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Aleksandar Prokopiev

  PAPRADISHKI   Homunculus A short story collection by Aleksandar Prokopiev Translated from the Macedonian by Will...
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photo by Maja Janevska-Ilieva

Ivan Dodovski

In fact, they were the most elemental enemies of my dream of greatness, and one would be happy – and even die happy – to know they did not exist. Yet they are necessary. You have to teach them to flatter you and that that is their duty. You need them so they can give you that mother’s milk. Yes, my dear people, and that is why I hate them. Because I couldn’t do without them, without that milk that one drinks with such relish. That’s why.

Rumena Buzarovska, April 2013_2

Rumena Buzarovska

Aleksandar wasn’t going to believe me. I knew that even before I turned the door handle. He’s never believed me. But I went into the room and told him: “Aleksandar, there’s something wrong with the ballpoint pen you brought from work.”

photo by Maja Janevska-Ilieva

Ivan Dodovski

“They’ll never understand my love,” Marko Redstarski told his two friends one afternoon. “I understand you entirely,” the journalist said. “Me too,” the musician nodded. “And they think I’m practicing sabotage!” the artist went on. “They want to rob the revolution of its charm, its beauty and mysticism, its solemnity...”

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