the door in the wall |
I stand, pressed in a white wall.The autumn Moscow rain, mixed with my tears, is washing off a mask of assumed indifference from my face.I stand, having pressed in a white wall, near to a green door.A...
Posted by Galja on Thu, 20 Sep 2007 07:49:00 PST |
balls story |
... We lay with my son on the beach and we can not breathe. He - after desperate run on stones and of bitter sob, I - because heart beat about ribs and tries to fill up all space inside of me. W...
Posted by Galja on Wed, 12 Sep 2007 11:58:00 PST |
Of childhood |
I don't love New Year. In the childhood I have felt, that something is wrong here. Gifts under a New Year's tree we shall not touch. Gifts are is remarkable always. But new year is, as new day, only ...
Posted by Galja on Fri, 07 Sep 2007 10:05:00 PST |
made story |
I lived then in a small cellar on outskirt of the big city where I wished to hide from love disorders and, mostly, from myself.Sometimes one familiar old man went on a visit to me with whom we drank ...
Posted by Galja on Sat, 01 Sep 2007 11:55:00 PST |
it is time to think of soul |
In my last suit, a suit in which I shall leave, there will be no pockets. I'll can't take along from things nothing . Neither favourite books, nor a credit card,nor a photo of my children, noth...
Posted by Galja on Sat, 25 Aug 2007 12:49:00 PST |
my attempt to become clipmaker |
I would like to transfer mood. Same viscous, as this composition, as winter in Russia. I did shooting in St.-Petersburg. I very much love this city. If you, my friends, sometime will be in Russia ,vis...
Posted by Galja on Thu, 03 May 2007 08:11:00 PST |
