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Beautiful Objects Peycho Kanev


Imagine:


Two bottles of Chateau Laffite and the setting sun, behind the brick-colored rooftops of Venice. You in the gondola and the smell of the river; the odor of your youth, lazily pouring in and out of the bluish-green water. The sea-gulls above– so high!– fighting with the pigeons for the last remaining scraps of the canzonets. This is the world! Seize it, now. Carpe diem!


Imagine:


The stink of Italian gutters, full of gutted fish and dead time. The river moving slowly like molasses; grayish-brown water, not deep enough even for you to drown in. Awful operas attack your ears through the broken windows, and the beer has the smell of peasant’s sweat. Here, even Charon will not take out his boat for a ride. Here, even the sky cries. Hear me out! The romanticism is dead!


W PAGE 20 ∙ Year I ∙ Issue #1


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