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The Soviet New Year became Christmas without God. Instead of the Baby coming into the world, the General Secretary of the CPSU Central Committee came to our house with a New Year's address. Now the president is coming at midnight. It is clear that ten days is not enough to fill such a void with champagne and vodka.

She looked happy and seemed so normal... She told them that we would rent an apartment together next year. Then about our graduation, our daily nine to five job, our new apartment with a mortgage. Then - engagement. And then there's the wedding. Another mortgage, this time on a house. Children. New expenses. Then the four R's: disappointment, divorce, frustration and destruction. It's all so predictable. Although she always said that she was not like everyone else, she was exactly like that - ordinary.

And it seems I won't find my way home.

And it seems I won't find my way home.

And dream and turn green in the middle of spring.

- Outside the window, outside the window, outside the window!

They tell me: You

Pick it up! Pick it up! Lift my eyelids!

One hundred and seventeen workdays.

Happy New Year everyone! I wish you many miracles, big and small, in the New Year. I wish you to always be on a wave of inspiration, create, dream, and achieve your goals. I wish you to find happiness in everything. Even in small things, in details. And eat it with a big spoon. I wish you to love your work, your home, the people around you. World. Myself. Because everything starts with you. Happy holiday to you, my dears!!!

All our problems and suffering are the result of our actions.

Living without fairy tales is somehow wrong. Even very adult and serious people. Especially now.

Russia is a very big madhouse. If you immediately enter the hall of the yellow house, for some evening of madmen, you, not knowing, will not understand this. It's like nothing. And they are all crazy.

Home is where the people are.