A conversation with Alexei Navalny

A Bird on a voyeur

Warhead of an eider
Forbidden Saab Gripen’s scalped nose art
Shadow of a missile, canvassing voters for the lost part
Guider of the snow, with a driven need to be redirected geradewegs ins Lager
The ultimate appendage of a shrouded fogger
Graph of a castaway’s chart

A rumor they start

AI’s paw

Why should only Alice and the white Кролик be in the know?

Stating the obscure, remeasuring the dough
It takes to fathom your foe’s river unprecedented low

A silent martial law outlet where anatolian plea-bargainings make no mart
Held for about seventy-five seconds in that white Lethe, your breath is sentenced to forget its part
Call him a somber Attila or decree me as another Cacciaguida, paint me whitier than a Krasznahorkai’s Futaki, as colorful as a Beckett’s character
With a sans ithmus pen to write her a ghosted peninsular letter?
Evader from all kinds of psychological captures, turning down the refuge of a big heart

Piece of charred wood or glowing carbon, decomposed without free access of air, eternal debtor

To your mind, the surviving blood vessels cataloguer
Are you sure you want to discuss the picture with me? The devil is afraid my brains aren’t getting slow
это поглощает! Anyway, « завтра не может быть так же плохо. »