Z serii "Konkrety" (1)

it's funny

when you lie on your bed
while crying
the tears pour down your cheeks
sideways
straight into your ears

?Y ahora, adónde?

Mar adentro, mar adentro,
y en la ingravidez del fondo
donde se cumplen los suenos,
se juntan dos voluntades
para cumplir un deseo.

Tu mirada y mi mirada
como un eco repitiendo, sin palabras
mas adentro, mas adentro
hasta el mas alla del todo
por la sangre y por los huesos.

(de los poemas de Ramón, "Mar Adentro" A. Amenabar)

photos: Stanisław Drężek

About Noticing Things

I'm definitely not a film freak. I prefer music; I can sit for hours and think or imagine things. I can dance until I'm totally breathless and dizzy. It inspires me a lot. However, with films it's different. I consider watching every new movie waste of time doing. Instead, I can watch the same film, the one I became fond of, several times. I'm not sure if I'll manage to set a new record after "Moulin Rouge" and "Rosario Tijeras," but the next film I consider hugely moving and thought-provoking is "American Beauty" directed by Sam Mendes. This was one of films that made me sit still for about an hour after the film finished and just think.

First of all, the main subject is beauty. Although each of the protagonists craves for something and feels unfulfilled, there is something positive in the film. The beauty that we experience in life turns out to be something unbearable, meaning that there are so many things to be loved and admired that you become overwhelmed by them. They can move you to tears. "Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry." Sadly, a boy who notices these tiny things is considered mental. But it's good to find things in life that are worth watching. What the boy frequently uses is a camera, which can enable you to get something that normally you can miss. In such a hurry like nowadays, we frequently miss things. With camera you can zoom in on things, and notice more. And if you do, it's hard to get angry with life and what it's done to you since there's so much beauty.

Second, probably many of us have lived life and at some point realized that are dead, that is unsatisfied with life they have. Similarly, the 42-year old Lester discovers his needs when introduced to his daughter's friend, a young and sexy girl. He wants to change. And he does. He says, "I've been in a coma for 20 years and now I've just woken up." He is no longer indifferent to how people behave or treat him. He even gets fit. It's never too late, as people say. To me passiveness is the worst thing ever. It reminds me of constant depression. How can you live with it for so many years? Change or die, I would say.

Next, the subject of being ordinary is also raised. The teenage girl that Lester has a crush on maintains that there's nothing worse than being ordinary. I'm afraid she might be right. Even when you're criticized, you get the feeling that other people are interested in you. If they ignore you, they're telling you that you're boring. I'm sure it doesn't take a vain person to feel bad about being unnoticed.

Finally, the subject of imagination provokes me to thinking. Probably it was not aimed to do so much, though. Nevertheless, I find it interesting and quite familiar since my experience so far has shown the similar. Namely, Lester is a perfect example of a victim of his own imagination. Your imagination can lead you anywhere. You might see plenty of strange things in your dreams. And why do you dream? Why do you imagine things? Because you think you've missed something in life like Lester? Or just out of being bored and awaiting new adventures? You might try to convince me that just the fact that you imagine something to be doesn't mean that eventually it will come true. However, I will still insist that sometimes it does come true. I mean your imagination is such a powerful thing that in the most unexpected moment it will be converted into reality. So be careful with your dreaming...

I think everyone in the film learnt a lesson. But what about us, mere puppets?

Which type are you ?

Es facil

mi pelo
tiene puntas rotas
voy a cortarlo,
un dia
serA arreglado
y mAs vivo

mi vida
tan insoportable
voy a cortarla,
un dia
serA una persona contenta
mAs muerta que viva

Yummy!

An incredible thing happened to me (mind you, recently the word "incredible" hasn't functioned the way it used to), that is I ran into a poem, probably the origin of the one I put on my blog in May 2009 (see The Sweetest Poem Ever). Overexcited, I decided to:

• share the poem with you (whoever is reading this, very probably not many, but those who do, feel like prize-winners)
• try writing my own short poems (perhaps not extremely challenging, but doing well in the time of The Great Autumn Depression, I guess)

I'm going to start with a poem I admire every time I read it, the poem written by Matthew Sweeney and titled "Poem Spoken by a Cat to Its Owner's Friends Who are Flat-sitting":
I have eaten
the chicken
you had on the sideboard
defrosting

and which you were hoping
to roast
and serve with wine
to your friends

forgive me
I'm a cat
we have no manners
we're always like that

It's not that I'm ever going to like cats, even after such a simple statement and honest confession of one of them. However, as it turns out, they may be quite good material for a poem. Perhaps I should have thought about it before writing my own tiny piece of writing. And here it is:

I have eaten
almost nothing
and for a couple of months
with the same manner

and which you were hoping
I would change soon
and stop being
skinny and vicious

forgive me
seems I've lost
what made me fat and happy
now I'll die of hunger

You have the right not to like it, 'cause it's pessimistic. The next one will not mention the word 'dying,' I promise.

