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the white table

The days are not long. The nights are short. Guitars are hiding in cases, with scraps of paper tucked inside. The pen is full. There is a fresh notebook, with creamy pages. The little white desk is in the middle of the living room, a cascade of receipts and laundry perched on it.

I clean it off, have lunch as it stares back at me. This focal point, this fulcrum where my thoughts become real, this cheap folding table from Ikea. It is familiar, and patient.

Amelia (The Canary)

strangers to the conversation

three things (about marriage, kopeks and guitars)

to be an expat

grace

a familiar betrayal

the letter reader

streetlights

quicksand

fragile

the lost years

this is the day

the white square

(looking for) the heart of Saturday Night

the choice is his (no surrender)

no gold (things will have to wait)

the lion behind the gate

dinosaurs (Don't Know Why)

about Carl

to the moon

there is always something (why I shoot film)

Silver Street

petty crime

that smell (Moscow)

running away with the circus (looking for dolphins)

the black sands of Ureki

ALBINO (PART 2/SECTION TWO - the last excerpt)

Albino (part 2/section one - the Mars Bar)

Albino (part one)

lost & found

every picture

scare me, but don't punish me

the first

with her

every pair of shoes has a story to tell

bad impersonations

Pushkin's wind

Hey, Lyosha

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best personal blogs