One word.

Dear O,

it never ceases to amaze me how little you actually understand about the situation you have found yourself in. You do not see the causes, you do not understand the consequences; you are fighting fiercely for a cause that is wrong in spite of all appearances. Against your cause even, if one were to believe that it is not self-destruction you are after, but a way home, like everyone else. I would gladly hug your forced adversary (I used to be such an involuntary adversary myself) for her tact, forbearance and wisdom, which you so sorely lack, but she needs my hugs no more than she needs your grumbling. She is also smarter than me.

I wish you, as I always do, to everyone: to have the deepest of doubts.

Read Myśliwski a bit more carefully.

Sincerely, A.

Sometimes death gives colour to everyday experience; by showing up for a moment – it highlights the opposite by contrast and leaves an enthusiasm for not dying behind. But it also sometimes casts a shadow, discolours the world and makes everything vibrate. Sometimes the gates open and nothing emerges from behind them, nothing at all. A deafening non-sound pours out. Horror.

Kóba wanders, goes round in circles, stops, then turns back. The long road twists and turns like a snake; seemingly deceiving, but it is inevitably leading to its destination.

Leśmian – I’m gathering my strength before tackling the last song – Niewidzialni [The Invisible].

A trip to the seaside. Fryderyk award for Syrena [The Siren] It's very nice, thank you.

One word about Dorota Kozińska: woe.

(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)