(phone archive)
Moscow, 2017— this my first impression as I made it to Moscow. A liquid spilling out from his seat. He suddenly spoke to me when I took the pic and fell back to sleep with a smirk. You bet this is how Pugacev woke up as Peter III.
A leprotic-handed guy on roller skates in the very center asked me for burger king fries, told me he had lost all he used to have. He had just caught a train from some of the innermost recesses of Siberia. This is Moscow.
Where you would fall for any smiling slut whom you asked for directions.
Whom you followed in vain.
And whom you will find again.
Took nocturnal trains sipping chai with women who when asked 'kak zhivyote v Moskve' always answer 'zhivù'.
Watched movies that made me wish I was blind.
And saw scattered former soldiers scavenge in the soil or rehash old boxes motionless on the ground.
Roots here always exposed
Где для меня уготовано логово — постоянный вопрос.
«Non la difende come un demonio la sua libbra di carne?»
I took care of scribbling the subtitles to a couple of Vladmir Kobrin's movies and Kuleshov's Death Ray.