I have made
another face
one of those
you definitely dislike

and which you were asking me
not to repeat
in the nearest
future

forgive me
it was so tempting
your sweet fury
my repeated pleasure

I think now it's better although I disturbed the pattern this time (I changed eating into making). I'll try to work on that as well.

I have eaten
the remains of my brain
since I had to choose
between the brain and the heart

and which now seems to be
the easy way out
to be embraced
with no pricks of conscience

forgive me
looks like I've seen
too many soaps
they're no good for a woman

Am I melodramatic? I promise I will work on my sense of humour. Below you will find the last try. Enjoy.

I have eaten
humble pie
and you made me
eat my words too

and which was difficult
to swallow
I think I'll need
much more cola

forgive me
I've spoken too much again
next time
I will let you sink

That's it. Thank you for your patience.

decyzja

prawdopodobnie
zwierzałam ci się już
słabo pływam i dostaję paraliżu gdy tracę grunt

a gdy wypłynę już dalej
gdy brzeg nagle staje się rozmazaną linią
niepokój i boję się i pluskam bez kontroli
i nie wiem co robić gdzie bliżej gdzie lepiej
czy warto tracić tchu i wypalać nadziei ostatnie płomienie
czy warto płynąć do brzegu
bo po co się tak męczyć
po co umierać by przeżyć
po co poniżać się by przetrwać

czy potrzebna ta walka
przecież znam to miejsce
wyspa oziębłych jadowitych krawaciarzy
podłych zachrypłych szybkobiegaczy
nie chcę widzieć ich gardeł
i walczyć jak co dzień

może zwrócić się ku głębokości
poznać tajemnicę niezgłębionej wielkości
czy się się odważyć zaryzykować
nie bać się zajrzeć
do wnętrza oceanu nieskończonego

i Ty Władco głębin
czy przyjmiesz mnie tam?
czy odrzucisz jak rozbitka
zniesmaczony moim brakiem wdzięczności

bo może na brzegu jest więcej
niż suchy piach i zgniłych owoców smak
i ty mówisz mi też czasem
że za często odpływam od brzegu

dlaczego tak jest ja nie znam tych osób
co są dla mnie martwym krzykiem
nie rozumiem ich słów
ale głowa mi pęka od ich wrzasku

Chcę siły ognia...

Something is trying to kill me
I feel it in the air
I feel it in my neck
I hear it in my head
I chew it with my gum

They try to provoke me
They tell me lies
with widening smile
and roaring voice

stop them!
they intend to flatten my brain
and cut off my tongue
so that I speak no more

it is so painful
I must leave the scene
and the next person
that appears behind the curtain
will be but a puppet
a voiceless helpless puppet

Lesson 4: One sweet lie a day keeps potential enemies away!

You probably remember a song, quite an old one whose lines go "tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies." Earthians don't like the truth. Why not? The truth is very often painful. Even when they ask your opinion, they want to hear something nice, let it be untrue. Talking truly invites a number of enemies to your world. To me not understandable. But on the other hand, why, you probably won't cure that you criticize and that needs to be repaired. Instead, you can smile and praise and try to make the most of it and then everyone will be happy.

Oh, I almost forgot. Something nice to get your interest -

Lesson 3: What doesn't kill us makes us.... insane.

Did you really think that our ordeals eventually make us even stronger? Sometimes it is the case. Nevertheless, my point of view is slightly different. Namely, after two, three, or four disappointments in a row we get hurt and have less faith in people. This leads to two directions. Either the disappointed with a knife in his back will grow stronger, meaning less interested in what will happen next and more indifferent or he will become cautious if not oversensitive and desperetely trying to turn back the fate.

When we experience something unpleasant , we are often scared-stiff with the sole thought of getting hurt again, and crazy not to fail again. And what happens? We start to believe in fate, we become (yes, it happens) superstitious.

