STATE OF IDLE


Something from within wanted to get rid of my freedom and reduce my loneliness ... something else wanted to preserve them. Up to this date I had been troubled with very precise accidents throughout life... but now I had begun suffering from imaginary things... Never before had I even come up with such an idea, and even less had I tried to imagine - that one of mankind's most strange specialties is, this ability to make true, actual pain - to produce real and manifest torment, out of; Absence... and what is absent:

Those absent.



... but the anxiety within those who love and are waiting for a sign from the other part...  All energy that is focused for a leap towards him/her... in this moment all is prepared and ready; the entire beeing is permanently standing by for something that does not take place anymore... And then - before the prolonged absence, life stops... Itches and tremors begin to creep close upon... the leg that is stretched, the lip bitten into... the hands twisting and the tears, the body is now requesting activity, of any nature, to remove the thought from this all that the beloved object has become... It is just an animal in a cage, which refuses the idea of any remedy offered, without even manage to solidify its pending, and wandering back and forth between memory and hope and continually returns to another prison... The nerve strings vibrating more and more intensively are finally turning into tremor of the extreme; forced to vibrate even stronger and more violent, without ever coming to rest... before the day comes, when love cannot anymore recall from where it came...



Waiting... this evil state of pendinging and standbying, drifting through cloudy clusters of time and non-time... The Wait - this universal toolkit for lethal boredom of mind and soul; this tooled universe of mental Nothingness... Waiting is the ultimate gear for torment of any kind; of souls of all kind; airy or greedy, keen or cautious - one size fits all; everyone, each and all...

 But somewhere behind us someone knows something about this ongoing indefinite delay of proceeding and progress; 

 Someone knows that this waiting we are enduring makes us begin to see what cause us stalling in the void... and the object for our wait; a person or an event, suddenly emerges in a somewhat more clear, merrier and even brighter light... our inner vision falls out of sync with our eyes and instantly lies exposed to imagination and unawareness, to distort as they like...

... but then would the images of reality be less real than reality itself?... could they possibly even fail to be parts of it?


No earthquakes breaks the high-charged blank surface (of the innermost primeval of Man: Fear) in man's inner calm... only a few ridiculous bubbles occasionally bursting here and there... revealing that entire parts of our lives - which hold figures, rivers and solidified storms - just as certain stones are lying submerged there, now finally have reached the mud at the bottom...



Is man a creation that failed? A creative failure? A crooked statue? Deformed, malformed...  are we the freaks of Heaven?


Divine primates ... thriving, immature embryos; lush, with superior arms and a never-ending agony ... The ten thousand generations fear of the unknown... and that this unknown possibly may not even exist...

 Nothing else has tormented humanity more than this; her own uncertain thought... Fear that The Unknown may be nothing at all... and that everything only will end in -

Nothingness.


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