Alexandr Korol

But they are different — just like love is different. You see? But it’s more like that fairytale world, that eighth angle, that “corridor” I’m in. And only those who enter that world come across my book — and come across me. They can understand it, and I can understand them. But what’s interesting is that these people — though I don’t fully know the reasons why, and we’ll probably continue to reflect on and explore this in the books — sometimes, these seemingly undefined people read the books and then — boom — they end up in another world, like the world of the “lost.” They move to some island, get covered in tattoos, start using strange forbidden substances. And that’s it. We no longer intersect. Those people can no longer perceive me or my books — and I can’t perceive them. Which means they’re no longer in the eighth angle, no longer in the “corridor” — they’re in something else. They’re in the world of the “lost.” That offends them, but I don’t mean to offend them — it’s just how it is. And then there are people who read the books but ended up defining themselves. They just went ahead and built lives like everyone else... Most of us who are undefined — like me — we tend to observe how other people live. We see all the worlds — it’s in our nature to watch how socially-materially defined people live — and we want that too. And we think something is wrong with us because we don’t have it. And naturally, even more than the socially- material people, we want to define ourselves quickly, to “find ourselves,” as they say: find a job, make plans, build a house, start a family. And there are people who were once undefined, who went into the socially-material world and immersed themselves in all those concerns — and, as they say, muted themselves, and became like people. Whether that’s for a long time or forever — I don’t know. Some get spit back out into the world of the undefined — back into the “corridor.” Some don’t. I don’t know why. That’s just how it works. And this world — the eighth angle, the eighth world, the eighth day, the corridor — I’ve also called it the mindless world, the nameless world... I’ll put it this way: at one point in time, there were a lot of people in it. And then they went off somewhere into other worlds, and they don’t even realize it, of course. Only I, from the observer’s position, can still see and know this. Maybe they’ll come back. Maybe the “corridor” itself — like I once reflected when I was writing the first volume of “Alternative History” — maybe this world is like a temporary reserve, where a person ends up when their socio-material world collapses.