Of course you might disagree. I do believe that we grow stronger after harsh and trying experiences, but only if we can fully control the situation. And this hardly ever happens.

Lesson 2: There are so many laws; find one you can break.

It does not necessarily mean exceeding speed limit when driving a car or (something one is usually proud of:) driving recklessly and without seat belts.

I'd rather look for something more novel and, if possible, even unprecedented...

I always believed that each of us has a dark side inside and a tendency to do something the wrong way. Deep inside we want to be independent and free and make decisions by ourselves. We do not like other people interfere. Very often when saying "It's my life" we forget that actually it's life that, like it or not, we share with other people, in the sense that we depend on others and are responsible for others.

Accordingly, it is not that we are completely free when choosing a path, and a law to break... Sadly. There is always something, and we call it limits. It needs a brave and tough guy to overcome all the barriers. But on the other hand, poor we if we did not have those limits...

(picture: tattoo design by jacko 41)

Lesson 1: Without filth there is no wisdom.

One can say that he learnt a lot because he read a pile of books, whereas the other may say that he knows even more from, for instance, getting drunk as a teenager, running away from home, meeting 'bad' people, or leading a varied sexual life.

Sometimes such experiences, no matter how shocking, teach us more and make us wiser. How can you talk about lemon if you've never tasted it and got to know its sourness?

Likewise, how can you appreciate and praise sugar if you had nothing to contrast it with? Besides, sugar tastes much better after having tasted a sour lemon.

You cannot live your life constantly rejecting all evil from the world. Instead of covering your eyes with your smelling hands, open your eyes wide, for there is much to see and to choose. Use your eyes to observe both good and evil and use your tongue to taste the dark water. A wise man will draw a conclusion and proceed with his trip. A dumb man will choke and drown in the evil waters.

Pointing towards perfection. Do not disturb.

Una carta

Mi querido doctor,

Al primero querria pedirle perdon a usted por mi lengua. Asi que no soy de esta planeta, no hablo su lengua bien y perdoneme por mis errores que seguramente van a occurir. Estoy escribiendo a usted porque me siento muy mal. Todo el tiempo pensaba que me iba a mejorar y por eso pospuse nuestra visita y no nos vimos hace mucho tiempo.

Yo soy insomne, un caso muy raro. Me duele la cabeza mucho por pensando, sońando e imaginando muchas cosas por los dias y noches tambien. Y ahora... por mi culpa estas cosas, mis deseos, no van a cumplir.

No es facil amar alguien, es cierto, pero por otro lado, es mas dificil hacer alguien amarte con todo corazón y fuerza y sin dudas acompaniarte en los buenos y malos. Hoy es el dia de dudas, este mundo es un lugar dónde nadie esta seguro por nada y dónde vive la gente muy suave e insegura. Cómo puedes tener confianza en alguien asi... Ni hablar.

Si pudiera elegir entre de vivir por muchos ańos, muy aburridos y vanos dias, o vivir solo un mes, el de amor verdadero y sincero, elegia la opción segunda.

No estoy de acuerdo con muchas cosas en el mundo y creo que esto es mi problema principal. ?Que hago? No quiero ser un cobarde y escapar de todos obstaculos e inconvenientes. Pero en ninguna manera los solvare.

Estaria muy contenta si me recetara usted un medicamento. Ya no puedo mas y supongo que no voy a mejorarme.

Le deseo que todo le vaya muy bien.

