Ascent.

I didn’t dream it, but I suddenly vividly imagined the plane, and I was flying it higher and higher. The trajectory of the flight was steep, I ascended quickly, seeing familiar images from the visual culture of the post-industrial age: the horizon curving ever more, the shapes blurring on the ground, the darkening sky and the upper limit of the atmosphere becoming increasingly visible. Finally, I felt weightless. The pleasant sensation immediately gave way to the terrifying impression of irreversible loss of contact with solid ground. The aircraft was not properly equipped so that I could go back. The propeller, or jet engine, or whatever it was (same thing, actually) no longer had anything to sweep up and accelerate. I floated inertly, the definitions of up and down lost their meanings, I was free – and dead.


Meanwhile, a trip in yet another direction: to Lublin. For a long time I had a completely false idea about this city. Actually, just no idea. Now, having just returned from Poznań, and perhaps also after a year of almost not moving from my place, with heightened senses, I have the impression that these two places are like a mirror image of each other. Not the opposites of each other, but rather, as different, non-obvious analogies of themselves. For example, both are similarly surprisingly large and expressive in different colours; if Poznań has something of the West in it, Lublin has something of the East. People look and move minimally different, and the way they speak differs quite significantly.


I met some of my family this week, the Rzeszów-section. Whenever I see them, my cousins, their parents and their children, I am always moved and I feel a kind of longing - a strange one at that, because one does not feel it when one is away, but when one returns, after a break, then it suddenly appears. Seeing them gives me the impression that I am not where I should be, but that the version of me who should be somewhere else is actually no longer here either.


Alojs is still in the trenches. He is stuck in the mud. He can still move, but he is sinking deeper and deeper. My work has slowed down a little, I don’t know where the next phrases will lead; the turns surprise me. For long whiles I can’t recognise their meaning, but ultimately, they always come together. I am moving in a direction that I can sense quite clearly. While adding new sounds, at times I don’t feel it, but as soon as I turn my eyes away, I begin to. Fifteenth minute.


(transl.: Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)