Intro.. Draw... Poems.. A moment ago: the conviction totally filled me: that: a literary journal is a wild and dangerous nonsense: because: there is no periodicity in art: those magical events: which: can be marked by the name the ARTWORKS rightfully: appears: almost always: supremely abruptly: and: regardless of prayers and drumming: rarely. Considering that: there are very few eligible artists: there are only a few poets: and: a few writers of life stories - considering that: such a poet: rarely owns more: than: ten true POEMS: and: also in the archives of prose masters: it is similary. By which - for heaven's sake! - the editors fulfill every month such a literary journal? By own useless sentences? I can't imagine it at all. Maybe some meaning: could have a 17-year period: like cicadas: which live seventeen years underground in a larval state: and: then flying out to mate - true: then they live only shortly. Especially then: it is extremely toxic: when such a journal gets into the hands of a young person: who has real talent: and: desire to work: because: let's admit: that: no one else can seriously read such a journal: even its makers: can't do it more than once usually. Such a young person: then: acquires usually: the irreversible belief: that: the boring sparse atrocities: that are printed there: that: this is a literature - and that is a crime already. Back... Along.. More...