I have to admit that while writing these poems they seemed random and incomplete, almost meaningless. They were like tiny pieces of a broken mirror randomly scattered across the floor. They were ever so small but their images got under my skin and stuck with me like slivers. They appeared chaotic and out of place until I remembered that they were once part of a greater whole, a unity. And even though they seemed completely haphazard, they reflected brightly in my imagination. Given enough pieces you may interpolate an eternal unity. Depression begins when we lose our sense of unity and see...

Spies are made not born. Katerina Michailovna Obrazova was member of what passed post WW2 as an upper middle class family in St. Petersburg Russia. Her mother died from negligent medical care. Her father was a prominent mathematician who worked on Soviet, later Russian missiles. Her maternal grandmother was a decorated sniper with kills during the Battles of Stalingrad and Leningrad. Katya graduated from St. Petersburg University first in her computer class and gained a leadership job in the civil service. Shortly she upped stakes and for reasons unknown, even to herself, joined the Russian...