The Fallen Brother

Death takes the very best. Only the best die young. So much said about the same thing, and in any way it all is reduced to the common denominator. Giants are falling, and no one ever will be able to replace them. They leave so fast, so unexpectedly, full of ideas, when everyone waits for the new masterpiece. But not the laurels embrace the cold body...

Just knew about the passing of another hero. Person, who was definitely one in a million. Influential and avantgarde, unpredictable and musically independent - the way every creative personality should be. But that's not only that we don't have the new explorers - we still keep losing the masters.

Where the fuck is justice?! Why the 45-year genius dies of cancer? I guess, for the same reason as another mastermind left with the similar cause at the age of 34. As the 39-year pathfinder died of heart attack. Finally the one, cynically shot onstage
being only 38. If I were a believer, I would have said that heaven bosses are too greedy. But that would be so good and relieving to know that they keep going on somewhere in another worlds. The fact is that it is not so. Genius isn't compatible with death. But death keeps striking people of genius out of the list... But not out of my heart.

Forgive me, Piggy. Forgive me for I missed the chance to know you closer...

Passage

Passage through the corridor of light,
When the darkness is sodden with its own phosphorescent shine -
How can it be, that the eighth unexplainable miracle
Is human fatal imperfection?

People see the halo of the sun only during the eclipse.
How late...

Dirty Shades

The night came returning, and it devoured the last glimmer in the ashes of the day. Fainting sounds of the past don't appear as a cacophony anymore; now they get braided in a beautiful symphony of melancholy. Still it is suffering, but in a squeezed and concentrated condition; tranquillity, but not so desperate like before. The narrow sphere of action that makes me released at the same time drains my juices, and I know, that in a general meaning the ones to receive the ready product will never know, who was standing behind its creation.

Trembling light of a cigarette is drawing a ghostly web of light around my face. It gives an opportunity to catch a dismal reflection of it in the pane of glass, that separates me from the outer world, still relative because of the same night enthroned. But I'm staring through the reflected pupils to the other side - to the dirty stone fence surrounding the building. There are numerous shades. Clearly delineated shades of branches and leaves, mysterious and diffluent shades of my memories, projected on the wall... The shades. They are so ethereal, but right they are real. They are me. I am one of them. A dirty shade, almighty, but so short-lived.

Through blacks and whites

...I try not to dream my life, but to live my dream.

That's the way, I know.