T he modern world's a desert full of quick sand spiraling down round and round into an endless, black void of numbers and numbers for names. Black just like the one you see behind by name, Swwiss- the beaming hot rays of fresh, warm hope and cold, orange dreams sizzled right into the ever stretching arms of history of mankind, a boon, a messiah, an angel not created but born in the same world, which has now turned into a vile of hungry rats eating the flesh out of their own hearts. An angel, whose story you can not only read in this website but also help yourself see the vibrant beauty of the dark side of the moon, for it is dark because it's not yet visible-- visible to the naked eyes-- or perhaps, eyes that are covered with a filthy, moist, greenish brown hue of several hundred lies and illusions you have smeared over your own sense of reality.

But don't you worry, my son. You, being the descendants of us great Ballstantinoples, I, Swwiss Huge Peckerman, will bestow you with knowledge of the Seven Oceans of Life. The knowledge of knowing your only two duties as the children of mother nature- The Duty of a nature's son to get stronger and stronger like a really good mixtape, and The Duty of having fun to keep up with your strength.

While it is true that there are two duties, I can only teach you how to stay true to one of them. The other will follow with time and pain of actually living under the sky more than the roof of your house.

So, come along, my friend. Unclench your ass and keep your trust in me. You'll see, as you see yourself get swayed along the flushing pages of his story, as you come across countless beds of raw, uncut diamonds in this coal mine of a world you call boring, that you are flourishing like a dandelion among a factory of half dead, so called "human beings," whose blood, flesh and bones and turning into fuel, cogs and grinding stones day by day, hour by hour, second by second while the blue mass of endless stories spirals into the end of time.