Trafika Europe 4 - Armenian Rhapsody

V mov.: The Moons of Saturn (Saturnalia)

Three little girls grew tired in Balashikha but not the short-sighted omnipotence of the conservative former minister freely promising happiness to everyone, even to billions of Chinese and Indians

(then he dies like a dog like everyone else): the same promise made to a handful of Jews (all of them dead and buried generation after generation) by a god counting minutes and money. If ever there were such a god, he would deserve

to be dead, extinguished not in embers, but in ashes, consumed and fallen upon the shoulders of righteous people.

Under an iron sky of uniform clouds with the colour of a hostile glance

(no Ovid ever saw any like this) what is permanence, the memory of wrongdoing, the justice of history, the mockery of an exile’s lament? and what value do you read in the landscape, the eye distracted, the step oblique,

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