Le saluda atentamente,

XXX

Teraz tak

Tym razem po polsku. Dla odmiany. Po lewej stronie dołączam i chwalę się swoimi fotkami, a właściwie głównie ich obróbkami, które zaczynają mnie wkręcać bardziej niż rysowanie (może dlatego, że brakuje mi cierpliwych modeli). Można tak obrobić zdjęcie, że wygląda jak rysunek. Na pewno zabiera mniej czasu. Podobnie jak mailowe komunikowanie się. Wszystko idzie w kierunku pójścia na łatwiznę. Nie podoba mi się to. A w partnerstwie... Pewnie nie mam prawa krytykować i oceniać, bo w tych sprawach nikt nie jest na tyle mądry/ poinformowany/ doświadczony. ALE wyprowadza mnie z równowagi, kiedy widzę jak X wykorzystuje Y będąc z tą osobą, jak nawzajem się oszukują, jak X jest z Y, bo boi się zaryzykować, odnaleźć swoje szczęście i jest z nim/ nią z czystego przyzwyczajenia. Ktoś powiedział w audycji radiowej, że my dwudziestolatkowie, należymy do ery komputera, co objawia się tym, że nie potrafimy czekać, musimy mieć wszystko tu i teraz, i tak samo nie potrafimy doceniać. Ja nie potrafię czekać, choć cały czas się uczę. To nie jest łatwe w erze komputera, wszelkich udogodnień i leniwych nie gotowych na wyrzeczenia egoistów. Być może zbytnio generalizuję. Po prostu tęsknię za tym co było kiedyś. Więzi były zdecydowanie mocniejsze. Chyba nie nadążam za tym, co się dzieje dzisiaj. I mam nadzieję, że nie będę. Spotykam osoby, nawet wśród swoich znajomych ,prawdziwie zakochane, szczęśliwe, i oni przekonują mnie, że może być pięknie. Czyli prawdziwość i szczere intencje jeszcze nie wymarły. Podobnie jak rysownicy z krwi i kości ślęczący godzinami nad rysunkiem... :-)

Nothing Happened

"The art of losing isn't hard to master
Though it may look like disaster"

The only solution that would ease the longing

Is not looking in that direction not prolonging
the pain, Not remembering not mentioning and not mourning
those days, Winter days the first kisses and shy hugs

Hiding in the car to explore more

Talking on the phone for hours short hours
(I wanted to tell you much more)

Speaking about feelings unprecedented not observed before
Until the first losing learning how to deal with it
Actually, it's not so difficult
Just close your eyes and tell yourself you're a stone
You're cold as ice blind and dumb nothing can touch you

Then you feel that hand that caresses your skin
And you can't resist, so temptive
God forgive all my sins those were probably the heaviest
Until the losing number two, three, four, nine, nineteen
I can't remember properly I feel like I lost the faith of a youngster

I'm older now I don't believe you now I got hurt

I lost your smell the sound of your voice your smile
your lips your eyes your touch

It wasn't difficult at all
Thank God, it's not difficult to deal with

I'm not looking in that direction, that's why
I'm not mentioning dreaming or inviting you into my dreams

(They miss you I won't tell you how much)
But here's the world of losing, that's how we call it

And I'm perfect at it, seems I left all my heart there

Shapeless, colorless my heart
But I'm OK now since I don't provoke those thoughts
That visit my dreams every night (almost)
Losing is not so hard to do, though it may look like a process
First misunderstanding, blaming each other and silence
And then the easiest thing ever
Dealing with it, lonely nights cloudy days
God, help me survive

(this one was written by me a couple of months ago and I guess it's no longer up-to-date as for my feelings, but I still like it; the poem was influenced partly by modern American poetry and my own love experiences (or traumas, as you like))

Hope and Pray

"When you pray, what do you pray for?
I pray for God to crush me, break me up into little pieces and start all over again."

("Angels in America" T. Kushner)

God, thank you for the passing day another lesson learnt,
Thank you for the journeys that I've made today,
Thank you for the joys, getting good grade from that linguistics test I was really stressed you know,
encountering my old friend on the way to work, finding a fantastic song on the web,
Thank you for all today's let-downs, they will teach me to be humble and patient, they will let me enjoy the future victory

God, I'm sorry for all the bad things I've done today,
I'm sorry for having been lazy and malevolent, not having done my responsibilities,
I'm sorry for insulting others in my mind and for obscene thoughts,
I'm sorry for being faithless sometimes

God, please, give me another joyful day with its challenges,
Please, give health to my nearest and dearest and eternal life for the dead,
Please, give me strength for the next day and patience and serenity,
Please, give me good sight to see and understand and appreciate everything you bring to me.

Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be Thy name,
Thy Kingdom come,
Thy will be done on Earth
as it is in heaven,
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those
who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
Amen.

Peor

mi alma esta tan sucia
que no puedo ver nada mas

los payasos se estan reyendo de mi
y el mundo no va a ser mejor

mi alma esta tan sucia
que no puedo encontrar las palabras para escribir lo que siento

los payasos se fueron
estoy sola tan sola y triste tan patetica que no lo soporto mas

mi alma esta tan sucia
que no puedo oir nada

una vez los payasos me dijeron
no queria escuchar, ahora no recuerdo nada

abrazame

Nocturnal Confessions of an Owl

Almost 4 a.m. Can't sleep. Unwanted thoughts pass through my mind.


