{"id":3764,"date":"2025-12-28T10:01:45","date_gmt":"2025-12-28T07:01:45","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/?p=3764"},"modified":"2025-12-28T10:09:32","modified_gmt":"2025-12-28T07:09:32","slug":"when-i-was-in-my-early-twenties-i-wanted-to-write-radically-i-wanted-to-tear-everyone-apart-interview-with-ivan-treptav","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/emigration\/when-i-was-in-my-early-twenties-i-wanted-to-write-radically-i-wanted-to-tear-everyone-apart-interview-with-ivan-treptav","title":{"rendered":"\u201cWhen I was in my early twenties, I wanted to write radically. I wanted to tear everyone apart\u2026\u201d Interview with Ivan Treptav"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Ivan Treptow worked in liberal NGOs in Russia for a long time, but life, as he says, threw him out of this “golden cage.” Grants and “perks” were replaced by unemployment benefits in Berlin. However, along with this came the time to pursue dreams and goals Ivan had set since childhood \u2014 to write and engage in literary creativity.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

During his new life as an emigrant, Ivan has managed to create several works: from novels and poems to collections of short stories. Nottoday managed to attend one of the “covens” where Ivan read a poem about Berlin, after which we decided to introduce you to his work.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the way, one of his novels will see the light of day this spring and will be available in a printed edition.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In this interview, nottoday will try to introduce you to the main themes of Ivan Treptow\u2019s works, a bit of his poetry, and his path to literature. There will also be talk about how the abyss has already opened its maw, and we are either a step away from falling or already in it.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

How you became a writer<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 How did you come to literature? Where did it all begin? And why did you immediately dive into this “dirt” \u2014 dystopias and social dramas about lawlessness? Do you really not have enough stress in your life?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 It all started in school, probably. When I was a teenager, I was already writing profane poems, and that was really my first experience in literature. I literally trashed everyone: teachers, classmates, and just random people, sometimes using straight-up obscenities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then my parents busted the whole thing. I went away to a summer camp, and they found my diary with the dirty poems. And that was it, I was shut down. Maybe that\u2019s where it all started… I don\u2019t know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To be honest, I really like the “bottom” of life. Ever since I was a kid, a teenager, as long as I can remember, it always interested me. How it works \u2014 that\u2019s a mystery to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I was thirteen or fourteen, besides profane poetry, I was into rap; I found the rhythm and rhymes interesting, it felt like I was listening to relevant poetry. As a teenager, I wasn’t very social, I sat at home reading books, and some of them really hooked me. Apparently, it all just came together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why dystopias or social dramas? Honestly, the constant talk about “trauma” in literature really annoys me; it\u2019s a psychological newspeak trying to crawl into every crack right now. But if we talk about the choice of themes, I think the reason lies in the provincial Russian town where I spent my childhood and youth. I hung out with “gopniks” (street thugs) and outcasts all the time. Actually, I hung out with different people, but I wasn’t attracted to kids from “decent” families. I had these “gopen” buddies. The guy who taught me how to ride a motorcycle\u2014he actually OD’d on pills and crashed to his death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And another one of my best friends, when I was in third grade… I wrote a story about him. He was kicked out of school, then he did time\u2014I don\u2019t know what for\u2014and he\u2019s no longer alive. Later, when I went to university and moved to Moscow, everyone was more “proper,” but I had seen enough in my childhood, I guess, and that left an imprint on me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve always loved dystopias, but only now am I approaching them seriously in my writing. I have a plan to write a dystopian novel. I feel like I’m already pregnant with a novel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Photo and editing by Alisa Istomina<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Berlin: Escaped or Stuck?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 You\u2019re in Berlin. You write about the rotting 90s and the coming collapse. Are you hiding from the chaos here to analyze it from a distance, or is this your personal “New Land” where you\u2019re trying to build a life, but the past still won\u2019t let go?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 Honestly, I ended up here quite by accident. I didn’t plan on coming specifically here, let alone to Germany. It didn’t attract me at all. Though, when I was twenty, I was heavily influenced by German leftists who came to Russia to volunteer in human rights NGOs. At one point, my best friend was German. I observed Germans closely then, but the desire to move to Germany didn’t appear. My flight here just happened. For obvious reasons, lol. And now I\u2019m trying to squeeze some pleasure, some fun out of it. But I don\u2019t consider myself a sufferer \u2014 it just turned out this way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I was still “on the ground,” in a familiar environment where everyone spoke Russian\u2014I’m talking about Russia\u2014I was really scared to write what I thought. Not just because of the prospect of a criminal case, which was easy to get in Russia in recent years. From age twenty to thirty-two, I lived with the thought that the cops could come at any moment. I\u2019d jump at a knock on the door, especially early in the morning. And parallel to that\u2014a feeling that for everything I wrote, I\u2019d be literally lynched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Basically, I was genuinely afraid to write the way I wanted to. In my twenties, I wanted to write radically. I wanted to tear everyone a new one, to trash them. I truly believe there is a lot of rot and filth around. And all this hell happening now is not accidental. I\u2019ve spent enough time in the activist and liberal circles, I\u2019ve seen enough, I\u2019ve had my fill. And honestly, I think many of these people fully deserve everything that is happening.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And this feeling\u2014living among people who don\u2019t know my language and will never read this, unless in a translation much later\u2014it somehow gives me relief. A certain distance. You ask about the rotting 90s and the future collapse. Yes, it\u2019s actually seen better from Berlin. This distance turned out to be important\u2014I didn’t expect it, but it happened. Because when you\u2019re inside, it feels like you can write right from the moment. But I think an artist needs detachment, a look through a frosted glass at reality. And Berlin gave me that. As for whether I\u2019m hiding from chaos\u2014I don\u2019t know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

