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Trinkets of Virtue

So here is a musing on a interview with Ken Kesey for Paris Review. I read it long time ago so no much is left in my memory of it and when I found my little piece in the archives, it sounded ok so I decided to publish it again. I don’t think that many people would have read it before anyway. I wasn’t a part of the Beat generation, neither of its later sprout, the Hippy flower child. On The Road was not yet translated in socialist Bulgaria when I was at school in the late 70s. Fly over the Cuckoo Nest was translated but ‘of course, everybody knew it was written against the Capitalist society’. LSD, mescaline, the Doors, the Byrds and anything of this sort did not even exist in our world – ‘the dust bowl of reality’. My father was arrested for dancing rock&roll on a table and girls with short skirts had stamps put on their hips so they cannot ware them again.Even religion wasn’t there to give some kind of hope to the searching minds.  But both the Beat generation and we, behind t...
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Thoughts by the Lake



It was one of those magical spring afternoons in which the wind was so gentle that my skin felt almost dissolved by its touch. My dog was waiting impatiently for her ball and I was staring at the lake over the stretching field in front of me. Further down, at a throw-of-a-ball distance, there was a young man clad in lycra. He was also looking ahead and I thought that he was enjoying the view. It was pleasant to know that another person was participating in my immense contentment and peace... Until he spoke and I realised that I have missed the white piece protruding from his ear. It was sticking out in a quite silly manner, like a shiny bone, completely out of place. His mind wasn't resting on the beauty I was enjoying. He was on his phone, talking business. 

I just wonder if nature, eventually, will not reject us like a woman, who is not paid enough attention. Women do not seem to like being ignored.

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