… You’re asleep.
Curled, embracing the pillow, deep under the blanket.
It’s late at night.
And you’re asleep,
And nobody knows who you’re going to be the next ringing morning.
What kind of chain armour you’ll be wearing by then. Will you be a politician, a faithful wife or an old man or… ?
You’re asleep. And the other one is sleeping too, the one you’ll see in the sight of a gun or the one at the shop, holding an avocado…
The only one, who will become a reason to miss the train…
Tonight we are just children.
It doesn’t matter how rich you see yourself in your dreams, no matter how big the painting over the bed. And the thrilled servants behind the bedroom door, changing your coffee cup every ten minutes to keep it warm, they do not matter either.
Just one bed for all, and one Home and one World.
We’re asleep and, oh God, let us stay so just a while longer, not to slip into the shells of our lives quite yet.
I know I’ll wake up and I’ll become the one who I must be, who I have to be, who I got used to being.
But now… there’s no war, no treason, no labour.
We’re asleep.
Like children,
And…
And I want to be like you,
To love and to be loved.
May Those Who We Insult During The Day Forgive Us At Night!
They were sleeping during the night too and they were wishing me Well.
I’m asleep.

Happy New Year! …

Text: Anton Adasinsky
English text editor: Daniel Williams
Photo: Anton Adasinsky, Igor Fomin, Nastya Ponomareva, S. Neuhaus, T. Belousova
Video: Nastya Ponomareva

We’re friends with AKHE. No more, and no less. Sometimes we hug each other when we meet. Sometimes we avoid each other for years. We’re women, in spite of our trouser’s length and our beards’ thickness.

Couldn’t go to the monkeys this year, cos’ I had to give my body some treatment. Hope somebody will bring them bananas.

Since there was some time for doing nothing, I decided to do nothing at the radon bath spa, not too far away from home.

You are usually only allowed to take a radon bath three times a week. And in this village radon saturation is supposed to be particularly strong. However, you can always talk to people, you know… Anyway, I was lying in a bath each day here.

And that’s what has happened.

It was sunny, the bath master covered me with some special cloth and rolled the tub right into the courtyard. It’s February, snow is everywhere and the sun is glistening. I was lying there with just my head sticking out of the tub.

I sneezed. A shadow darted behind me and then an owl landed on my stomach, well on the leather cloth that was lying on my stomach. I was afraid, as I should have been. In the corner of my eye I saw the bath master who was showing me what to do: to puff out your cheek and to beat it with a finger.

My arms were dipped in radon. The owl was very close. I freed my hand and tried to knock on my cheek. The owl shrugged his shoulders (it seemed so to me), retreated to the tub’s edge and aimed his double-barrel at me (i.e. he stared with his eyes). I didn’t have anything else to look at so I looked into his eyes.

Perhaps I fell asleep. Perhaps it was the radon. Perhaps that’s what I’m living for…

…I’m running somewhere amidst a crowd of people. It’s very loud, like a train station but during a celebration.

Behind the peoples’ backs I can see a performance. It’s AKHE. They’re hanging over the stage. Their legs and arms are in loops, all the furniture too. I can’t remember what they were doing but it was something simple. Everyone understands it and they all want to see more.

But it’s difficult to do, since the show is continuously sinking. There’s no stage floor and the audience runs one level down to see how the performance goes on.

The show is shorter here than usually. The sinking picks up the speed. AKHE are very concentrated

The structure of the ropes dictates something to them. They have never really been a theatre company. Everyone sees this now. Actually, they’re Guides on the Way Down when you are in this multi-leveled supermarket. I can’t run down with everyone else anymore. So I enter some department. Salesman warns me not to touch anything.

An unexpected outburst of fury. I smash something on the floor and run downstairs. There are fewer people here, and the movement of AKHE is even faster. I suppose they’re setting sail. They’re on the masts. I can guess what the ending is and I run down, deeper. Staff entrance. Deeper… There are several people around, just as serious as I am. A big hole above us and the applause can be heard from there. Pasha and Maxim are lowering unceasingly and precisely.

Some other spectators and I – all are men – are standing on the edge of a big pit filled with water. AKHE will sink down there in a moment. I will not stop it and I will not see it. I’m looking at the men all around. They’re very russian-looking – in grey and in black. On the contrary, the colours of AKHE are beautiful like the post stamps from Guinea.

I was staring at the owl. A light-bulb was blinking. It’s time to get out of the tub. My finger was on my cheek and rather frozen.

Text: Anton Adasinsky
English text editor: Daniel Williams
Photo: Elena Yarovaya, Silvio Dittrich, Anton Adasinsky
Photo design: Elena Yarovaya

I see my hands. They are stained with oil. Old cars are around me. Apparently I’m working in a garage. Alone.

There’s some annoyance in my sleep: should I change jobs? But there are obscure liabilities. This is not my dream. A sort of a junk movie.

I’m sure I’m handsome and manly. I search for a mirror and whistle something.

Powerful blows at the gates which open upwards slowly. Red-hot stripe of the sun-tide crawls the floor.

The customers are from the 30s. The blonde man remains in the car. The miniature girl comes out. She smokes a cigarette squinting in the sun.

