Into The Dim Enigma Of Porfundity - Philisophy Did Smash Intellectual Amnesia Triumphant Testo

The lonely, grey wolf´s pelt shimmers beneath the vast, starlit night sky, howling, growling out hatred for devine transcendency, in fear of absurdity of life and death, it`s tired eyes are ablaze with anger, limbs are trembling, this creature bears the shettering grief of manies, for whom does life wither and why does terestrial existence mean to endure this tormenting immanence? With grace and flowing movements the majestic animal lies down under an old, gnarled willow, gasping out, in a nocturnal conversation with the sleeping world, his anamnesia, harbouring this ancient rencour, as old as the wooded hills which were enthroned a myriad of times ago, all sacrosanct determination shall be cursed, dull, black eyes, like obsidian, observe profane reflections, emerging from profound nihilism and swirling in the sombre air, like nightingales, oh, like nightbirds, like blackbirds, soaring into the skies, like majestic eagles, floating above mountains, ah, that was a long, long time ago, deathly silence, the tired wolf writhes under the pale shroud of lykanthropic reflections, the wolf is thinking, far into the night, manifold sculptures rise, defending one essential tenor, rising and falling. At dusk of one wintersday the creature´s desire flies as ether, a marriage of despair and universe. In a passionate soliloquy the animal succumbs a furious vortex of rapture. Those clandestine inner rebellions take shape in an arising shadow of revenge, wild eyes gleam in the misty darkness, a monolith, overgrown with ivy, watches over this awakened one, the mighty forests echo the wolf´s malignant yells, fangs reflect the moon´s silver beams, Cassiopeia, Draco, Corvus, the constellations play an euphonic symphony, nature sighs and joins this bombastic euphoria-an amber overture! In red spheres the wolf crawls through the woods, into the eclipse of the world, there is no blasphemy, no god - fearing humility, the philosophical cognition illuminates the labyrinth of life´s course and fatal confusions. Now, at the dawn of a lucid consciousness the infamy and finlaty of the paralysing dogmata is nothing, into the dim enigma of profundity, the fear that lurked around intellectual efforts is dying in the shade of a subtle philosophical knowledge. His solitude is not absolute anymore, it rather turned into a state of pleasent solemnity, a heavy, velvet veil seems to disappear, oh, so gently, in silence a destinct époché sets in. Into the opaque mist of truth! Into the creative ensemble of scepticism and pragmatism! Docendo discimus! And ruby eyes bereave the utter dark of immanent essence. The shady fortress of conspiracy the wolf invades. This is the universal and excluding realm of philosophy, truely enfolding of individual doctrines, revaluation of the values. The wolf´s ruby eyes glow like scarlet streams of blood, and, in revenge, between whispering oaks and mighty lime trees he kills those hideous ones, now fleeing in a nyktophobic mania, who withholded infinite truths from his cognition. This wolf is no infidel blasphemer, no hybrid leviathan in disguise, no sinful murderer who brings death and mourning for his own sake, no hypocritical lucifer who claims supremacy. This wolf is the avant- garde advocate of all good, the causal consequence of the cosmic course. Expecting the ever-lasting arising and fading of life´s phenomenon and phantasmagoria, I did open my heavy eyelids to observe the senseless transcience of the world, but no, I discovered myself sitting and sleeping under an old, gnarled willow, wincing at murmuring thoughts like a poet, a consecutive picture. I tried to rouse myself from my slumber, but I was beyond all mortality, I was like ether, flying towards the stars, I was just a freezing wish, and I was all. Then a soporific melody forced me to fall asleep again. Silence! I awoke and I did grope for my hurting cheek, it felt cold. I laughed and danced under the old, mossy willow. Philosophical aspiration illuminates these unknown, gloomy paths. Omnia mea mecum porto, my thoughts are my treasure, and I am a generous, intellectual werewolf.