Either drunk or semi-ill overgrown son dully torments his mother and himself. They are an inseparable pair – the man is always with his mother, still snatches her skirt not being able to get back on his feet. He cries, calls, and rends one’s heart. It seems he has been cast off, but it’s out of the question, it seems he needs something, but he doesn’t, it seems something hurts him, but nothing does, it seems a danger approaches from the outside, but there is no danger. Pain, danger, fear, loneliness are all inside, everything is groundless, aimless, and it comes from tearfulness, swaddleness and nonage. «Mom, leave me alone, set me free, turn me out to hell, the hell with you, mom! », – rushes like waves of red, waves of blood, not allowing to see anything around oneself.

Ivan Chechot