The university campus was in the old part of town. The combination of water and stone creates a special, majestic atmosphere there. It’s hard to be a sluggard under those circumstances, but I managed.

The world in which I found myself was horrifying. In that world, people fought with sharpened rasp files, ate dogs, covered their faces with tattoos and sodomized goats. In that world, people killed for a package of tea.

I decided to “find myself” in monumental sculpture. Alas, monumental sculpture is a very conservative genre. The cause is the monumentality itself. You can secretly write novels and symphonies. You can secretly experiment on canvas. But just try to hide a twelve-foot-high sculpture!

The world was horrible. But life continued. What is more, life’s usual proportions stayed the same. The ratio of good and evil, grief and happiness, remained unchanged.

I had three long conversations with Marusya over a cup of coffee. She told me her whole rather silly story. To some degree we became friends. I like people like that – doomed, dying, helpless, and brazen. I always say, if you’re in trouble, you’re not sinning.

Leger died a Communist, having fallen once and for all for the greatest charlatanism of all times. It may be that, like many artists, he was stupid.

Looking around, do you see ruins? That was to be expected. He who lives in the world of words does not get along with things.

I looked at the empty suitcase. On the bottom was Karl Marx. On the lid was Brodsky. And between them, my lost, precious, only life.

Sales were lukewarm. Back home there was no freedom, but there were readers. Here there was freedom enough, but readers were missing.

Stop thinking. I’ve stopped some 15 years ago. Otherwise, if you will be thinking you won’t want to live. Everyone who thinks is unhappy.