NERVE WRACK-VISION

I never considered myself more or different, I did not lick the hands of Stroman citizens; my work - if it was - dishonorable, servile, pitiful humility - never be considered just a simplified loser-stupid. Always somewhere, honestly, like an aged Aggastyán animal; whether they keep it well, or whether they just lose their skin. I have now experienced the judgments of my uncertain Fate. He disciplined my rules of the game - not many - but only with my words if they were followed and respected.

In this urgent, nerve-wrecking existence, I got only crumbs. It's true, I've never asked for more, at most only Humanity, not always. I grew up in the big world with open stigma wounds. To inherit at most only physical problems and pains, if I inherited them; I never had any friends, so to speak, among the base camp. The massive shell of my soul is still holding on, like the chitin-armor, in the pearl-nights the complaints and melodies of my prodigal heart can hardly be heard. Mothers weep for shriveled tearful stars, while outside, a compressed, torturous horizon stretches Peace apart.

Even the teardrops seem like sparkling pearls, which would have been an honest and true way to comfort them. - Life, believed to be preserved from eternity, is simultaneously musty and vinegary; a fresh change would be urgently needed on Someone's side. It would be good to proceed in steps, restrained" - I say to each other, otherwise - it can be - death from an infarct may knock soon!

I might not even be interested in the Threshold of the World anymore. The fearful child I have always been, am, and will be lurks in me to move like a foreign thing; a shadowless pair of derailed rails standing hesitantly at the railway station, which I once passed several times and talked to Attila telepathically. The apartment buildings beckon me from the intersection of the wet dusk with their children's congo noises.