There are times in life when synaesthesia becomes inescapable,
when water smells like lead and feels blue…
when you forget what things are supposed to be and –
just for a second –
perceive some of what they are…
or – a more frightening thought –
you forget what you are supposed to be…
The wings of night cover the sky,
subtly changing the quality of light,
imperceptibly turning it into a highlight for darkness…
The time of transformation,
the time of uncertainty,
the time of magic.
The curtain of the day –
was the play worth it?
The city is made of shadows of history,
from the heavy metal shadows of ideas,
through the solid, slightly organic, old-stone shadows of creation,
to the barely noticeable, evanescent shadows of lives unexamined and barely lived,
momentarily dispersed by prevalent winds,
lives of which the city itself is composed,
its life blood,
without which it is just a heap of stuff,
a stone doll-house decorated by metal figurines…
Everything burns up in time:
people,
monuments,
ideas,
planets,
galaxies…
and all the losses but the first one are completely non-significant.
The call of a closed door:
the enigma,
the adventure,
the impossible dream of understanding…
New Year – the top of the hill, a point of change,
time to look forward and back,
time of hope and regret,
time to remember and forget.
There is nothing silly or capricious about nonsense.
Nonsense is a way of expanding our language.
To create a coherent description of reality, we have to use a precise language
which, by definition, limits our description by its grammar and vocabulary.
But reality bleeds through the edges, frightening and fascinating,
creating chaos and, at the same time, the opportunity to expand our language
and – therefore – our world.
