A Letter From The Yellow House by Elena Shvarts

This letter was found in the papers of the ex-director of the vegetable store, and then the watchman at the Kunstkamera, who killed himself while trying to pull out his right eye, because he found it absolutely useless.
 To Peter the Great, Monocrat of All Rus.
Peter Alekseevich!  Only you could evaluate my projects, the fruits of sudden insights.  Only you, who hated the inane and untidy land.  The fields must obey order, and the ears of corn should stand like soldiers in a parade, and uniforms of gold are given to them by Nature, which from time to time happens to be reasonable.  But stone is the only really disciplined substance on earth.  Your city is its glorification, but it is unique and lonely.  Why didn't you multiplied it?  If the Neva granite would be broken into small grains and thrown into the ground, many of them would grow, and there could be many Peterburgs on Earth as an edification to the chaos.  I comprehended a lot in the darkness of my cell, but this is what I put as the basis of everything:
       OBJECTS, WHILST BEING ENLARGED, NECESSARILY CHANGE THEIR MEANING.
So, if you grow a cat the size of at least a two-story house, the eyes of the animal will become equivalent to large windows, and in the darkness they will naturally glow with a greenish light.  If you bring this exaggerated cat to the seashore and put it on a chain, then it can serve as a wonderful lighthouse.  This will be a great energy saving.
The second object, which, being enlarged, can bring great benefits, is an ordinary kitchen pan.  It would be reliable and redoubtable prison - criminals would be lowered into it on special ropes.   It is not necessary to take them out for walks, since the lid of the pan would only be closed at night, but during the day air would penetrate to the criminals.  Escape would be something incredible, and the height of the walls, as well as the glitter of the terrible metal, would inspire criminals, even the strong ones, to repent through horror.
And yesterday I dreamed huge catfish, that walked on its tail from the Caspian Sea northwardly and opened its mouth, but I could not get any possible benefit from this catfish.  So I cried for a long time, and then laughed until my laughter became separated from me and jumped like a frog in front of me, jumping up on the table and croaking.  There was a pink catfish, and the Ural mountains reached its fins, but it was useless, definitely useless.
I also have a secret report about what I saw when I entered the Kunstkamera the other day: the head of the widow of Mons, jumping out of the vat, called the visitors and told them state secrets, which I don’t know exactly, and when I approached - it grinned and exclamated 'go away, you snitch'.
I have another project about wearing hair on my head.  Why not shave it off completely?  And the head would be sowed with useful seeds, because since the hair grows on, then wheat also can.  This would be both useful and wonderful.  At first, in order to accustom public opinion to this innovation, it would be necessary to forcefully sow wheat or oats only on sluggards.  Thus, even that they do not work, they will add some profit.
And from a catfish, it's possible to make a moneybox, if you embalm it and put it in the city, and lean a ladder to it, everyone would rise to view the vistas and, while leaving, will throw a penny into the mouth - the money would go to the treasury for the benefit of the state.
Tirelessly, tirelessly my mind peers into the unknown.  It irritates me by similarity to an ink stain.  I cleared this swamp like Vasilievsky Island.  Please, order to release me from the dungeon in which I am enviously imprisoned, and I will reveal many great projects and inventions to you.

1966

transl. by Ed. Labintzeff

In Russian 'the yellow house' means 'the mad house'; 'asylum.'