Lexicon: A kusturica fish flapping the air with its tail, swims through the worlds of all languages. A tour-guide, a history, a travesty. So I say to Aram, I leave this world, and not forever- I meant it. The burden of two or three opens up another uncountable set of dimensions of mentalities and nuances, ungraspable by anything save a meta-language seen in the underside of Chomsky's dreams. I will follow his same logical chains through this Lexicon: as he did, I'll dive right into Cantor's Theory of Amounts, before digging my hands into a wormful of things happening to me, left to the devices of this city... emerge out on the other side of the world, still with Chomsky's old Boolean algebra string, that is, if I remembered to tie the other end to a tree across the ocean.

I have, I have not, and I would do it again, so that by memorizing each dictionary of the world I'll tie enough strings to construct a spherical spider-web.

I will not tell you how to analyze the society you and I are going to be living in, I will try to show you this city NOW, without contrasting past and future, without integrating social changes. But I will fail, for this Lexicon, in most of its entirety, will be nothing but a prelude to itself, and I will spend hundreds of words elaborating upon the purpose and aim of this work, an aim which it will never reach, and reading these pages in two languages will not help you understand this strange and cruel city, it will hinder you and waste your time. Tour-guide properties don't suffice. These sentences were written in Prague with the intent of destroying Moscow. The more you read, the more pointless your reading will become, as is becoming my writing with each night and word.

I will not banally travel. I will be immersed in the infinite space of a world and swim there, though it might be painful. I will, I have, and this is what I saw:

Со мною что-то происходит
Ко мне Берлиоз больше не приходит
А ходит бледный муравей
Разнообразные все те, и, мать твою, их очень много….
Цветных и жгучих, пьющих и певучих
они приходят в солнечном не дне,
а ночью, долгой и единой.