Collecting Moments

Just a walk in the cliffs With the train underneath And grey clouds above And the fish and the chips In the end of wet trip As a sign of love?!

A haunted house The folks around here say it’s a haunted house. Nobody has moved into it since it was built and nobody would even enter it today unless you are a foreigner like me. For me it was only "haunted" by the beauty of light and shadows playing around; by the wind blowing through and the silence of nature taking over the space…

I draw with a charcoal, play my jaw harp, write poems, read and walk along the fields with cows and sheep. TWO YEARS AGO when I left my computer programming job I couldn’t even dream of such luxury. During this time I wandered around abandoned villages in Cyprus, said hello to wild donkeys in Karpas peninsula, got to a Phoenician island with no phoenicians, tasted the best olive oil in Sicily, enjoyed Frida Kahlo art in Rome, explored a huge abandoned factory in Greece, showed my face on security cameras of all the synagogues in Istanbul, tasted an Armenian lavash just from the oven, got robbed and got my money back in Georgia, saw all Armenian monasteries from the Parajanov’s movie, got into every derelict cottage in Ireland, got my unemployment benefits in Israel, survived Ramadan in Kurdistan, sneaked into an abandoned amusement park in Berlin, visited Basque Country (neither Spain, nor France), learned basic Spanish, got lost in the Love Valley in Cappadocia, hitchhiked around Cauc...

Сказки и звуки изумрудного леса...

Как трудно просто жить И спать без снов В реке не утопить Весь груз из слов, Воспоминаний, мыслей, фотографий — В торфяник бросить По полям развеять И ничего не сеять. Вставать, дышать, Искать звезду над домом Топить углем, Но тот этюд, в котором еще вчера так много было смысла — Оставить. Черными руками Не трогать белый лист И не звонить... Как трудно просто жить.

Последний нотный лист - Обрыв кардиограммы. Аккорд не прозвучал, Диагноз не поставлен. С началом, без конца Квартет, без завершения Для скрипок и альта. Вся жизнь - Басовый ключ Вопрос и многоточие...

Just before first light we arrived to Yangon after a 10-hour night bus ride. The city was just waking up. The first hour we spent in a poorly-lit local bus with sleepy passengers going to work to the center. It was still dark when we arrived to Sule Paya. The benches in a small park didn't seem welcoming, we sat for a cup of tea in a nearby Chinese cafe which was empty and quite dirty. The prospect of spending the whole day in this big noisy city wandering around with backpacks was definitely not inspiring. “The name of your hotel, please. I'd like to invite you for dinner at 5pm”, I got a text from the lady, a senior government worker, who ten days ago picked us up on the highway from Yangon to Naypyitaw. “We don't have a hotel”, I replied “We need to be at the airport at 7:30pm. We'll just walk around”. “Oh, then I'll pick you up in an hour. You can rest in my home and then use our car to go to the airport”. Since I almost didn't sleep last night, I thought I...