On the wall of age

 
Unnecessary apologetic sentences like promised speeches flow easily through angry, leaky brains like Léthe water. Even holy water is like a dehydrated smoothie. Even so, the wounds multiplied unconsciously, like fiery traces of prison burned into the skin. Unfinished Saturn tattoos hide a memory and a sad tear.

Unchecked, grief and joy explode; objectively alienated... - The charred precious minutes, I fear, hold almost nothing more. They are lost without a trace. In the fading twilight the shadows seem more and more brave. - Lonely Generation Ys drift on regardless of age, for they too can no longer believe that words with magic powers must be followed by deeds.

In our country in transition, the smell of a total, paroling dictatorship is increasingly pervading: leaden, lousy, bribe-shaming. Like a swampy marshland, where only water-soluble weed trails and bubble-gum pits grow. Pale, emaciated Pharaoh masks the chained Freedom, stamped independent; it feels still, more and more unsteady, more and more uncertain, the fragmentary Existence.

Life, multiplied and unliving, is wasting away in age, and bound in fetters, waiting for the redeeming Kharon Ladik. In a deliberately muffled, bellowing procession of geese, they praise each other in a loud, mindless way, and while the poets of the 20th century are listed and preached at festive, truncated conferences, their contemporaries are also on the banned list, while they are deliberately forgotten. Critical thinking is now suspended!