When scrolling through my iPod I more often end up on The Radio Dept. than Radiohead these days. I went to the Russian Museum and the burning, suprematist sun stares directly into my soul. I would have spent the morning in the Hermitage, but I caught a cold (just as our long-awaited babie leto arrived, what have you!) so I stayed in and my landlady fed me mysterious mixtures that reeked of paracetamol and honey. I eat tvorozhnoe yoghurt every day and drink heaps of grapefruit juice and think I can survive on solely that.
In the museum shop I reached out for an anthology of academic papers on constructivism, and in a blip of film-history cliché I brushed the hand of a young man reaching out for the same book; when I looked at him he was so beautiful that I turned around and walked away, because his face was simply too beautiful to exist in this world order.