Book: The house in which...

I'll never know which one of them ruffled my hair when they left, so every time I think about it, I imagine different people, and it's like they all did it.

... But don't be afraid of anything. Watch and remember. And don't repeat the mistakes of others. Everyone is given two editions in life. One stranger. To know. And one of my own.

... And miracles only frightened them, they did not need them at all. In addition to those that were shown on the Box. The box was their god, although they did not bow their heads to it and did not whisper prayers, but simply looked through the transparent lenses of their glasses, but the result was the same

Mermaid doesn't even argue. He bites his finger and sinks into thought. She does not like disputes, does not like to prove anything and defend her point of view. This does not make her position any weaker.

Did we know what we were doing, christening Shadow Shadow? Haven't we invited this fate on him: forever wandering glued to someone else's flesh, eternally silent?

He struggled with shyness - rude jokes, with a dislike for fights - by being the first to get involved in them, with fear of death - thoughts about it. But all this - stuffed, driven inside - lived in him and breathed his air. He was shy and rude, quiet and noisy, he hid his virtues and exposed his flaws, he hid under the covers and prayed before going to sleep: "God, don't let me die!" - and risked, rushing to the obviously strong.

The blind man quickly realized what exactly caused fear. The children were not afraid of strength, which he did not have, but of the way he carried himself. His calmness and indifference, the fact that he is not afraid of anything.

He realized early on that he was not loved. He was distinguished from other children, more often than others he was punished and attributed to other people's misdeeds. He didn't understand why, but he wasn't surprised or offended. He was never surprised by anything. I never expected anything good from adults. He decided that adults were unfair, and put up with it.

The horse tried. But there was no more power in the worn words.

Everyone sings their own song.

Be perfect in your desires.

I stayed on the closet in the company of a cockroach that had long since departed into the other world and hardened washcloths. Infinitely dear to my heart precisely because of their uselessness to anyone.

A little more, and I will decide that I was lured, bewitched by the spell of letters. A little more, and I will imagine how they dance around these letters at night, whispering spells and drawing magic circles. A little more, and I will think that I came only because they wanted it. I've only been here a few minutes and already starting to go crazy. Maybe this is the way it should be here, to be a little crazy? Maybe you just can't be here without it?

I'm not ashamed of my early work, but at twenty-two you open your soul too frankly and sometimes do it clumsily. You feel awkward later. And for myself, and for the fact that it is the inept performance that meets with delight. Now I have grown wiser, and so are my paintings. The only fragment that wanders from work to work, preserved for a long time, is a teddy bear, I have not been able to get rid of it, although it is better and better disguised. On the last canvases, it is smeared. He is not visible, but he is there, hiding under a layer of paint. Maybe one day I will be able to do without him, although he has long become something of a scary talisman that provides my paintings with a long life.