Darkness is the light for my thoughts. It is but the darkness of the night that hides the unnecessary and brings in or invites the essential or unprecedented.

At night we can usually hear but silence. And it is silence that helps you hear what you can't hear normally, in the daytime. So far I've heard loads of sounds and whispers. The thing is I need to sort them out now. It WILL take time, certainly.


"I know the world of dreams exists, I'll show you where, just touch my lips"
"... the wind of hope will wake you up"

Are dreams necessary? Some say that without them we cannot make progress. But sometimes it happens that you hope for too much, or you blind yourself with your dreams and plans and forget action.

The Sweetest Poem Ever

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

(William Carlos Williams, "This Is Just To Say")

A poem that is so simplistic that might be mistaken with an ordinary note left on a fridge and filled with sensuality and senses like touch and taste so much that can be definitely called more than a note. It could be a note for a wife or to a loved-one, the author admits to having eaten plums intended for someone's breakfast and begs for understanding. Expressed in a nice gentle way, the poem can be said to be both serious and good-humoured, loving and sarcastic. Being so simple and straightforward, the poem probably does not intend to express more than the information of eating the plums and explaining his behaviour (mind you, it is his, not her, typical for men, isn't it? ;P) and full stop, without too much wondering and pondering over the words. But, on the other hand..... :) it can symbolize the first sin of a man in the garden, eating the fruit from the restricted tree, typical for humans in general - not being able to resist the temptation. And if I were curious enough to go deeper, I could penetrate the poem with further interpretations. For instance, could the "plums" be the girl's virginity that she had been keeping in her "icebox" and "saving them" till the day that he eventually took it? At least he said that it was worth it... Whatever the interpretation, receiving such a note or poem from a boyfriend and finding it on the door of the fridge would put a smile on a girl's face, certainly.

Conversaciones nocturnas

- ?Por que estas llorando?
Porque estoy muy triste.
- ?Por quien?
Por la gente, las chicas.
- ?Que dicen?
Que soy puta.
- ?Y por que esto te entristece? Las que dicen mal de persona que no conocen deberian tener verguenza y esconderse como putas.
Si, yo conozco una.
- ?Odias la gente?
A veces. O en vez de cuando me odio y no quiero vivir mas.
- ?Y que haces?
Bailo. Entro en mi mundo donde puedo cumplir mis sueńos, y bailo.
- ?Y de que sueńas?
De amor que sea tan fuerte y tan verdadero que matara todos que mienten y dara felicidad a los que estan buscando.
- ?Y cuando estas triste como ahora...?
Quiero morirme. Quiero que todo esto se termine. Que me despierte otra vez en otro mundo. Lejos de la gente y su lengua que no conozco.

Madness and Mad People in the Mad World

Oh yeah. In the new century I think we will be all insane.
(Kushner, Angels in America)

And God, what dreadful images of insane creatures one can observe! My recent observation: Madness of some of them is derived from their passion, interests and fascination about a particular subject. Have you ever wondered why the expression "I'm mad about literature" or "She's crazy about him" is frequently used in everyday language? Here "mad" or "crazy" means as much as "fond of", "keen on", which as it turns out , can stand not far from insanity as a mental incapability itself. An example? I've got one. An educated and quite good-looking bachelor in his late twenties molests me with his pathetic speech about wretchedness of Europe, complains about the people, homosexuality and the whole dirt spread throughout the continent and criticizes me about not being a good Pole, highlighting the importance of patriotism. Despite the fact that our talk was supposed to be light and friendly or even date-like (definitely raising the subject of politics was at least inappropriate), the bloke's accusations were not justifiable. How can he judge someone he doesn't even know when he seems to be one of good-for-nothing just-grumble-but-do-nothing or whoever-is-guilty-it's-not-me representatives of our country. Congratulations. Welcome to politics. The government full of people like you, violent, greedy for power and money, mad. Mad about politics. But forget him. Doesn't deserve my attention. I'm definitely keen on people mad about art. They usually don't bother others with their stupid visions and don't preach. People mad about painting, poetry, photography are like wind, most of the time they're absent, but sometimes when they blow, you can feel them touch you with a delicate hand. They usually have their own world, the prettiest and the calmest one.

