You thought there was a life. There’s a letter. Someone else’s name in your mouth. Someone else’s words under your skin. Love on repeat: a sound with no eyes. Ceramic teeth behind hyaluronic lips. Eye to eye. Read my I.

The gaze becomes the camera; the body becomes the game. “Fatality for you, brutality for me” ends a round written in someone else’s letters.

The word “human” is stripped from the body layer by layer. Beneath names, roles, and instructions, something still breathes, remembers, and fears.

The letters т and ы return in a different sonic form. The Russian word ты (“you”) repeats; no one appears on the other side.

A new mask becomes a role; someone else’s words become smoke. Between letters and the body, only one way out remains: exhale.

The letter I arrives before the voice and takes over the body line by line. The written I no longer belongs to the one speaking.

“Me” was read before it was written. Someone else’s letters describe the body; the body searches for itself outside the word “I.”

The song turns body, name, love, and pain into words, while its speaker fears that the living person can be replaced by them.

Lines assemble into a name, the name into a face and body. Erase a line and the letter disappears; erase the letter and the name goes with it.

One bed, two bodies, and a screen between them. The words “Kirill,” “you,” and “close” become heavier than touch.

Thirty heads turn toward a body with no name; the teacher demands a signature. The room accepts a presence; the register requires a line.

The letter I is placed on the body as a name, role, and face. The written I remains a letter; the body keeps searching for itself before words.

The letter I claims everything around it. The body reads itself like someone else’s notebook and disappears inside the word “mine.”

In the song, the mirror holds a name, fear, and the words “I” and “you,” while the person remains outside the reflection.

The word “human” is dismantled into roles, instructions, and labels. Beneath them, a body still breathes, remembers, and fears.

The Russian word депрессия (“depression”) splits into де / пресс / и я; сияю я (“I shine”) into си / я / ю / я. Ready-made words no longer hold the body.

The word “mama” is called out into the void. Love, duty, pain, and the letter I arrive; the mother does not.

The plea “love me in silence” searches for the mother before sound, role, and pain. The word “mama” contains letters; it does not contain closeness.

The Russian word ты sounds again and again. Its two letters are present; no second person appears on the other side.

“Endure” is a command that passes pain on: one person inflicts it, the others stand by, and the body is left carrying it.

за лу
па

Natasha, wake up

A wardrobe, someone else’s clothes, and a crack in the door hold an old fear in place. “I piss on you from above” sends it back to the one who left it there.

Scores, advice, and ready-made rules turn into a tedious dance, playing on the Russian words балл (“score”) and бал (“ball”). Refusal strikes at the illusion of a measured “I”.

“Where am I?” returns to the letter I. After the sound, a mark remains; the speaker’s place before that mark is nowhere to be found.