I do not have bad memories of the first days at school, it was quite nice, intimidating at times, and even frightening, but these emotions were balanced by the sheer number of impressions as well as surprising and absorbing events. I also quickly discovered a good hiding place to hide from any excess. It was outside the school – I agreed it with myself that it was very far outside the school. Off the planet. To reach it, one had to stop at an out-of-the-way place and press one’s hands against closed eyes, preferably the lower parts of the palms; quite firmly, while remaining in control over the strength of the pressure. After pressing on the eyes for a while, colours would appear in front of the eyes, slowly forming a kind of tunnel, through which one rushed faster and faster towards the next colours emerging from afar, until everything was flooded with intense and painfully blinding gold. It was impossible to stay too long in this golden space, the pain was too intense, but whenever I returned to school, I had the pleasant sensation of being privy to something beyond mere ordinary, what did not require treat the here and now too seriously.

Radek’s texts (the libretto, the source novel as well as the earlier ones I look at) send me into surprising territories. Not new, actually. I have already visited many of them; it seems to me that I simply forgot some, and some I didn’t even know I had already visited. A tour that is quite disturbing at times, causing vertigo. But I don't look back now. I’m falling, but it’s a relative fall, along the (recently mentioned) circular track in the face of some centre that curves and distorts that track. I’ll be back right there, where I’ve already been, but still after some time (ΔT) that is, hence somewhere else.

Meanwhile, the bull also returns. It is panting and bows its head.

I’m breaking through to some other side. Actually, I have already made it through, only the conditions I find here are a bit daunting. It swings, rumbles and dazzles. One would like to return to, say, a safer bay. But there’s nothing there any more, a waste of time. Not this time.

The choice of Leśmian’s poems: Śmiercie [Deaths], Goryl [Gorilla], Dookoła klombu [Around the Flower Bed], Gad [Reptile], Niewidzialni [The Invisible], Namowa [Persuasion], Ludzie [People].

(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)