Without compunction, I resolve simply to deliver myself into the hands of RAPM, to work solely under their control and according to their instructions (if they accept this, of course). There is no other way out, and alone I won't be able to reform myself, but one needs to live, and above all, I place little trust in Leningrad Conservatoire.

What would be the point in writing any more? Everything has been poisoned. We can put a brave face on it if we like, but RAPM is right. They are right because they did what had to be done. They are taking flak for writing poor music, for self-promotion, for ignorance, etc. etc. But all these shots miss the target. They miss, because all mistakes are forgiven those who have travelled in the right direction. And they succeeded in taking the right direction at the right time. […]