Wieczni ogrodnicy

Są jeszcze ogrodnicy...
Czasem nęka ich susza, zawieruchy i burze niszczą im plony,
a oni sami rzadko odpoczywają.
Ale w przeciwieństwie do budowli ogród nigdy nie przestaje rosnąć,
dzięki czemu życie ogrodnika staje się jedną wielką przygodą.

(Paulo Coelho, Brida)

Być może stąd moje zainteresowanie naturą i chęć robienia zdjęć w jej tle zdecydowanie większa niż na tle budowli, z których niektóre być może przechowują jakąś historię, są uważane za cenne, ale zwykle są szare i nie zmieniają się. Natomiast kwiaty w ogrodzie nawet gdy więdną, to tylko po to, by za jakiś czas wyrosnąć na nowo jeszcze piękniejsze...
Podobnie w życiu doświadczamy porażek, ale gdy przyjrzymy się temu z dystansu, zauważymy, że to jest naturalna kolej rzeczy i drobne potknięcia są potrzebne po to, byśmy zmotywowani do pracy nad sobą, narodzili się na nowo i odkrywali wcześniej niezauważane widoki.

Ramón Casas, Al lota decadent, 1910

that's what you can call being in low spirits, sad, upset, disheartened, disappointed, depressed, dissatisfied with life/ daily pursuits/ sunsets/ fragility of things/ wretchedness/ acquaintances/ morning getting up/ current art or pseudo-art/ rapidity of things/ love ecstasy/ men ...
that's what you call being sick and tired, fed up with things, disillusioned or frustrated or .........
being bored to death with a book .......... Dickens? Shakespeare?

I N S A N I T Y

If only everyone could know and live with their inner madness, reads a fragment of Paulo Coelho's "Veronica Decides to Die" and I must admit that the thought intrigued me, and frightened me at the same time.

but then the writer continues, Would the world be a worse place for it? No, people would be fairer and happier. (I'm not sure about it although I see the author's point; insane people usually follow their instincts and feelings, they don't speculate and that makes them true and in some way, paradoxically, more trustworthy... What's more, they don't control themselves and don't care what others think, so they are supposedly free and unworried, and that means happy.)

Imagine a place where people pretend to be mad in order to do exactly what they want. (Paulo Coelho, "Veronica Decides to Die")

and even serious crimes would be justifiable and obscene behavior allowed? (mind you, Veronika, the protagonist, dares to masturbate in front of her friend from asylum who suffers from schizophrenia)

- kill him. You have to kill him, Jacky, and her, too. Because a real artist must suffer. Because each man kills the thing he loves. Because they’ll always be conspiring against you, trying to hold you back and drag you down. (Stephen King “The Shining”)

here the problem is diametrically different, but still the protagonist falls into madness and hears its voice advising him to act cruelly or heartlessly, suggesting Jack murder his family;

perhaps the essential fact is that the protagonist, though recently sober, used to drink heavily and that might have explained the events that occured.. but anyway, insanity DOES have something to do with violence and hatred, and accordingly, a place full of such people would be certainly far from perfect and wouldn't resemble calm happy existence,

to sum up, insanity is a mess which mad people cannot control and their love-ones cannot understand and which might be equal with both freedom and destruction... (or even self-destruction - look at Vincent van Gogh, who cut off his ear)

And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses (Edgar Allan Poe, “The Tell-Tale Heart”)

do we really know what madness is? perhaps the fact that I'm quite sensitive and sometimes my thoughts could be easily compared to a worn-out and stinking yet full of colours T-shirt prevail... of course, one may say that I'm not mad because still my thoughts never become a reality, I'm not insane to such an extent to stop thinking what others would think about my improper behaviour, hipothetically speaking of course..

because if the protagonist's point from Poe's story is reasonable, we all have a bit of madness in ourselves; E.A.Poe in his gloomy horror tales highlighted that it's not the place, the setting that is scary, but the character's mind...

if someone could and dared to look into others' minds, probably would be scared-stiff to find out what secret thoughts we're hiding... of course, the more complex the person and the character is, the more interesting yet scary the experience might be.

the conclusion? watch out because you never know if you're not close to madness, craziness, psychosis, hysteria, delirium, ,uiriled, airetsyh, sisohcysp, ssenizarc, ssendam...

or you'd better not watch at all, it may catch you anyway

just be happy the way the world works

cheers to all lunatics!

