain Gorgon-headed future. The only thing left of his life was to toil for thirty-six hours continuously until the evening, and if there were even a tiny Breath of time, he would rather waste it on the promised, but never-to-be-won, salary increase, because the pig-headed Lord and the money became an unbreakable bond of bondage!

As a man grows old, he is already two certainties more mature in himself. Everything in the world has never been and may not be all right, and while between the beginning and the end he wanders through an entire life on a stretched, quite thin line, believing that he will find himself one day, his loved ones will leave him, or they will leave him forever, or death will knock more and more violently at the door of his heart.