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New Project A - ExcerptThe rain violently crashes to the city's barren asphalt, slowly building up, creating miniature streams, which engulf and drag the cities smaller inhabitants into the shadowy abyss of the sewers. The city itself seems lifeless, devoid of any significant movement. Every light has been extinguished. Everyone lays engulfed in his or her own dream-ridden worlds. Except for one.
One being is in a state that denies him the pleasure of indulging in unrealistic fantasies. One being engulfed by both desire and undying uncertainty. One being willing to fight his uncertainty to obtain his one true desire.
The one word pulsating through his mind.
His very nerves.
His very soul.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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