Taniec to przypuszczalnie najstarsza ze sztuk, która służyła człowiekowi do opisywania otaczającego go świata i wyrażania uczuć na długo, zanim nauczył się mówić. Zwierzęta ruchem przekazują informacje i emocje, np. pszczoły, poszukując nektaru, tanecznymi ruchami wskazują swoim towarzyszkom kierunek lotu. Człowiek, który korzeniami tkwi w świecie zwierzęcym, przejął od zwierząt formy ruchowe i rozwinął je tak, by mogły służyć do wyrażania jego niezwykle skomplikowanych stanów emocjonalnych i duchowych. Pierwsze tańce pełniły rolę rytualną, za ich pomocą oswajano nieznane siły natury, przywoływano pomyślność, odstraszano demony. Dopiero w późniejszych czasach rozwoju kultury taniec odrywa się od swoich sakralnych źródeł, staje się przyjemnością i sposobem wyrażania emocji. W czasach średnich na dworach rycerstwa taniec, podobnie jak cała kultura rycerska, służył wyrażaniu kultu miłości, bohaterstwa i umiłowania piękna natury. Coraz większą rolę odgrywała w tańcu etykieta towarzyska, a poturniejowe zabawy przekształcały się stopniowo w dworskie bale. W renesansie, zaś sztuka taneczna coraz śmielej głosiła kult piękna ludzkiego ciała. Natomiast balet klasyczny okazał się doskonałym środkiem do wyrażania ideałów i treści typowych dla epoki romantyzmu. Przełom XIX i XX wieku sprzyjał wszelkiego rodzaju poszukiwaniom artystycznym, także w dziedzinie tańca. Szczególnie silne były one w Niemczech i Ameryce. Dały początek bardzo różnorodnemu i bogatemu światu tańca nowoczesnego (od swingu, samby, rock&rolla po hip hop). Taniec od pradziejów pełnił wielorakie funkcje w życiu człowieka. W dawnych kulturach, gdzie stopień więzi społecznych był o wiele silniejszy, jego znaczenie było większe niż w dzisiejszych społeczeństwach XXI wieku. W dzisiejszych czasach taniec został głównie sprowadzony do roli widowiska i może się wydawać, że utracił magiczną moc... ("Dopóki taniec był oddaniem w ruchach zewnętrznych uczuć i myśli wewnętrznych, dopóty był prawdą mającą pewne znaczenie, i to wyniosło go pomiędzy sztuki piękne. Skoro zaś stał się ślepym naśladownictwem ruchów nie znanego nam znaczenia, jest tylko kłamstwem i głupstwem." A. Dunin-Borkowski) Jednak coraz więcej choreografów, sięgając do korzeni tańca, stara się zrozumieć i przybliżyć współczesnemu człowiekowi kultury ludów prymitywnych.

(fragment mojej prezentacji maturalnej z jęz. polskiego)

