There is music that lives among us, you can touch it with your hand, it is in the earthly affairs, concerns, hobbies, and its inspiration, as Foucault’s pendulum, always strives to bring its flight to the starting point of being.
Other music lives without us at the unprecedented height and breathes with the reflection of the light, the heavenly truth, triumph, blessed truth of immortality, participial to the rustling in the garden, where Eve hides the forbidden fruit intended to the special term, and all around will be sinful when Adam wants to learn how the world is set up, but the music of heaven will always remain sinless.
*** Alarmous sorrow of fogs hides from hellish, stranger’s eyes the museum of our waxen…
Yesterday, editor and literary critic Dmytro Drozdovsky received wonderful news about the publication of his…
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