On Vladimir Vysotsky’s 87th Birthday
Every January 25, I ask myself the same question: if Vladimir Vysotsky hadn’t left us in 1980 at just 42,...
Every January 25, I ask myself the same question: if Vladimir Vysotsky hadn’t left us in 1980 at just 42,...
This article is based on notes made in 2016, 2018, and 2024. Screen grabs via screenmusings.org. In the late months...
This article was originally written for Literary Kicks in 2002. I have made some major edits in 2025. In the...
I was 16 years old when I first heard Victor Luferov’s song Meeting (Встреча). I had discovered a website created...
Monteverde’s ability to take something so small, so ordinary—a mother stepping into sunlight—and make it feel sacred.
There’s a certain familiarity in the way writers are drawn to alcohol—an orbit of longing, self-doubt, and solace.
An expatriate who seemed to thrive in creative obscurity even as the world clambered at his door, Bowles is remembered as a singular voice—a composer turned novelist whose works transported readers into unsettling, alien landscapes where psychological disintegration loomed large.
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