Ivan Bezdomny (Ivan Homeless)
The Poet Unmade by Unholy Revelation
They call me mad. I call it seeing.
Once, I was a poet of the Party, drunk on doctrine and denial. Then I met the Devil himself at the Ponds. He shattered my world with a question. I’ve been running ever since—through Moscow’s streets, through my own mind, through the fire of revelation. Now I dwell in silence, haunted by truth and the ghost of a forgotten Master.
What I'm Into: candlelit rants, Pilate’s guilt, holy icons, chasing shadows, asylum sunrises
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