когда что-то сидит у тебя в голове, мир...

when something sits in your head, the world begins to throw new and new food to the brain itself. here, for example, I never get tired of wondering about the accuracy of the last album of BG. what is he, a. every word is a direct hit.

or I’d remembered Brodsky’s “Representation” in the light of recent events:

  Someone Orthodox comes in, says: "Now I -
                                           main.
  I have a Firebird and longing for the sovereign in my soul.
  Soon Igor will return to enjoy Yaroslavna.
  Let me cross myself, or else I’ll hit my face.
  Worse than corruption and deprivation - the thoughts of Western infection.
  Sing, accordion, drowning out the saxophone - fiend
                                           jazz. "
            And kiss the image
            with the cry of the victim of a sawn-off shotgun ...

there, in general, the whole poem is extremely relevant, but this is the topic of another no less sad conversation.