low beating heart. Some go to church, I go to Rupp's, which fills me deep dark pint of the stomach and the mind, with humble reflection. My hymns come from the jukebox. But nothing to say, now, against the temples of religion. Naturally, the prayer, in silence, when the faithful, at least the hopeful heart, pounding on my depth strives, Unters cool, wide church roof. Incense, solemn mood as - unfortunately for me too much humiliation in the face of invisible actions, so many priests, so some cardinals, of so many popes. says Good show, Elisabeth, but long since desecrated, I think, the incense can not suffer well.
The church is not innocent, the pub is - clean and tidy, dedicated to beer. Aqua Vitae, highly cultivated in bottles, almost sacred, sculpture and stained glass, anyway. It touches my soul. Its beauty is modest, which is spiritual, in many ways and what gods I toast, I do not know. Goddesses? God? One, or the Divine in itself? So I do not claim to know God precisely its mysterious ways. But now, I allow myself to sit and meditate.
inspiration. I escape me at this writing, this bistro in this town, this night and this timeless time. Since this was cold blue neon light, pushed perpendicular to the road as the lantern of death, a density as nothing in the wide middle of its source. Horrible, on closer inspection, in addition is not significant. I like the plastic of my backpack, in the view border, hand-area expansion of death around me consider, even I can turn my gaze: Then, I see the green plastic one adventurer knapsack, with fire hole and crack, enriched with the travel track, through the Straits and widths of the living world. Shifting here, doubtful, in spite of a thing in two worlds or two things in a world - as always looked to the worlds and things can not agree. It remains to me.
long it took, was it cumbersome, confusing and wrong ways to become a writer. In timeless time of death certificate roads, such as self-destruction, as loss of self is not to write. It can not be. Not giving up, stays with me. To me, the unification of things and worlds, for me not giving up. The space and nothingness, and quit in him. Everything and Nothing. Old and new. Try to relax.
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