***<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The shawarma-man is tired,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Your shift has passed,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You\u2019ve rolled the shawarmas \u2013<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The joy of a greedy mouth,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On a massive poultry farm<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A chicken lived freely<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And likely didn\u2019t know,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What fate awaited her,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That the executioner-laborer<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sharpened a keen blade,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Shawarma-man, our lad,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bought your body whole.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How they laid you out<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the fools to see<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It wasn’t enough they killed you,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They put you in the shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And on Karl-Marx-Strasse<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wingless you lie,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With a greasy, hairy hand,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They carried your life away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On a Sunday, hungover<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The shop is shuttered tight,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Left without food,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With a spinning head<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Searching for nourishment,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am emboldened by you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Half-naked, I acquired you<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a colored paper, crumpled,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pulled from a pocket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You are wrapped in a shroud<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of white pita bread,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With greasy sauce on top<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The soul will erupt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I gnaw at your body<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is foul, oily,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yeah, the food here isn’t great,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Let’s be honest \u2014 it’s crap,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I started to feel lousy<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And quite unwell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An innocent bird’s soul I destroyed<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With a can of soda, I sprinkled her corpse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The shawarma-man cackles,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Staring into his phone,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, what a foul giggle!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the mustache twitches,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the knees tremble<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Of the chicken-killer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not finishing my meal, I run,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rushing toward the U-7.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the train was full of people,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that filthy giggle followed me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

