(Not) My Writing Desk

This is the surface of grief . Sorry, the sour face.

I remember when Mosselprom building sank its stone

Into the road beneath itself – badly built , and hastily . it was not a warning .

This is not my writing desk. It is the top floor of the Mosselprom building, Moscow. In fact, I’ve never been there so this is me guessing what the top floor is like. It is probably fine, so far as top floors go. Not bad, not good. An average room, on a Wednesday morning. Later i will drink a glass of red wine with ice cubes in it , but less about me!

It collapsed shortly after its construction, in 1913 . obviously, the building was later salvaged and built again (in 1925). There is not a single book on the shelf, so the owners or inhabitants must be really good people. Books are full of smut and sin.[1]

This is by no means the most accomplished Constructivist building in Moscow[2] (that title surely lays with the Narkomfin Communal House), but it is one of the best maintained. I wash my mouth out with water, lemon, and ice.

The nine kings who pulled their low’th into Hounds Ditch – wild with Dogs . I can’t get my tongue around this one. 

I travel to the doorway of the Mosselprom building, ascend its floors (the lift is not working ), pause to move my hands , stare into the night , , and meet Mb there, who kisses me on the cheek and then kicks me fully in the stomach. What a good thing to do. I agree, nodding levelly, smiling as the blood stains my teeth a little. Good one. I say. Nice, kick. The comma is to mark where I cough, because of the kicking i had received. No more blood comes up, so i must be in good shape.

The writing table is dog-shit. Really just some mdf boards attached to a scrawny metal frame. And the frame, too, is rusted. I use the patchy wifi to call Rusell and say, hey, Russell! I have your column here. He can probably hear all sorts of things on the road below – cars, sirens, arguing dogs. He must begin to think, wow, where the fuck is he at, now.

Technically i am much closer to hounds ditch; but it’s not exactly a ditch you can jump or dive into – because it is filled in with lunch , fidget spinners, teeth. Etc.


[1] I just found out that i have lots of glitter on my face (gold, silver), so who am i to talk!

[2] The original external panels were painted by Varvara Stepanova and Alexander Rodchenko.

Owen Vince is a writer and visual artist living in London. He tweets @abrightfar

Image: Andrey Kryuchenko via Wikimedia Commons (cc).

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