It was night. There was nature.
The moribund worm yawns.

(putting on his pants)

O natural philosophy, o logic, o mathematics, o art,
it's not my fault I believed in the force of the last emotion.
O how everything goes dark.
The world definitively chokes.
I make it nauseous,
it makes me nauseous.
Dignity sinks into clouds.
I never believed in a quantity of stars.
I believed in one star.
It turned out I was a solitary rider
and we didn't become like tuna.

(putting on her blouse)

Look idiot look
at the extremities of my breasts.
They vanish, they retreat, they float off,
touch them you fool,
they are on the edge of a long sleep.
I turn into a cottonwood,
I swell.

(putting on his jacket)

I said that the female is almost human,
she is a tree.
What's there to do,
I'll smoke, I'll sit around, I'll think.
It seems stranger and stranger
that time still moves,
that it breathes.
Can time be stronger than death,
maybe we're devils.
Farewell dear Natasha cottonwood.
The sun rises violent as light.
I understand nothing.

He gets smaller and smaller and disappears.
Nature indulges in solitary pleasure.

(aleksander vvedensky, 1931 [eugene ostashevsky trans.])

happy day to you, lovers! happiest of birthdays, leroy!

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