My name isn’t Roxana. Till my birth, my parents went with it, but then they saw me, and you know… Things took a different turn. I’m a surviver, in many different ways.
I survived: strangers, people I knew well, people I loved, people I trusted, different crashes with Mother Nature, different crashes with roaring mechanical creatures, my own dark notions, a revolution, an exile and redemption. So far, I counted three different worlds collapsing upon me, dragging me down into dust and despair.
I don’t like talking.
I bleed words so much better than I ever could speak them. So I write…
The abstract concept of language and words unsettles me. I’ve always preferred thinking in pictures… It offers not only the problem, but also the best solution. Visualization is the most precious treasure I got . That’s why I enjoy paintings and poetry so much.
My skin is painted with prayers. All of them are prayers for others. I’m constantly searching, therefore I’m bound to doubt everything. Truth is something I hope to find, instead I found abysses, in me, in others, the world.
I’m a good kisser. I got big olive brown eyes, with a distinct expression of distance. That’s because I’m always daydreaming… Even when I should pay attention. I can’t seem to keep myself together. Always trickling away into the future, or the past… Or somewhere else… Never completely present.
A stray mind, a stray soul…
ME:“Nono, sweetheart. This not how you do it. Look.”
ME:“See? That’s mine now. You want a smoke? I won a good brand and a nice lighter… Here. Now you.”
POOR GUY:“Go away.”
ME:“My, touchy? No darlin’. You have to hit… There you go. Now stick!”
ME:“Oh. now come on. Don’t leave me now. You’re doing great! Don’t make that face, smile sweetheart. You’re my lucky charm.”
POOR GUY:“No I’m not. What makes you think that I’ll stick ’round?”
ME:“Yes, you are! You’re the most pathetic, luck free person in this room. And broke. I’ve got a job for you, mister-leave-me-alone-I- have-to-drown-my-problems. I’ll make you my pet.”
I’ve always been afraid of the dark.
My whole life I was scared when the lights went out. When the day dissolved into the night, I crawled, as fast as I could, under my blankets, leaving my reading lamp on. Often the whole night.
But things change…
There is no reading lamp – not anymore. No blankets. I sit in my chair, smoke and wait for the dusk to come. The grayness descends so slowly, carefully, not to scare anyone away.
Emerging from the business of midday, from the productivity others use to care for, the twilight spawns. Slowly unfolding, growing… As if breaking up the surface of reality, the fuzziness within and around things reveals itself.
In those moments I feel my heart beating stronger, louder, faster… As if it would respond to a call, I did not hear in the first place. Ill-defines movements under a dust layer. Left alone, for so many centuries. Left to feel despair, to feel quilt, to feel … myself, my flaws.
I felt the wet splosh on the back of my head. A tomato – I hope. The juice ran down my neck. My palm was red, and warm with the liquid.
Something hit me hard, smashed into my jaw. Dizziness washed over me, like a thick snow blanket over Moscow in February. Fuck. I held my ears, to stop it. Felt like a whirligig in my skull. Dammit.
The truck keeps moving forward. I’m gonna descend here so ungracefully… I’m gonna be an absolute joke, the only guy who gets knocked out by a tomato. Wait… Or was that a bottle? Who threw that fucking bottle at me?