They're probably scared Of course They're scared Dad has Selkin's unshaven face under the camera in his head And next to him is so positive So much so that he even passes the test Positively Lay it down Forcibly Tie your legs, arms to the stretcher and out the window And then drink holy water Without tasting God's urine Well, is it delicious?

I am blind-snouted, naked, the legs are crystal vases Puppy In the middle of a snowy road Cars drive by And their sound makes me understand that there is a world I had a mother But she just stood up (I hung on her nipple) I shook (I fell down, scalded by the cold) And that's it Only machine hum And the feeling of moving fast Like a circular saw Suddenly someone comes up She He puts his warm hand on me I feel my fingers I feel Half my body is warming up She takes me Small In both hands Slightly

The pine trees rustle like the sea The sea is noisy like a forest Is it possible that our auditory capabilities are limited?

A thought that is not sharpened to the limit is nonsense. * There is no idea that could be discussed faster than in a hundred years. * Find the monkey in yourself and cut off its tail. * No matter how much you average a person, the tail will not grow. * If you're human, stop growing a tail. * Wanting leads to whims. * The scents of girls' souls destroy the male spirit. * You can't live without worrying. * Man is a monkey who has squandered his tail.

Schoolgirl Shura is learning scales, but she wants to go outside, to the sunny, grassy yard, to the cherry tree, and hide in its shadow, to become a little animal; dad, a court official, enters the room with a bucket of water, grabs her by the braid, drags her from the chair and throws her onto the floor, where she puts Shura’s head in the bucket, holding her there until her daughter stops twitching; goes to the sunny grassy yard to lie in a hammock, occasionally screaming, hitting himself in

I feel the wind stroking my lymph node Cruisers tear up the surface of the water with office knives Strokes and squeezes a little like an udder From the pouring lymph On fresh snow Writes my name I don't know anything about cruisers But Up to man No one cut the sea into pieces Up to man No one sucked the sea like a cartilage Now we suck it like a brain The wind will write my name And will fly smoothly to stroke the surface of the sea I'll tell you I'm not Nadya The wind will crash into the

I wake up I'm watching With a dirty hand Nail I'm getting hammered In the chest I speak On what basis You, They tell me Coffin For your soul Lie quietly And barely Breathe

A mother, a son, a dog and death were sitting on a bench My son's cheeks were burning “Maybe she can be cured” “No,” my mother said harshly. Death has risen “Maybe she can be half cured?” asked the son out of comprehension of the moment “No,” my mother said loudly. Death approached him “Maybe she can be cured at least a little?” the son asked stubbornly, not understanding anything at all. "No. There’s no way to cure it at all,” my mother screamed.

Illustration by the author In one of the previous materials, we talked in some detail about the history of group exhibition projects aimed at presenting contemporary Japanese authors, this conversation will never find its end, but today we’ll talk about one of the most successful places on the Moscow art map, the Ruarts gallery, which, despite the prefix “Ru”, is very interested in presenting “Jap”.

I wasn't aware of my dog Never I kind of loved her But she was like a blur Producing crap And annoyingly barking at the dacha And then Happened So Cancer And nine years And ten live At this time it is time to abstract as much as possible Untie everything you tied Pain is inevitable But it can be reduced Not realizing this brown something Iron But don't look And I Beginnings Sew it on To the chest I Suddenly I saw her more clearly What is macro photography?