Immutable form

 
Puffing, weed-hawk gaze is neatly broken. As if all men were already casual myopic. Do we wonder that once everyone had a human face and spoke to people with accepting tolerance?

- The casual masked gaze calls out to us with a violent, almost open hostility. It is only the casual fly, the businessman's desire, that believes that everyone can be bought who has already done so, in order to sell himself once and for all.

Attention and avid curiosity seem to be superstitiously playing people's cards. As if, deep down in the soul, someone is consciously pressing a secret button to see who will be the lucky chosen one.

With a sense of gold, the dream can stab our members at any time. From our misguided handshakes to formal gestures labelled as meaningless, our communication can regularly scar us while we suffer injuries.

What a pathetic, wasteful age of interest and insidious, petty acquaintances. Into seem-securities we deliberately entangle ourselves, perhaps even as our hidden instincts of Omnipresence are heightened - for it is only the carnivorous, savage will that ever doubles its selfish forms.

We are the enjoyers, the profiteers of our own lives. It is as if we are already consciously betraying to ourselves the human emotions that seem sincere and obtainable at any cost. The moment that starts out as cautious always brings out its unprotected victims. The ascetic craving for everything breaks all the useful rules of the game. In conscious fulfillment no man can attain himself. - He who ceaselessly tempts the wall-limits of his Being-self is entangled in his own loss!