the slough. preface from the slime. 1

A story which is reported here is nothing more than a bloodletting done by myself with a recreational purpose. Sure, nobody debates the fact that bloodletting does not lead lead to any positive result, so you are free to consider this account as an act of self-reproach as well.

My life now connects its origins with the beginning of this story. And this does not mean that it was so from the first vague echoes from the deep lips of some prenatal source, which I, forced by chance or natural instinct, had to give way to. No. All the time, from the most virgin moments of my existence, there was a premonition, but not knowledge.

Premonition of the first indistinct echoes from the lips of this prenatal source five years ago.

I have been always waiting for something. The end of the props that preceded life. I inexorably and irrevocably felt breath of this end at this moment. The last step to the mysterious valley of madness.

I was not afraid to make a mistake in this premonition, because it fell heavily upon me in those seconds, squeezing every particle of my insignificant body and consciousness in a vacuum. Yes, insignificant, because I either wandered or swam in the groundwater of my self-development. But the slough has found me. It was unsophisticated when it began to destroy the this sham forerunners.

So, I have to go less deeper, read less attentively. I am just something mechanical, the result of uncontrollable circumstances. I need to relate the whole point quickly, yet with all meticulousness, for I needed it all these last years. I am twenty-two, but does this mean that everything is tolerated when you are young? The situation is exactly the opposite. The fragility of the individual has not yet had time to become numb under the weight of automatic operations. That individual was me. Five years ago.

translated by I.