One thing can be said with certainty about the contents of this book: Zarathustra did not say anything like that. But I’ve probably thought about all this more than once. Because the questions are increasingly simple and obvious. The mind's exciting pursuit of an elusive thought, the violent use of letters of the Cyrillic alphabet, the brutal transformation of meanings, the coffin on the wheels of samsara, the bloody traces of midnight insights, the dazzling radiance of human stupidity - all this, incomprehensible and uncertain. Actually, Max Fry did not say all this either. But from time to time I wrote it down - on paper napkins in cafes, on the backs of advertising leaflets, on the blankets of elephants supporting the earth's surface, on cumulus clouds, on my own phone and in the margins of the day before yesterday's newspapers. Because sometimes writing it down is the easiest way to think and formulate.