hell0!

i'm not photographer, and i have some doubt in cultural value of my photos :) just sometimes i take a photograph of friends, places, things and myself:

i'm musician, i write ambient\minimal\techno music. i have own project therathole, incuding 2 netlabels.

peace!

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the rat hole is a product of my imagination only. it's only nostalgia for those times, which i haven't cought. it's only a dream, which i can't realize for the time being. i think about it for so long, that now it evidently lives by its own life . every night something happens in the rat hole. every night, as i stand by the brick wall, i listen to people's murmur and bass grooves, issuing from hole's inside, or smooth melodious buzz, or just silent, tearing up with short infrequent sounds. sometimes wrought crumpled door sweeps open, letting out a person or some people. they are all different and i don't like many of them, but that's not the point. the fact is that the music goes on playing and optical disk is pulsating. haven't i said already, that the rat hole lives by its own life? so now it expands its own scope, getting out from depth of my brain. it clings to everything in the way, it purposefuly creeps, clambers, runs forward. sometimes i feel that its sleek tail once in a while slides on the skin of my face. maybe, i am being rambling... but i just want to say, that in some way the rat hole is the same with that big field of rye.