Hordes

Hatred, a chattering tangle on the cube, like a heart drawing of an emotionless, fancy-masked diva, a chirpy naïf, or a transfixed dealer-maiden in the festive, cruising-lights-posh-masse flow between bullet-riddled house walls.

Soundless beats, raw transitions in a single voice. A timeless, party-going, partying season. Enclosed in habits, cheap, petty trends, new gluey-grabbing daredevils slide in front of the city without a break. A heavy, Spacesuit-wearing world is now lost in the doom-smelling sticky muck where everyone is an accomplice or a traitor.

Noise, clamour, the intimate violation of silences is heard again. On the crypt-grass of indivisible, indivisible faces, as the give-and-take hysteria of noisy markets always floats only profit, and on my face instead of the stabbing cold rain snowflakes that always fall at undignified intervals among the hell of many a sycophant - Up and up willows, by fancy flashing lights, the hellish frenzy of the hellish self: the thronging crowds of people and wrecked masses are swirling in a tumult. A world-quake in a single jostling tumult.

Every minute, the modern-day consumer's dilemma of buying cheap, bargain-priced products is impenetrable. Wide-eyed, penniless homeless people stand in rows in front of tents of Herz-clad, ermine-clad, make-up-wearing, brain-damaged celeb ghosts. - They have nowhere to run. We live in an untouchable way behind glass-walled cages. Surrounded by brainwashed, grinning tomfool-goofs. Outside, the gallant give-and-take flea market is non-stop. Invisibility is already breaking down molecules, instincts, cells in everyone.