Preslav Literary School – Beautiful Was the Time Preslav Literary School – Beautiful Was the Time

Preslav Literary School - Beautiful Was The Time

Preslav Literary School - Beautiful Was The Time

A soft scatter from static and the voice loops, determined to be heard among the din and chirping birds. The wails of strangers hum in other rooms. Holy places, perhaps. Alchemists bleeding life into their sullen gold mourning as if that sacrifice might shed some magic into the mosaic of ghosts. Of orchids. Of language raised in unknowable reaches (now) and set to Bethlehem. Forgotten, otherwise. Amassed by Adam. Reworked. Reworn. Rewarded with tomes of the field and solitary epithets of machines groaning to mete a soft, unremarkable end. It’s not a beautiful chance, by any means. It is an effort to even consider all it is that’s happening from the undertow let alone endure in repeating but there is something here worth attaining. Something that charges the brain to dig up the noose and discover again. A burial party, perhaps. A trove of all that is lost to Western sensibilities. Patience, first. Scholars. Men whose lives played, solemnly. Sullenly. In accordance with the Word and the idea that above all we create. With whatever means and to whatever end necessary. If gifted, that is. If blessed. And you must forgive the nod to my brief tenure of nuns but this piece requires a certain catholic estimation. Preslav (proper) was founded in God as much as it was in man and this is a piece wrought by a divining hand. One as unfamiliar to me as the bearded idol of my childhood but no less beneficent. No less profound. No less determined to create the sound of the soul slept in the caverns where our fathers once fled the sun.

Preslav Literary School - Beautiful Was the Time, reviewed by Charles on 2009-04-24T00:36:12+00:00 rating 3.6 out of 5



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