I, Anton Adasinsky, am responsible for the news text.
Everyone is hurrying me.
Here, I wrote about my dream of a tunnel.
Daniel told me to stop writing a novel in the first person, people would need some facts, where have we been, where will we be, what have we done…
Here, I wrote about where we’ve been and what’s coming up
Lena Yarovaya told me that everyone knows it anyway and that a flatfish is hiding in the sand by using vibrations.
Here, I wrote about the flatfish, although it pretends to be a maggot there.
I’m tired now.
Just read all that you want. It’s just a troubled week of April.
We were in St.P.
HARLEKIN, MEPHISTO WALTZ, the workshop (there was quite a lot of people, about sixty or so). Then there were four days of dreaming up the DROP in the OCEAN.
Then I flew back to Dresden.
I’m not getting sic easily, you know. I mean any flu, quinsy and so on. But suddenly - bamm! I woke up and realise that I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to go to the theatre. Rather I want to read something by James Fenimore Cooper. And I want a thermometer. It says to me: 38°.
Two days have passed like this. To me it’s just as unusual as reading my words in the press. Unusual but wonderful.
Is this Spring? right? really, is this Spring?
In that story about the dream in a dressing-room, I first thought it unnecessary to write about the end of running in a tunnel.
Now after a week in St.P., I have decided to end the story.
I’ve got a friend (yes, you can envy me). His name is Igor Timofeev. He lives on the outskirts of St Petersburg. He has a house, a sauna and twenty-eight guitars.
This place is my cavern. When I can’t cope anymore with hearing somebody else’s heart, I can escape there,into the sauna.
Everything describable just stops there. Words and actions change their meaning or lose it completely. We speak to each other there but subjects are not known to us and they’re not suggested by us.
He had a dream.
The manner, as he told it to me, refers to the special language of the steam room.
“raised on horizon… colour of the sky changed… like it was needed there… but they’re drawing here unnatural and a big piece… I unbuttonned the shirt to meet the punch… twenty seconds are still there… first light then I close my eyes then a sound, and in the sound I understand… stand and wait and then the air blows and it’s twisted… ribbed… I see the great playful movements of an accordion which you can touch with your hands… and the eyes flying towards you and me… do you understand!? I’m flying through the nuclear explosion and to my framework… to my skeleton everything is clean understand?? washed and cleaned and inflatable eyes maybe five meters large and I must turn them somehow…”
Then I could remember the rest of my own dream. I’ve never forgotten it to be honest.
I was running and following Pieretta to the stage. It’s a long tunnel. She’s lighter and faster, I wouldn’t be able to reach her. And suddenly I was not chasing her anymore but simply running, precisely and evenly. It was the run to the stage. I kissed my shoulder while I was running there.
On the opposite wall, there was a big letter “E” and then “A”. I realised that I must remember them, for I was running towards the beginning of these words. It’s not hard. When the letters were over I could put together the words “Heat Mode”. Now I was running directly towards the red glow. It was very easy to run.
We’ve added our dreams. I can’t quite remember what has happened after it. Nastya said something about a butterfly who gives a flower a slap in the face. We reproached her with poeticizing of men’s problems. However, the picture of that night has been completed: a butterfly and the hysterical kiss of a light bulb…
Ode to a one-day fly
The worm lying in a tight cocoon
Your life goes forth unhurried
You see no spring, you’re purposeless.
You’re sure you’re resting here for ever.
It’s so delightful, so silent here.
One year or two
But suddently there’s a coolness cracking in.
Scream, you worm! death is coming
Your shield is crackling and it’s scary. Scary!
The wind has blown away the pieces of the cocoon.
Are you dead? No, alive.
So what is that?
Where’s your house? Where’s the tightness and the dryness?
And the crushing there is again like thunder!
Behind your back two wonderful wings unfolded
And you are flying, you are singing.
Your day is in the sky, exposed to the wind
And to the sun of the world
You have been thinking this is death?
But this is life.
Exactly one day long.
Text: Anton Adasinsky
Photos: Elena Yarovaya, C. Friedlander, Lena Dolmatova, Roman Ekimov
Photo Design: Elena Yarovaya
In May Anton and the Positive Band hope to finish the promised CD “Cat on Accordion”. Meanwhile you can enjoy the new video by Andrey Gladkikh to the song “All Seasons” by Andrey Sizintsev, Nikolay Gusev and Anton Adasinsky.