· ФБ·ЂУШ · It draws you deep into my mind. You still fear me and my eerie imagination in vain. So far, I have only imagined how I broke into your thoughts through these letters. How you declared my mind your consciousness and how you absorbed me through your perception, through your feelings, into your spirit. Me, a foreign guest from a distant world, a shifted time, a parallel reality. In a Foreign War · ЂЂ·ЧФФ·Ф · The oldest of all already deceased spirits now see you in my empty graveyard, follow your thoughts, and do not understand the message you entrust to them. You do not understand that you are the ones, that you yourselves are the dead spirits and specters, the warriors of long-lost souls of my present, future, and past. Those who do not know themselves recognize themselves in this museum of truth, my unimaginable reality. Until the End of Time · ЊФ·ЭБЛ · I now scratch these thoughts, which concern only myself, deep into a gravestone in which no one else recognizes themselves, no one but me. No one recognizes themselves in this carousel of letters. Only I myself know and recognize myself in it, for these thoughts are not mirrors but my own self. My Mirror Itself
