Fairy tales rarely come to me Three a year, or even less A fairy tale is like true happiness and real sorrow Their arrival is always sudden It is visible and separable from everything else I don't make up fairy tales I just write them down So last Thursday, December 24th I managed to hear a fairy tale about a magical place - Monteverde Where is the suspension bridge connecting the two sides of the island Fern thickets Red parrots Grandfather Sobels and his beloved grandson Monteverde, named

Eat three berries, black with white speckles, and acquire new dragon flesh, lie on a scattering of wooden cubes, yawn lazily, twitching your tail, wait for games worthy of your greatness, lap up children's blood from a saucer.

Absurdosophy Perfect coherence is only possible when all voices are silent. You can look at yourself from different sides, but this will change little,” said Kolobok. You need to look at the world from above, but not from above, said the giraffe. “You can’t take off without cheating,” said the balloon. Drying out does not mean becoming a highlight, said the grape. Comprehension is always achieving a balance between the understandable and the incomprehensible.

By morning, exhausted from insomnia you sigh - you were probably waiting for the wrong ones, flutters like a lemon butterfly leaf on a needle of rain. The aspens are painted with blush, and the clouds are gaining weight, silent, shrouded in fog cold autumn forest. The puddle wrinkles from the whistle of the wind, and you put everything on trial, and a sickly yellow grove I've been delirious for a week. Maple leaf with a curled palm ruffled the hair of the bush...

Turned her sad face - don’t swear that you’ll remember forever, on your shoulders like a white fox The December snow was shining silver. Then they talked about empty things - fate has limitless power, over the last autumn leaf the blackened branch shook. In a snowstorm - to survive until spring - the freezing bush asked... and you into restless dreams was taken away by a night taxi. Valery Mazmanyan

The golden time is passing, cry, feel sorry for yourself, birch patches cast-offs gypsy needle of rain. And maples don’t hide naked nodes of protruding veins, and nostalgia torments us, and the soul asks for change. You're close, why rush in the morning in the bustle of weeks, umbrellas like black birds people are being taken somewhere. You can't rise from wet grass aspen colorful scarf... what is there - behind the fogs - the finish line, or maybe a new round? Valery Mazmanyan

On January 6 and 8, at the lecture hall of the Garage Museum, as part of the film program “Continuation of the Excursion” , prepared by the Garage Screen team, the premiere of the films “That Which Resembles Another” and “Expression of the Blind” by the Argentine-British artist Jessica Sarah Rinland will take place. In his complex lyrical works, Rinland explores the natural world and our knowledge of it.

Text from the collective book “Moscow. Memories of the Future" 2020–2021 Edited by Viktor Lukin and Mikhail Pogarsky “One thing is good,” continued the Queen. - At the same time, you remember the past and the future! “My memory is not like that,” said Alice. - I can’t remember what else didn't happen. “So your memory is not good,” said the Queen. -What do you remember best? - asked Alice, plucking up her courage. “What will happen in two weeks,” the Queen said casually. Lewis Carroll.