2025, Berlin<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Photo and editing by Alisa Istomina<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Who “spoiled” you?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 Obviously, you have a foundation. Where did you get this intellectual base \u2014 are you a techie, a humanities person, self-taught? And which authors pushed you to write about harsh and unaccepted<\/s> things without looking back at conventions?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 It sounds clich\u00e9, but lately I\u2019ve really been into Limonov. This summer I reread some of his works that I\u2019d missed before. And the old immigrant Limonov \u2014 before the collapse of the Union, before returning to Russia \u2014 that\u2019s true power. He\u2019s a really talented guy. Everyone knows “It’s Me, Eddie,” but he has a bunch of powerful novels that provide a unique perspective on emigration. And in general, he inspired me \u2014 in a good way \u2014 to stop giving a damn about everything. Limonov is something else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s interesting that I can sometimes see with my own eyes who he “stole” from. From C\u00e9line, for example. And C\u00e9line was a revelation for me. I really dig his style \u2014 though I only read it in Russian translation, I don\u2019t know French. Those “C\u00e9linesque” words, phrases, that optic… anarchist-nihilist, I guess. It felt very close to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I liked Jean Genet. True, it’s hard to read him for long, but some things really hit. Also anarcho-nihilism \u2014 my thing. I read various things, actually. For example, Kerouac\u2019s “On the Road.” As a travelogue, it was a great anchor for me when I was writing my last novel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Who else… Who knows, man. I like some magical realism too. Generally, Latin American magical realism \u2014 Cort\u00e1zar, Borges, M\u00e1rquez \u2014 it all resonates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Latin American acquaintances told me \u2014 look, man, we live in total crap. To put it simply. It used to be military dictatorships, now it\u2019s ostensibly democracy, but in reality \u2014 it’s also nonsense. Hellish poverty. Though the countries are beautiful, nature is great, people are cool, but reality is what it is. Even in Argentina, which now has a lot of emigrants from the post-Soviet space, especially Russia \u2014 in Buenos Aires, many are simply starving. They go for violent robberies because they have no choice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And they say: that\u2019s why we turn to magical realism. We imagine a better world, a better reality, because everything around us is structured in such a way that it\u2019s otherwise impossible. And that\u2019s very close to me, actually. Because the provincial Russia I saw was based on the same logic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remember my grandma’s village in the 90s. I saw them plow the garden with a tractor for a bottle. And how everything could be done for a bottle \u2014 it was the best currency. How the road was so shitty that you needed two tractors to pull out one car. Men died from moonshine, everyone was fighting with each other. And this magical realism is a way out of the grayness, the disorder, the ruin. It\u2019s like inventing a better reality for yourself because the one in front of your eyes \u2014 well, it’s like that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Photo and editing by Alisa Istomina<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Where Ideas Come From<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 How does it work for you? Does a plot detail appear first \u2014 like how a bear might maul the hero at the border (a fact) \u2014 or does it all start with a metaphor, an image, an internal flash? What triggers the creative mechanism: cold logic or a psychedelic impulse?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 Sometimes it just happens: an image appears, or even a single word, or a phrase \u2014 and you catch onto it like a spindle. And everything really starts from there. It can be a plot detail or a pure image. I don\u2019t know. Sometimes a word keeps spinning in my head, or I’m walking down the street and something flashes. I used to lose it often, but now I try to write it down when something like that comes. And from that, you start composing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When there is a plot \u2014 that also helps a lot. Though in the end, you almost always deviate from it significantly. \u041d\u043e it’s like a map in your head: it\u2019s there, and it provides support. For example, my last “artifictional” novel \u2014 “Destroy Us” \u2014 was inspired by C\u00e9line\u2019s “Journey to the End of the Night.” Where the hero ends up in Africa: black Africa, no comfort, harsh tropics, pitch-black darkness. That\u2019s where his hero finds himself. And I found that an interesting route. I\u2019m not repeating it, but “Journey to the End of the Night” became a real inspiration for my own journey in the novel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And, to be honest, I think that in writing, everyone steals and peeks from each other \u2014 and that\u2019s normal. In language, in style, in plot. The question is to see enough different things, to gather a lot of stuff \u2014 and then invent something of your own on that soil. That\u2019s the trick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Many things in the stories and novels are my observations from life, which, of course, are cranked up, because life itself isn\u2019t intense enough to build a plot straight from it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Photo and editing by Alisa Istomina<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

The Essence of Dystopia: Collapse and Control<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 When you take on a dystopia, what truly scares you? Total state control or how people voluntarily give up their freedom?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 On one hand, the trend is that the state in many countries decides less and less. In many places, corporations and international entities rule the roost. And the state there is just a screen. But my life experience turned out to be in that part of the world where the state still tries to crawl into every hole. And this is interesting: in Germany, the state is much more all-encompassing. Under the guise of care, it really keeps an eye on you. In Russia, I lived half my life not at my registered address \u2014 and it didn’t bother me at all. But living without registration in Germany suddenly turned out to be a big problem. There you go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

