(no subject)
Vienna a city which creates beauty in crystaline and perpetual slow-motion. The undead, verschlafene citizens themselves never, or rarely notice the actual motion of this creation, just as a snail cannot regard the spiral growth of its own shell. Only later, from high above, every thirty years or so there comes along someone who from a crows-eye view showers down vision and warmpth, matter and meaning to the otherwise lifeless city. This is why geniuses have been chased out of the city, or murdered senselssly. I can only imagine that Canetti writing Crowds and Power MUST have thrived off the senseless zombies that shuffle through the gloom in wintertimes.
the beauty of tiny Percholdsdorf or the outskirts is that one does not have to take measure of the heaving expectancy for the ledgends missing in a city. No need to search for that cobblestone on which Beethoven, Hitler, Freud, trod upon. Just the delightful stupidity of the local villiagers, and their absoulte cheerfulness the farther away from the Zentrum you travel.
the beauty of tiny Percholdsdorf or the outskirts is that one does not have to take measure of the heaving expectancy for the ledgends missing in a city. No need to search for that cobblestone on which Beethoven, Hitler, Freud, trod upon. Just the delightful stupidity of the local villiagers, and their absoulte cheerfulness the farther away from the Zentrum you travel.