Very bad English / Очень плохой English. Яна Варшавская

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      If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine. It's lethal.

      You know, I always envied you. Not just because of the way you feel about life and know how to color gray dull everyday life.

      No. I envied your dreams…

      How do you do it?

      Today… You just came up and told your dream, without resorting to various tricks and metaphors, in casual words.

      You only mentioned that the dream was colorful as always.

      And then I saw what you dreamed…

      My imagination added brightness to its colors and space to its volume.

      I even felt the wind play with my hair.

      And also the smell. The smell of ripe wheat…

      Yes.

      But in a dream, all this is absolutely obvious things. Objects that have become significant for some reason become the same height as secondary ones, those that are much higher… Those that are now in front of the eyes or lens. A twenty-story tall wheat.

      I see it in every detail, as if looking at it through a magnifying glass.

      I remember once Taska and I went to a plein air… Having set a sketchbook somewhere on the high river bank, she began to paint…

      Sky. River bend. Steep coast…

      And then for some reason she wanted to draw some buttercup in the foreground.

      The yellow buttercup seemed to have the same height as the dark tree on a high slope.

      The law of perspective.

      Unlike wood, the buttercup was more alive…

      After all, she wanted to write out every vein on his petals…

      And now you told me your dream.

      I don't know, maybe you already forgot about it. Maybe you saw it a little different. But my imagination, like a hungry puppy, continues to return to that situation in search of a place where the «bone» was once buried… In this case, the imagination does not let go of the picture that has appeared and is now overgrown with details.

      Sounds. Different sounds.

      And then there are poems. Either they are born in my head, or this is how air fills the space…

      They seem so perfect that remembering and reproducing them is almost impossible. They have a completely different philosophy and categories that seem to be understandable… But they are so unusually simple, concise and pure…

      All Horoscopes claim that Aquarius is romantic.

      This is true.

      You are Aquarius!

      You're also a romantic.

      I've never met a bigger romantic. You always surprised me. And, as a rule, in moments when I was not ready to be surprised.

      What does it mean: not ready?

      It's just that the texture of those moments was too flat and not yet containing shoots for a future miracle…

      How do you manage to mask something in this reality so that it doesn't give a sign of a holiday?

      I cannot explain this parallel world where you, like a magician, take a magical object out of your sleeve, allowing the «northern lights of the holiday» to enter our house, filling it with a sense of happiness and magic… And at first this feeling makes you sit deeper or lean against the wall.