parishioner, all night taking care of the soul, while the last star was
shining brightly and vibrantly, praying, begging for the forgiveness from
heaven and a gift for Venice. Everyone was waiting for the Last Judgement.
The time was tossing like a butterfly, and all the misgivings and fears
came true, and the immense love to the space, to the Gothic and glory
was lying on the chopping block of fate.
eye. Term of hopes and dreams is over, and underwater kingdom of shadows
is waiting for you in this city exactly not like the ocean bottom of a goggle-eyed
diver. The hotel looks like a otherworldly stray dog. Powerless magnet of the
past life is pulling a barge of centuries, like a dog sled of winds, and a guide
of the wordy history is standing at the stern and speaking sadly Russian with
me about Russia, as if nothing had happened. Someone’s idle escape is over
here by the curious truth of sufferings, a man, filled with a folly of troubles,
comprehends the fright of generations, and he throws the coins of delight into
the broken moneybox of memory, and they melt, like a spoiled, chilled to the
bone snow in the wet weather. It remains just to endure, to send postcards
home with a promise to return and to find a long awaited for the heart peace.
hiding somewhere and again crawling with a turtle’s reason to the
immutable, fragile and eternal foundation of a non-existent being. Venice,
where are you and who are your guests , why do you excite the peace
of clouds that fall with the sunken chest on the water of bottomless channels
like the consumption of centuries? One dock after another, harmonica
of autumn winds is playing , ink stains are flowing down the stars in the
frantic fear of night squares. Come on, go away , don’t wait for the mercy,
now everything will start, the dawn will pierce into the crucifixion of glory,
and the city will disappear , and all will return to the normal course of years.
in the eventual world. The city also is going mad. Due to the long oldness,
due to the eternal oldness, tiredness comes, and slavery darkness returns
the way to eyes, a counter day, where night reigns and emptiness lives.
Channels, like rats, run away off the ship. Venice is drowning, there is a
crowding on the square, and shadows, like leeches dig into the body of
painful streets, and night is burning out like a candle in front of the eyes,
and the sun is rising over the abyss of fear, it just has a lack of patience to
write down on the clear water by samples in words of Bakh call-up notes
to freedom, to salvation, in order not to leave the city alone in trouble.
While the stars of Venetian night are whispering, just send by mail in the black
envelope with a postage stamp of epigone a return address of silence with an
obedient handwriting of water, that was leaking under the balcony in the pale
seasons of dawns, when rays were coming down from the sky on the opera
scene like a ballet and creating with the power of dance incomprehensible
stories on the glossy fate of a carriage, that was going past the life of my
Wordless pain of sensations flowing down the road of anguish through the
veins, through the channels of the last days, and the unpainted city bursts into
the memory, illuminated by the blood libel. You toss a coin, not believing that
you will return. Between the heaven and the sky, reflected in the frozen
eyeballs of mad waters, you pass like an outcast, like a crusader who betrayed
his home. All the victories are not counted, and you are distributing the bows
to this barbarous turn of the centuries as a feed for gulls and blind pigeons,
those homeless fops, that our ancestors forgot on the Mark square in their
last frightened year. Insatiable time, slavery of everlasting debt. You can go
mad because of seen here on a large distance outlines.