СОЧИНЕНИЕ

It's like a diary filled with torn lines on scraps of cheques and school notebooks. There's the cold basement of Magadan, unfulfilled dreams of the sea, and minced illusions instead of dinner. Humour is mixed with melancholy, boasting with self-irony. The outside world seems like a circus, where you have to hide your scars under a balaclava and a monkey suit. And inside, there is an eternal struggle with yourself: sometimes the mountain is manageable, sometimes another morning is just another fake day.