People voluntarily giving up freedom… Man, I don\u2019t know. I really got stuck on this question. What\u2019s scarier \u2014 total state control or voluntary surrender of freedom? Who the hell knows. Voluntary surrender… life is structured now so that you are either inside the system, using services, and they collect tons of info on you. Or you drop out of normal life, which is very hard: not using Google Maps, not using Zoom \u2014 it\u2019s almost impossible now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Overall, the question isn\u2019t simple: people aren\u2019t handed a ballot “for freedom” or “against freedom.” In words, we are all mighty lions, all “for freedom.” I think even the slickest scumbags would say that. But besides freedom, there are tools of mobilization and control. They explain it to you clearly: if you don\u2019t integrate into the system, you\u2019re screwed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Life in Germany is an example: as a foreigner, you have to earn “good migrant” points, social credits \u2014 learn the language, work, don’t sit on benefits indefinitely, live very law-abidingly. Then you get bonuses. The ultimate bonus is the passport. That\u2019s what it all leads to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 One of your novels is built around technology. What is your attitude toward technology? Do you think technology today is no longer a tool of freedom, but almost a ready-made infrastructure for the next dictatorship? Where is that red line that we\u2019ve already crossed?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 The idea of the novel I’m pushing now: the private sphere has completely fallen under control. It suddenly became very visible. A person can be pinched on completely unexpected sides. Those who own Big Data really have huge power: they can try to predict behavior, electoral behavior, anything. And that, of course, is very dangerous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s no secret that technologies help track, and this is especially clear now. Just yesterday in Berlin, they passed a hellish police law that gives cops a million rights to surveil. Including facial recognition technologies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Technology itself is blind. A train moves \u2014 and that\u2019s neither good nor bad. A smartphone exists \u2014 and that\u2019s neither good nor bad. It matters who uses it and why. And in that sense, my conclusion is extremely grim: everything is pretty bad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is Varoufakis, the former finance minister of Greece. He wrote a book about digital feudalism: corporations own everything, they\u2019ve entangled the world, and they take a growing tribute from us. Even if you don’t play their game directly, you still feel it on your skin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For example, Airbnb makes housing more expensive everywhere. You might never use Airbnb, but the rent goes up, and you suffer. Tinder created a strange market for love \u2014 and it affects even those who aren\u2019t on Tinder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the scariest part \u2014 these technologies are in the hands of Trump\u2019s devoted buddies, ultra-right corporate bosses. We are now quite close to what Jack London described in “The Iron Heel”: corporate fascism. It\u2019s unpleasant to realize, but yes, those are the trends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

People are shitting themselves: that there will be no work, everyone will be thrown onto the street. Science fiction writers dreamed that with robots and AI, ordinary people would have free time for art, love, and rest. But today they tell us: you will live under a bridge and eat out of a trash can.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Every turn of technology is simultaneously a chance for liberation and a chance for enslavement. The Internet once seemed like a way to escape TV and state propaganda. But it became a means for even greater control, squeezing out juices, and reducing autonomy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Will we manage to tame the internet? I don\u2019t know. Old states like Russia, Belarus, Germany can still mess with everyone. But a large part of the world lives in countries where the state is nominal, and real power is taken by technological feudals.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And, it seems, we will live in a world that they are rebuilding for themselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 Is dystopia for you a warning or already a description of the inevitable end?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 No, I don\u2019t think there is any end \u2014 that\u2019s even scarier if you think about it. There is constant struggle, constant fuss. But it\u2019s both a warning and a description \u2014 I don\u2019t know, I think we are both at the same time. That is, there is no end, but the description of darkness is necessary. And the warning too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In this regard, literature, I think, is much more interesting than all these social sciences \u2014 political science, sociology, and so on. They have shown their toothlessness. They can\u2019t tell us anything radically new about the world we live in. But literature can \u2014 through imagination, through building onto reality. It can both terrify us and inspire us, and, I don\u2019t know, through some magical realism, switch on our imagination and help us find a way out. And I think there is no “end.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Photo and editing by Alisa Istomina<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Social Drama: Man at the Breaking Point<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 What do you think is the main “social trauma” today? Loss of money? Loss of faith in the state? Or something deeper \u2014 the loss of the ability for normal human relationships?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 I would say\u2014it\u2019s the loss of faith. I think anyone who still believes in the state is, well, probably a total sucker. But generally, a person needs to believe in something\u2014not necessarily in the Lord God, but in some kind of idea. And it\u2019s probably a very interesting moment when a person suddenly loses that faith for some reason. It could be faith in the social system, or something else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In general, I find it very interesting to observe disillusioned liberals or disillusioned fascists who thought they\u2019d build a white paradise for the white race, but something didn’t work out. All of this\u2014long story short\u2014is an interesting moment: a person believed and believed, walked and walked, and then suddenly, so to speak, they crapped themselves. And they\u2019re standing there, looking around: how do I even live now? That, I think, is curious. And they’re like: what do I do now? Just live like a normal person? That\u2019s also a bit of a joke. So, what\u2019s there to do, then?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yeah, I think everything else is just a derivative: the loss of money… Although no, actually\u2014it\u2019s all about the loss of money. All of this is generally about money. But perhaps other writers will write about that important story better than I can.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 Your stories are full of violence and cynicism. Why, in your view, does a person at a social breaking point lose their humanity so quickly and turn into a surviving animal?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 I don\u2019t know, actually. I\u2019m not even sure that\u2019s the message I want to convey\u2014that a person loses their humanity that quickly. Another thing is that I\u2019m interested: I don\u2019t think it always happens rapidly; it\u2019s different for everyone. But I\u2019m curious about when a person\u2019s glossy layer\u2014which, I feel, tries to plaster over their beastly nature\u2014gets stripped away. And when that plaster falls off and we see the gut\u2014that, of course, is interesting. Though, again, that\u2019s all just our imagination.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And to some extent, we are all surviving animals. We all want to eat, to copulate, to stay warm, to get our hands on something. It\u2019s just that sometimes we hide behind some “high-minded matters” for the sake of all that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 Do you believe that fatalism is an honest way to describe modern life? Or do your dramas still leave a minimal chance for the hero to find salvation or, at least, dignity?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 Yeah, look, I just like it… Fatalism is a convenient way to describe life. Fundamentally, I don\u2019t know how honest it is, but it can be effective. And there\u2019s something attractive about it. You can imagine there\u2019s a fate a person tries to escape from, but it catches up to them anyway. That\u2019s pretty cool to describe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As for a chance at salvation, yeah, I think there is one\u2014as long as the bear didn\u2019t eat you. Salvation or dignity\u2014that\u2019s also a good fork in the road: you can, after all, die beautifully. With music! I just like describing the abyss. I think we are all currently either standing on the edge of the abyss or actively rolling into it. And the sooner we realize this, the easier it will be for us to orient ourselves and actually do something, instead of just moaning on social media.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What pisses me off about current life is that people stubbornly pretend like everything is fine. But actually, guys, nothing is fine\u2014we\u2019re all screwed. And I think literature can, like, explain that to us clearly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

