A Game of Underdogs and Naked Cats.
A game everyone plays: life. Each living being draws a card. Is the story already written? Survival instincts are inherited, but knowledge and experiences remain individual. All circumstances shape life. Dirt leaves stains and stench. Weapons etch body and soul with deep scars, painting pain in a liquid form, sticky and bitter on your skin. Some are gifted with a shield of protection or wrapped in soft benevolence. Others are left with only the cold, hard ground. One has the unstoppable urge to hide, while others seek the stage, the light, and the grand performance. For some, the heart grows so large that they can hardly manage to distribute all the feelings it pumps through their veins evenly, in order not to lose consciousness. The others won't even spare a thought for the existence of a heart. Circumnavigating walls we build ourselves, ensnared in routines and drowning in processes, we live on. We smell happiness and simultaneously bite into rotten fruit. We dream of freedom and tighten our grip on objects until we can no longer walk independently. Some can fly and are fueled by envy. Some want to sleep and are envied for their determination. Everyone wants to love and confuses the path there with labor. All cards are constantly shuffled, and the game begins anew. Everything is interconnected and develops its meaning only in harmony. Everything is mad and delightful, impartial and infinite. Just as we would like it - or not?
