MIRACLE-MIMICRY IN THE HOPE OF LIFELESS LIVES

In the wilderness of brainwashed end-beings, the manipulable man is rattling: there is no transition or connection between his ever-diminutive, pathetic goal. He lies and swears with the slaves of the condemned, because he is attracted by the unattainable reality, the false appearance. At work, he sweats blood more and more, hunches over his desk, and while overbearing bosses and principals hold a siesta at lunchtime to their liking, he is still dealing with administrative paper-smelling matters with a growling stomach. Why would he look after other people's interests? Desires?

When he too is in the crosshairs of manipulable bribery?! At first it only lures in, later unscrupulous phlegmatic-mode easily tramples on those who are in the way of the donkey rank ladder. This is how man-animal rides forward! Anyway, he's looking for a promotion, a raise, a layoff, a layoff... They, too, are rather humbled, but he takes it on, because he even pitifully wants to believe, deceiving himself, that his work, which can be easily replaced, makes sense.

He pushes, runs over, and trips those who limit or merely stand before him - Let Stakhanov be one of the first-respected, and no longer asks the other that he has been dead for thirty or forty years-with a tired, tormented cynicism, he reluctantly pulls the robot yoke; he fires, betrays, snitches, like any opportunist, who is held only to find scapegoats, and to shout for himself!

He does not hear it, for he does not listen to how it is blasphemed, Dishonored, that he is a wombat-faced, stone-hearted slave driver. He is no longer afraid that he will be chained, that his life-journey is over, I will cry for him anyway. And when he looks into the pots of crooked mirrors, he no longer notices his distorted reflection-self; he sees a Gorgon and a jellyfish-head, for he has allowed himself to be bribed for no-good earthly worth!