I was born in Kurgan in the eighties on the 9th of May. It’s the day of the victory in the absurd Great Patriotic War. They wouldn’t name the town like that if it was a good place. (Kurgan means tumulus) So I think that everybody in my native land resemble Zombies. They wander aimlessly to and fro and are not able to see beyond the end of their noses. When I was a child my head struck the asphalt and likely this was the beginning of my career. My family lived in a settlement in the uptown in a wooden house that was surrounded by legacy of the communist past: half decayed industrial plants and barracks dated back to the times of the Stalin's repressions. The sun was barely visible through the smoke emitting by the noisome stacks. Our neighbors were gypsies who pushed heroin and cotton candy and drunk Russians - necrophiliacs and alcoholics who caught dogs on the barrens and roasted them on the fires. Graduated from school I tried to study at university in engineering. Old half-wit zombies tried to teach me. I’ve quitted it. The university. Then I worked on television, played in local night clubs and drank. I drank, smoked, and fucked geese. Suddenly I realized that the moment of revelation came: either I would leave, or my body would be found lifelessly swinging on the rope in the toilet. I left. At first it was Yekaterinburg, Ural’s capitol. It was nice city with severe winters and Chinese students. I happily continued working on TV, smoking weed and heavily drinking, practicing yoga from time to time. It was Yekaterinburg where I met the love of my life - black magic woman. The Tibetan Book of the Dead, shit and severe Ural reality mercilessly moved my assemblage point. This might have continued if I didn’t realize one day that Yekaterinburg was the same provincial god-forsaken hole as my native town. I should scram. Having made shaman rite over the ashes of weed and scattered them from the 2nd floor of my flat, I bought a ticket to Moscow on my last money. After 2 days of my sad way along the immense space of Mother Russia? Being exhausted by eating cockroaches and drinking water I found myself on Kazan railway station. Now I absorb capitol’s sap like a sponge, fill my head with pictures and images, try to find Ivan the Terrible’s library and make acts of worship to the Cathedral of the Redeemer on the Patriarshij bridge. I sit for hours on magic stones in the parks, meditate in the underground railway and talk to food in Auchan. And when I’m home and it’s getting dark I fall into a trance and connect my fingers to USB to pour out all the crazy stuff born in my head and to transform it into sound form, to sacred music with the help of which I’m destined to stop the wheel of samsara and to reach nirvana.