***<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At Bellevue station<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m puking without cessation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Beautiful views \u2013<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Four cakes!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One framed the ticket machine,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two settled more vilely<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the drink vending points,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The fourth lies modestly under the bench<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Freshest ones!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Red ones, with tomato paste<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mother Nature from my vent<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gave birth generously,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dressing them up with stomach juice,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Vile grass!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Knocked me off my feet, a knockout!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An evening of solidarity with Russian dissidents,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cut short prematurely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It robbed me!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Get lost! S-Bahn, rare squinting passengers,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ordnungsamt, Sicherheitsdienst,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They\u2019ll pinch you yet,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dogs,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pat the pocket,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Seems like nothing’s lost,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Get the hell out!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Every station<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Is taken heroically,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Don\u2019t fall asleep, don\u2019t let the nose dip,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Don\u2019t fall onto the neighbor,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Don\u2019t end up in Grunewald, in Potsdam,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Here it is \u2013 Charlottenstan<\/p>\n\n\n\n

waiting for the night\u2019s lodging,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pissed-on station bushes, bare,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In places, someone even left a load,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charlottenstan, Charlottenstan!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Berlin is your charlatan-city,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Deception-city!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It promised us love, careers,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, you get the shaft!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Herr Treptow, let\u2019s go,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Here is your appointment for sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Night, Wilmersdorfer Strasse is pitch black,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Empty as a whistle,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Life itself caught a cold,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They traded-bought-drunk-ate-smoked it all away,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Life is bad! As always \u2013 they whined,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And now no one and nothing,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Only gopnik-teenagers calling out: \u201cbruder! bruder!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bruder! Eat a dish of shit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

2025, Berlin<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a>
Photo and editing by Alisa Istomina<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Who the hell are you, anyway?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 And the end. You have one sentence to sell<\/s> yourself to the reader. Who do you consider yourself to be? Who are you?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 I remember Detsl had this line in the song \u201cWho are you?\u201d: \u201cWhat have you done for hip-hop in your years?\u201d\u2026 Man, to be honest, I don\u2019t know. I only recently rediscovered myself as, like, a poet\u2014rediscovered, if you count the fact that as a teenager I also wrote profane little poems. I\u2019m bored, really; there\u2019s nothing to read, no one writes anything meaningful about our generation, about the 90s, about the provinces, about people who got obsessed with activism and then were forced to skip the country and start a new life here in “Europka”\u2014no one writes anything honest or powerful about that, so I have to\u2014I\u2019m trying. Literature is hard labor, actually, but what else is there to do\u2014one has to live for some reason.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Ivan Treptow worked in liberal NGOs in Russia for a long time, but life, as he says, threw him out of this “golden cage.” Grants and “perks” were replaced by unemployment benefits in Berlin. However, along with this came the time to pursue dreams and goals Ivan had set since childhood \u2014 to write and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":3765,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[17],"class_list":["post-3764","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-emigration","tag-mastactva-jemigracyi"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3764","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3764"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3764\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3773,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3764\/revisions\/3773"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3765"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3764"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3764"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nottoday.media\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3764"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}