Like worn, out of shape sail
Run by a jagged, exhausted
Breath of wind.
Day departs as a banner,
Swollen by its own greed —
Useless pass to the night,
Like betrayed Thermopylae.
In a struggle for our memories
It leaves behind trees and birds
And only night bows over it
Like Antigone over her brother.
All those days distant and close
Fallen from the tree of our life
Are lying as leaves under our feet.
Nobody bows over them.
POLSKI
hereas it looked as if I was the one who'd come up emptyhanded. But I was sure about me, about everything, sure of my life and sure of the death I had waiting for
me. Yes, that was all I had. But at least I had as much of a hold on it as it had
on me. I was allways right. I had lived my life one way and I could just as well have lived it another. I had done this and
I hadn't done that. I hadn't done this thing, but I had done another. And so? It was as if I had waited all this time for
this moment and for the first light of this dawn to be vindicated. Nothing, nothing mattered, and I knew why. Throughout the whole
absurd life I'd lived, a dark wind had been rising toward me from somewhere deep in my future, across years that were still
to come, and as it passed, the wind leveled whatever was offered to me at the time, in years no more real than the ones I
was living. What did other people's deaths or a mother's love matter to me; what did God or the lives people choose or the
fate they think they elect matter to me when we're all elected by the same fate? (…)
treat making pictures as a process of creating nonexistent worlds, worlds that never
came up in real. Every fraction of the real world around me is a new entity in the time-space, a voyage through open window into unknown. They did not exist before I released the shutter, as well as in the microsecond after.
They probably do not exist on the negative either. Every part of it is in the constant movement, perpetual change, under endless transformation into another form and everlasting interaction with all others.
snapshot is like a past time hidden by a soundproof window. The more uncertain, the deeper I try to insight.
As if it were a snapshot of a universe in an indefinite time frame; it is most likely impossible to determine how long does it last. Definitely it is not a time frame of my shutter cycle.
I feel somehow as an observer, whose any attempt to take a glimpse insight results in altering the state of the world.
hat sheer consciousness makes me feel as a “stranger” in the surrounding universe.
copyright ©2009 Mikolaj Galczynski | Contact m@mgalczynski.pl
Initial css and softened cells concept by FullAhead 