In the fire, spring looks like autumn, The role has been chosen for you, When your house is covered in foam Names hurt. In a red currant helmet A fireman beetle burns a maple tree Motherland, Where you were not born. And the country in which you were born It leaks thickly from all the cracks, You're drunk enough This mixture of blood, shit and snot. The chicken looks in different directions from the coat of arms, Frozen in the window frame, Like a cemetery, streets With tombstones.

Lie Leaves glare on photos Flashing the knife At the frame junction. From the cold bed of a Cro-Magnon man, From the smoking room at the airport, We're looking at the same sun With a metallic taste in my mouth. Thoughts are fixed in the canopy, Having soaked the bloody cotton wool, Pity for the chained dog Blown up by a grenade. Dousing yourself with canisters You breathe kerosene over the toilet. Inevitability after the shot Makes you strong.

"Prepare a bandage, Prepare the screw" - The priest of the saw throws unnecessary things into the basin, She cuts the faded print on the T-shirt. Until death unites you A dancer with a tin soldier, Flee, lives separated by illness. Neither father nor brother, And an older furry friend He was her, a devoted backpack, Coffee greeting you in the morning on the stove. It smells like milk From the boy on the whale Fireworks launcher during the day At the festival of all five Americas.

Center for Creative Industries "Fabrika" launches Open Call for artists The Center for Creative Industries "Factory" is now accepting applications for the eighth session of the "Factory Workshops" program. Artists wishing to participate in the competition can submit an application for a workshop and/or display of their project in factory spaces until January 10, 2022. Authors over 35 years of age with at least 5 years of work experience are invited to participate.

On December 9, the Fabrika Center for Creative Industries presents a collective exhibition of Swedish artists and writers curated by Andreas Eiksson and Maria Lind, “Television Springboard: From Children’s Television to Contemporary Art and Literature.” The exhibition will feature sculptures, comics, videos, installations, a Youtube channel, a real children's playground, as well as four texts written specifically for this project; one of the texts is in the form of a children's book.

While you are alive your halo is square A meteorite crashes into the brain, You'll slip into heaven while the gatekeeper I went to the kiosk for cigarettes. The light of the crystals of the underworld, The gentleness of the midnight trial Shimmers like mother-of-pearl on an ax Triangular lake in the madness of consciousness. Banner Bearers of the Crimson Dawn Flags are knocking on the slabs. Stop and look How hatred and ignorance growl at each other.

Sings and dances in a cloak of light Finder of the planet map Treasures And above his head on comets The invasion of monsters begins. About the fact that he is sculpted from water The membrane between your fingers prevents you from forgetting, In the satellite of dust Traces remain At the grave of a grown child. From the immortality of the drunk elixir The aura of a naked body remains. The creation of your world - The collapse of someone else's world. Semyon Brodetsky Poetry

Alice Yoffe’s “Case” project is the artist’s first turn to abstraction in a long time (for the first time since 2015), completing a period of developing a more direct use of social subjects. The absence of an “image” of social relations on the surface of the canvas, however, does not mean that abstraction itself is “pure” art outside the context of its origin. Thus, Meyer Shapiro, in his landmark text “On the Nature of Abstract Art,” proposed a sharp social interpretation of abstraction.

Once I dreamed that I was walking through familiar places, through a countryside area fenced off from the river by a dense coniferous forest, and something was happening all the time, there was bustle everywhere: cars were driving, water was rushing to the shore, people for some reason were walking in huge numbers along the road through the forest, and so on. I had no involvement in this.

Today's law is that faith is acquired by impulse. But not in the internal measure inherent in the mechanical sliding of a body on a smooth surface. I crossed my two little fingers and realized that this was not just like that. This is not so simple, since there is no consensus around the symbolism of the intersection of the fingers of the lower lasso of both hands, fixed at an angle of 45 degrees at the level of the border between the main and middle phalanges. Not at any level. How can this be?