• ostate.org (english, to be i18ed)
• FreeNationFoundation (english)
• Piratenpartei Deutschland (german)
• Menschheit.org (german)

• Politblog (german)
• Telepolis (german/english)
• Infowars (english)
• Infokrieg (german)

Sitting, lying, standing alone in the background of silent divinity.
Showing up all the signs respectively their reinterpretation as
incarnation of the foolish concept of ones helplessness.
That summed up altogether with impulses from outer terrain, fighting
back what rumbles deeply inside, what hides behind the duty of emptiness,
what hammers against the bones from every corner of the body - the mind is
able to imagine.

Imagination fails when it comes to the expression of the borderline which
crosses the field of view and parts it into known and unknown, black and white, yes and no.

Shadows show up in this world of blackness, where of a darker place
has not been spoken for ages.

Openly declare what can happen and you'll have lost. Not a single scrape of
what you have gained by gathering every rest of your power is going to remain.

Shut up, the little voices shout, shut up and stop babbling about the little secret no one on this side of the world will ever share.

So, finally drawing that an absolute conclusion, the tears that rushed such a long time before seem to have drought forever and ever and never ever will be back. Instead, they will fill the empty pool, it's water already glittering in the oncoming well of agony.

Woe.

Pretend to enjoy what you try not to suffer from. Play the game and ignore the nasty, terrible fact that you are the one who is played with by forces stronger than a thousand thoughts of bringing pain to the weak in the hundredst part.

In comparison, it makes every possible scale explode in the inability to rationally describe the pool of crying blood that made it from the first drops to a small, light-eating mirror, distorting your face into a travesty of surreality.