From: RSF MOSCOW [mailto:rsf (@ rol .ru)]
Sent: Wednesday, August 25, 2004 11:44 AM
To: white @ (sleepingfish .net)
Subject: Submission from Moscow
So here it is, here I am.
Can't quite explain who I am (Kenzie), as I'm looking for that one too. I'm here in self-exile, Moscow where making ends meet is fun. Social work and human rights down the press freedom alley, freelance writing and bad acting. I've been seduced by this city, its schema like faust's hell, nights are terribly addictive and i can't blame that on insomnia. Try measuring photos of bullet wounds and faxing them to the west for further examination, only then to spend mornings exhausting the known identities of animals and common place objects with a three or two year old boy, whom they may soon call autistic. He stares at the softer corners of walls and other times at the refracted light from badly set panes. He stares in complete dread: I can say now that I have beheld its impression upon a child. Iím forced to startle him to gain just a minute of calm conversation. He has, however, found in the soft clasping of his hand, quickly and repeatedly, while held in front of his eyes and over his left ear, a certain joy, I hate to distract him from such a soft clap. That being the daily mind, the concrete scheduled version of myself, this piece comes from that sleeping reality which attracted me to your submission invitation.
If you like it, I've got another that may fit this issue but its not quiet done. If there is simply a problem with the font being too banal or unreadable please email me and I'll work on it. I think the font may be too banal. If this is not quite the medium you are seeking, mention it maybe I have a version or work that may fit.
The compensation won't reach me, they (they) burn my mailbox monthly.
oh I almost forgot, In case you need to know the Russian text in the graffiti in along the top of the picture translates roughly to "everything has its time" or "everything in its own time." Its so much cooler in Russian, trust me.
rock it like its 1934