Oh my, how grand the plans were! It comes as easy as breathing! Give the idea some thought, sit down and put it on paper. Point. Done. Or it could have been like that: a desktop—a printing house—a bank account—a country house. But no! Certainly not! I’ve nearly forgotten about the ‘instructions’ on how to write! How could I have! So many ‘Savile Row tailors’ shared their secrets—how to finish the seam or make a double stitch… But the main thing is, of course, the pattern! Well, what if there were no almighty pattern: winging its way through the fabric with soap—one, two, three—the plan is always at the head of the table…

No, it's not a New Year's syndrome—it's pain, a heart cry and shouts of despair (with a smile on the face; no tears at all). There's so much I want to do. There's so much to be done. And priorities are pushing more and more. And at one point you realize that somehow things start to look very different. And every day one half shouts louder and louder to the other—will you manage it, will you? Hey? Are you there? Or is the ‘brain on stock-taking’ already?

Well. The first year ended with one brain defeating the other, having taken over and ruling there. Which one is responsible for the free flight of thoughts and creativity? The left brain—no? Or maybe the right one? I always fail to remember so essential and defining details. But one thing is clear—it, the brain (left or right) wasn’t on a roll for long. From April 2022 and sometime until August 2022. That's it. With The Rabbit ‘passed’, everything is on pause now.

What-what...>>

Thought 1.
It's not often you come across a book that while reading it, you want to go on more and more—you can't put it down. Although such a state in the case of 1984 was not permanent. Just as it is with happiness: you feel happy, or it doesn’t seem to be like that any more, and you don’t understand what you really want.

Thought 2.
Who would have thought that we would live at a time when Orwell's thoughts in the book 1984 would be in resonance with our life and reality!

Thought 3.
Someone told me that 1984 was about the USSR. ‘No, it’s about the US’, as an afterthought added that same someone. Sadly it is very much like our time and reminds in a way of our life. It is deeply and overwhelmingly sad.

Thought 4.
Frankly speaking, my possibilities to fully express all the considerations about 1984 and the emerging parallels, associations and all kinds of allusions are somewhat limited (and am I ready to do it at all…) The two reasons for this are: (1) the policy of the platform on which the site is hosted does not imply a possibility of conducting any political activity, however, it should be clearly noted that I do not seek to be a ‘navalny’ at all, I do not aspire. My interests lie in completely different planes, on which, in fact, I concentrate my efforts and thoughts; (2) the policy of the platform (one such and large), where I am myself hosted already. To add to this, I was not so sure at all that this modest local printing shop of mine wouldn’t be closed even before being opened) when my website saw the publication of my (resonant, of course) short story Elections, from the Before series, where the word Trump sounds (Oh my God! He said it after all!)

Um...>>

‘That sort of chap, real easy…’ a phrase from a conversation between a young man and his friends in one of the so-called shopping centres in Moscow, frankly speaking, had fascinated me: I could not help but pay attention to the deep and multifaceted image that came to my eyes as soon as my ear caught on to this phrase. Yes, I got so hooked that I couldn’t have myself unhooked from this chappy obsession for another week now—as they say, make me unsee it. ‘That sort of chap, real easy…’—that’s strong, what can I say!

I shared my linguistic discovery with a friend: ‘This is not slang at all, Ivan,’ what I meant (about slang), ‘this is degradation.’ I hope that the friend only evaluated the words taken out of context, maybe too strictly. After all, we also used to walk the streets hanging around, walk over construction sites (which was especially fascinating), and pop into shops. Then (during my young youth), however—if there were shopping centres at all somewhere—it was rather a rarity. I have to confess, at that time I was swearing with might and main—such was the way and manner of communication between my friends and me. But then it stopped short of the chap somehow.

Does the environment make us or do we make the environment? It probably all depends on the details and context. Where and how, and in each case in a different way.

Yes...??