Tibet With Dark Valleys Of Wolves In The Grey Mists

An infinite sadness came up paired with the irrational optimism deformed morbidly and spiritually in an eerie swinging of grey mists, valleys of wolves and ruins of skyscraper cities ... Mysterious children with knives, Maldoror and other figures in powerful GESTALT - an immense poetry of blood, weeping angels, the inmost night, alchemical and cabbalistic peripheries, grand red landscapes of the redrivercrawls (as hearts torn out could look in the bloodfalls ...). The sacral dark-grey atmosphere in which everything is coloured-drowned ... Other colours: black-red ... The playing with phantasms, the lament of perfect existence within a world of torment and delight, coming from total light and enlightening still, transforming from space angels to angels of progress. Once, there was a white sphere where we all might have originated. This sphere might approach on us again in death (as TOM believes ... ). But we in Life indulge in the sadness to the fullest - only this way can we betray the dragon of reality who constantly lies to us, even when he is giving us love and beautiful men or boys. Someone said that he finds these words and sounds terribly depressing. I answered that I and he need depression more than happiness, but there is another facet: Listening to them lifts my spirits, still ... We might all be sadder than we think we are. Not wanting to realize this is the toll of present realistic living.

It is rewarding to be pessimistic and sad - as doubt enriches and the sense of doubt is clear and demanding (since the romantic songs and adventure tales of the popular musicians in general - as satisfactory as they might seem at the first impression - leave you agonizingly empty and betrayed, as the world disappears).