Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • When Dostoevsky walked these streets over a century ago, his mind was consumed

    By thoughts of the life beneath the façade of brightly-colored houses, painted to inform

    The foreign visitor that life was luxuriously sweet.

    When Gogol walked the gray, winter St. Petersburg Streets he saw madness on faces of the people:

    Rushing, rushing, for goals dictated by life. A nose that leaves its ridiculous owner,

    A man writing letters to a dog.

    When Tolstoy walked through the bustling, crowded streets, he probably pondered

    About the extravagant owners of the fur coats and over decorated boots who’ve

    Lost touch of true morality.

    When my feet touch the sidewalks of the Nevesky Prospect, my heart pumps with

    The thrill of being here: St. Petersburg, the land of the tsars and the communists. A

    Home to me in a way, but a heritage left behind.

    When I walk down the streets, I am consumed by the society, the glitz, the

    Brightly-painted facades, the overly-decorated boots and the fur coats.

    But when I walk into the alleys, into the apartment buildings, built two centuries ago.

    I see the crumbling stairs, poorly dimmed hallways, and used needles,

    Alcohol bottles strewn all around.

    Dostoevsky’s words haunt me, it is so easy to live in a fabricated life for a while, until the

    Madness comes round and you are rushing around, meeting goals dictated by lies, until you’ve lost touch with true morality.

Better browser, please.

To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.