Seems like I’m hearing jazz and realize – if the music stops I will be shot down. I know this pair. The girl is Bonnie Parker.

I know how they will die. She will turn 23.

One of my friends in St. Petersburg bought herself an old soviet government limousine. ZIM or something like that. Every little gap is filled with sand. Sort of bullet-proof doors.

It is possible to die in sleep. So I answer in good English that I recognize their faces; that I have no money in the garage but I point out the idea of car doors filled with sand. I’m showing them where I can put the sand in.

“Not bad”, says Bonnie (I will never be able to forget her voice),”but where would we get so much sand, my boy?”

“In a fire-protection bin” – I smile and want the blond guy to see that.

I’m going to the bin. Car’s door slammed. Maybe he’s got out. It’s hot in the car.

At last it’s summer.

Text: Anton Adasinsky
English text editor: Jennifer Williams
Photo: Elena YarovaYa, Roman Dubinnikov
Photo design: Elena Yarovaya

Dimmer is his name.

He just appeared before us as a common coordinator.

However, he could be anyone: scout, drug dealer, president, dancer,
seller of oranges, singer or ship’s captain. First encounter at the
airport – we see the proud silouette next to the car resembling
Tovstonogov’s profile. Scared a bit we approach him but the figure
instantly transforms itself to Louis de Funes. A light tumble and we
are heading toward the hotel already, laughing and crying.

A boy grown up in the streets of the Brazil Carnival. A jester and an
acrobat. In the old days – the star of Brazilian circus, and now – a
grayish bird, Dimmer. He plunged us into the night life of Brasilia.

None of us have seen him in all his height. Just in details. The
eyes, hands, flexible spine, flying eyebrows. He is everywhere and
nowhere. Roma apprehended him as a giant, Max saw a decrepit old
man….

Middle of the night. Knock on the door…

“Anton! Antonio!”
“Who is there?”
“It’s me – Dimmer”
“What’s happened?”
“Anton, thank you for the beautiful show, I’m so happy you are here…
and the public is so happy, and please come again and more… and so on…
but this is my last job here at the festival. My Voice is calling me.
I have to confess to the world, I need to record my LP “Penetrations”.
This is a musical where I play the lead and actually the only
role. It’s a large show. Whole Brasilia must be involved.

I will sit in a box and starve. There is a hole. The box is upholstered with fur.
Every resident of my beloved city must put his head in and look me in
my eyes. Every one! And if even one will not come to my box, I
will die. I’ve calculated. I can last about a month, 3 seconds per
person. The music will be written by Syd Barret. It doesn’t really
matter that he’s dead. Since I was a kid I rolled the “Dolly Rocker,
Dolly Rrrrrrrr…” under my tongue.” (He showed me how exactly he did
it).

“I would be very pleased if you would shout tomorrow – Hey, hey!
Goodbye, Dolly Rocker!”

In the morning Dimmer wasn’t the Night Guest anymore. We said goodbye
to each other, chilly.

Farewell Brazil. Goodbye Carnival. Goodbye the “red” Dimmer, even if
there was no you at all…

Text by Roman Gabria, Max Didenko, Anton Adasinsky
English text editor: Jennifer Williams
Photos by Elena Yarovaya, Maxim Didenko, Alisa Oleynik, Elena Shtykova
Photo design by Elena Yarovaya

The 29th of August will come and we shall take seats in our bus and immediately visit everything: Loch Ness and the Sharmanka Theatre in Glasgow, and the House of Sir Walter Scott, and the Museum of Feathers and.. and… or so DEREVO thought to itself at the beginning of August. Then there were the twenty four performances of KETZAL at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. On August 29 the disciplined but half-dead of tiredness DEREVO approached the bus. The keys weren’t there. We searched for them but not really intensively and went back to sleep…

We dreamed five dreams, fragments I’ll try to tell.

Anton.
A doctor’s room. The right hand must be amputated. The question is – what should be left? They suggest some stump. I don’t like the idea. I don’t want to have anything at all up to the shoulder. So it would be much more theatrical. During the discussions I cannot stop myself gazing at the view behind the doctor’s back. There is a hole in the wall and there is a stage. I see KETZAL. Di is dancing in place of me. I weep.

Shtyck.
She’s lying sideways in a puddle. The water is soft and oily. She doesn’t dare to raise her head, because her face will remain in the water.

Buda.
She’s flying down towards a green field. It’s starting to rain. She
flies amidst the raindrops and with the same speed.

Di.
Di is driving some airplane. The gunner is pressing his back against the back of Di. They are like Siamese twins. They fly somewhere in the night. Suddenly – it becomes very bright all around – they are caught in a ray of light. Then – waiting for the shot. The back of the fellow becomes warmer.

Ga.
It’s bright and noisy. Lots of everything and everything is very fast. There are five suns in the sky and the clouds are swiftly flying over in circles. Several faces are approaching – all have small evil moustaches. I need a flag – thinks Ga, of course a flag! It’s not good – going to the Pole without a flag…

Alisa fell asleep in a bath, frozen and remembers no dreams.

Max was looking for the keys.

Photo - Anna Bogodist, Di, Alisa and/or DEREVO