April 12, 1974 Miami Beach
Twelve in the afternoon. My soul is not a happy one today, because the happy sun is not seen. The sky stormy full of gray clouds. The ocean is mad and foamy; it is not a good idea to fish for sardines. Ocean can catch me and break all my bones, take me in deep where the shark would definitely eat me. The sharp-teeth creatures know that I have metal hooks in me. That is why they dream of taking me, the fisherman, destroying me, so that for other sharks it will be easier. But at the same time, I catch the sardines and eat them too, and therefore putting the sharks out of food.
I tried to honestly be friendly with the sharks, but you can understand that I can’t invite them to the hotel. They could easily swallow several full women. And destroy the Colony Hotel.
George wrote prodigiously, and some 1,000 pages are in the archive. These pieces, all penned in Russian, address his observations and his fantasies.
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