MAY REFLECTIONS

No matter how long the path destined to the great unknown infinity takes, the Soul of Man is both a wing and a root, which - in many cases - rather permanently pulls it back. At the end of the road, our Janus-face is only torn away by the wasteful Hangman-Death pagoda. Perhaps all weight-carrying heaviness will disappear and disembodied cells, molecules and ash material will balance out.

Perhaps no one can yet know whether the uncertain future will be a human-shaped one, since in the early days, the minutes only train those of humans on thin, severable strings. Would Diva ladies who expect an easy left turn notice the vulnerable eternal child in the other?! Although maybe it's just a selfish way of taking care of themselves while they can. The sleep of tunnel-boring earthworms is also put to sleep by indifferent tunas, saying; "We'll get to that for centuries to come!"

- The wing-biting generations, who are only interested in the conquests and partisanship of online cyber-spaces, will grope blindly, and one or two one-night flirting adventures will easily turn out to be wrong. And while child-faced teenagers are spewing Redbull vodka onto the petals of flowers growing at the base of house walls, a distance of just a meter can indicate in the depths of the Soul: Well! Man has outdone himself again!

They wanted to trample the wild flower gardens of the nights to ruin with unworthy, tumultuous murders; because all flesh-seedlings that were not offered for purchase were produced for pagan sacrifices?! Sand-flavored stars crackle on the immortal curtain of the Universe, and it would be nice if Man could decipher the encrypted Apocryphal Morse codes while he is still alive, before he finally exits the centuries of self-denying History. Life itself disappoints a hundred times, and it cannot make a Separate Peace even with the maddened, futile anxiety-phobia, beating itself up!