It seems as if no one has a road ahead, really... We are strolling about like dossers: vacuous, with pride of half-full fifths in both hands and hopefully the lot in the sloppy knapsacks... or mirthful with the ephemeral novelties, too, mostly not as unworn as said. This voracity of pythons, which doesn't leave even the mouths themselves afterwards, simply sits on me, preys upon my mind and upon the ghost of my very own. And the manifold brain knowing which only leads to the merest wanton lunacy likewise. Doesn't it haunt anybody else?

You do not belong! Neither do I. I'm not even sure if there is anyone belonging... Sometimes it seems to me as if everyone is truly and madly miserable and lone, the honest blind alley underdogs. It is only the matter of time before they suss it out. Though when they do, when this sill of airiness is overstepped... they will lapse into illness. Into the lethal world of their true own. And then I ask: who are the sick?