sometimes i think there's no me. mean, there's some kind of real me who invented me-right-now , so i'm unreal. maybe real me is somewhere in Tokyo shooting snails at the eastern side of Fuji. or maybe real me is in a small flat under the roof of high-high house in central part of Moscow reading books and toushing glassy tinkering stuff at the window. or maybe i am really a guy with no future and no past but a ticket to a train or a plain. i want to believe that there's real me somewhere on... read more
