Ina V Staklo

Dear Reader,

I enjoy writing to you every time. Whenever it happens, I feel such contentment that one may wonder why I am still not in love with you. In place of a long explanation - I do not fear these, but you may when we are better acquainted -, I remind you that you are not alone in reading about me. I cannot be in love with each. Trust that no matter how many distracting, blatant themes I might present, every word here will be a piece of my biography, in some subtle and probably novel way. With every piece you find, you are closer to me than you were before.
How have you been? Doubtful as I am of you answering at all, I will go straight to how I am.
I am Russian. I am female. I am tangential. I am profound. My reason for being here is publicizing work that has been kept in a single folder for a number of years, only shared purposely and knowingly. Here, I accept vulnerability at last. Here even exists a rating. I am at your mercy.
I am multilingual. You may find pieces in other languages; mostly Russian.
I am still accepting. Contrary to popular tendencies, I do not grow jaded as years come. I do not expect you to be just, conniving or neutral. I expect you to argue with me, agree with me, praise me and raise your eyebrows at me; the order of these actions does not matter.

I find both prose and lyrics easy forms of expression. I also do a great deal of song-translations.
You are welcome to my writers'/artists'/philosophers' forum.

Write back.

Love,
Ina