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[Alexandr Korol]

I wrote about what kind of people there are, what goes on in their heads, what the dark ones are like, what the light ones are like, and the differences between high-level and low-level people. That’s where I gathered all that information. But you see, believe me, this wasn’t my desire. I felt empty there; all people really cared about was shopping and showing off. And yes, I was part of that world. What did I gain from this, good or bad? I probably only learned one lesson, that by being there, I learned all the ways they manipulate, how they consume, tempt, and seduce people — that’s the experience I gained from there. I only gained one experience, how to become stronger, to control myself and not be tempted by all the social-material world. It was as if they let me play in all this so that I would never want to go back again. Yes, people always saw me as some kind of smelly bum, a writer, but suddenly, everyone wanted to get to know me, to talk to me. But this even started earlier, when I was still in New York. Everyone was drawn to me. And it was so surprising, how could it be? Doesn’t everyone care about what I write, and the main thing is appearance? But that’s how it is. Everyone only cared that I was sitting in a skyscraper in New York, and everyone wanted to get to know me. You can’t even imagine how it looked. Everyone, all sorts of people who are now bright personalities, were asking to visit me or simply made friends with me just because I was in New York. How simple, you see? So, you sacrifice your vision, neck, back, health, all of it over decades, working on huge books, sharing spirituality, depth, philosophy, and people don’t care. They want you to be light, not judgmental, smiling, and looking good, so they can brag about you and get into your world, to be in the background, in that reality where you are, if it’s a beautiful, bright picture – that’s all. Nobody cared about what my books were about. They wanted to take pictures with my camera, or use me to meet famous people, or simply have money from me. Or have me organize something, like a restaurant outing. That’s how it works in this social world: “Alexka, the navigation opened, let’s go for a boat ride.” And of course, Alexka organizes everything and pays. But why Alexka? Does anyone care what my books are about and how I was isolated from society for three months? No one cares if they don’t want to hear it. Everyone just wants fun, likes, money, gossip, rumors. But I still follow certain rules. As I’ve always said, I’m not defined, and you don’t need to try to define me. If necessary, I’ll wear classic clothes, go to Moscow where all the show-offs are.