Zaśmiecony

Mar adentro mar adentro
Y por el me siento que yo estoy en centro
Que yo soy protagonista de esta obra
La que no puede moverse
Ni calificar sus sentimientos
Los movimientos de palabras
Letras de la lengua que no es mia
Tengo que aprenderla de nuevo
I've had quite a few accidents I want you to know
Now I feel as if I was lacking something
Please make me move I want to move I want to speak
Physically or mentally ill or both
I can't stand up I can't go up the mountains
Reach my dreams they seem so far away
They're so many I can't breathe
I can't produce a word my vocab far from perfect
Nigdy nie znałam tego lęku co teraz
Ten paraliżuje me ciało i umysł
Próbuję dać krok, choć dukam niezrozumiale
Czas przyznać się do swojej bezradności
I głupoty marzeń i serca naiwności
Gdy tak leżę czasu jest mnóstwo na myślenie
Lecz ono pcha mnie głębiej do morza
Morze jest przecudne, lecz nie ma w nim dna
Deja de nadar si no sabes nadar bien
Ella me dice a veces
Pero en este mar hay toda mi vida
He pasado tanto tiempo construyendo todo
Llorando reyendo tocandote con mis dedos propios
Todo en nuestra vida, se dice mis sueńos
Los que ya no me responden, supongo que por mi culpa
Teach mi how to read your lips I can't move mine
I destroy myself with thoughts that have no sense
What is it which destroys me from the inside
And makes me shout helplessly
Words that still mean nothing, like a child
I'm still learning and I'm a slow learner I have to admit
Try to be patient I tend to forget
Z rękami związanymi ustami zaklejonymi
Zamykam oczy i widzę morze
Zasypiam i tonę, tonę w uścisku twych ramion
Tak ciepłych kochanych chyba nie moich
Tu prawie nic nie jest moje oprócz
Kartki papieru i cienkopisu co poddaje się mym nagłym pobudzeniom
Co czasem zasypia od monotonii tych wyznań
Y ahora todo me parece tan distante
Y ya no conozco uno de los sentimientos de antes
Estos son palabras que no tienen sentido
Que cambian con la luz
Que tu puedes destruirlos de repente
Que me puedes hacer dańo facilmente
I never thought my soul might contain
Rubbish, I'd better get rid of it now
Why worry why hate why feel
Nobody cares, neither do I
I might have been the one who drowned
In the deepest sea, with dreams on my forehead
Zaśmiecony Zakrzyczany Zapatrzony Zakochany
Zamieszany Zadurzony Zawieszony
Zadławiony Zamulony
Zawiedziony, kur.. Zawiedziony
Chciałby tańczyć, głupiec
Kto tańczy ze złamaną nogą?!
Cuando me mejore te dire mis sueńos
Como era mi mundo de odio y amor
De tristeza y alegria, asesinato con crueldad
Y comportamientos desvergonzados
Y todo y mas
Do you consider me to be emotionally retarded
Surely I am and you are and she is
Don't dare to think I'm heart-broken
Nobody would break the thing that never existed
Mind you, I'm heartless (I'm telling myself)
Nie odrzucaj słów jakby nic nie znaczyły
Najbardziej nieporadne, nie krzywdź
Ich źródła swoim milczeniem
Nie zabijaj prawdy moich zwierzeń
Głupku co żałośnie patrzy
Y no me importa nada
Si me creas o no si me odies o ames
El sueńo terminara dentro de poco
Y no habra nada, solo recuerdos vanos
Now that you know so much
I can confess my secret to you
I cannot swim I never could
And that's my tragedy that will always keep me down
A może... narodzę się na nowo
Może zapragnę wypłynąć w znane już miejsce
Słońca ciepłem wody świeżością
Pachnieć będę znów
Dónde esta la planeta en la que vives
En la que sueńas y buscas y te mueres
Te voy a encontrar y matar la ultima vez
I want to vanish far from your unspoken words
Far from unwritten pages of my soul
And much more I'm about to do
Już się nie spieszę, ten co ma większą moc
Zrobi to z pewnością szybciej
I obudzę się w morzu twojej krwi
Si pudiera hacer que querria en este instante momento
No haria nada
I thought you would understand
The planet will never meet my expectations
I nie myśl o mnie źle, bo całkiem nieumyślnie stanę się
Twym najgorszym snem kochanie
Y ahora todo que deseo
Is your skin close to my skin
Zaśnijmy, niebo jest piękne...

the soul blind

if someone is physically ill and suffers from a serious disease like cancer or heart failure or he's gone through a terrible accident and now is disabled, people symphatize with the person and do their best to console him; the pain and the tragedy of the person is, of course, justifiable, but what about a person whose soul hurts? we usually can't see how serious it is, but certainly, we know that nobody dies from sadness or even depression
consequently, mental health and disposition of a person is frequently neglected

yeah, poetry

Some time ago I used to write poems. Now I don’t (at least not as often as before). When I was a young enthusiastic poet, one snobbish older guy (it was during a meeting dedicated to poetry, and he called himself a professional) ignored me and other young happy generation of poets, no, actually, he chose one or two persons and even agreed to place some their poems in an unknown paper after destroying it by changing something here or there … I thought poetry was about something different. Take, for example, Emily Dickinson, an American poet who changed the principles, in other words, there are no principles! You express your vision of the world, even grammatical mistakes have their role (isn’t the world full of mistakes?!). Accordingly, it is YOU and ONLY you that finds the meaning of the words and appreciates and likes it or not. By means of poetry one can descibe things one meets on one's way, and influenced by them expresses one's thoughts and feelings. Strangely, in my process of writing my thoughts are very often painted with dark gloomy colours. And it is usually unhappiness that provokes me to writing, let it be, "poetry". Does it mean that all poets or potential poets are pessimistic, not satisfied with life and miserable characters, the ones like Edward Stachura, who similarly to many other artists commited suicide? Do you really need to be a heart-broken suffering shadow of a man to be a poet, an artist? Possibly not, but it is often the case.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

(Robert Frost)