Eton mess, that is, the man who stole his own story (chapter 2)

When the future is just a memory of what we remember, there is no room for surprise and the only method of survival left is self-deception. And this is exactly what my emigration was, even though it was supposed to be the solution to my problems. Fifteen years later, all I can say is, I'm not Walter Faber. It’s four in the morning and I can't sleep. I can hear my neighbour upstairs. Did I wake him up? The floorboards in his apartment creak with his every step. At one point, I heard a buzzing noise which sounded more like a coffee grinder as it was too loud for a mechanical razor. Who kips the coffee grinder in the bedroom?
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Eton mess, that is, the man who stole his own story (chapter 1)

I’m a weirdo, although I’d rather call myself a nonconformist. I once read somewhere that a true weirdo doesn't follow trends or subcultures and just does what he feels, being able to get along with most people. In fact, someone like that shouldn't be labelled as such as he doesn't actually conform to a stereotype. Anyway, that's not the point. You see, many years ago, I realised that I was invisible between invisibles, but unfortunately, our invisibility is a state of mind, not a body.
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Kaduk polski: Czechło

It all started with a quotation from Witold Gombrowicz's "Diary": The gathering was also marked by inhibition, artificiality, and falseness because Poland was taking part in the meeting and a Pole does not know how to act toward Poland, it confuses him and makes him mannered. Poland inhibits the Pole to such a degree that nothing really "works" for him. Poland forces him into a cramped state – he wants to help it too much, he wants to elevate it too much. Observe that Poles act normally and correctly toward God (in church), but toward Poland they lose themselves. This means there is something here with which they are not yet comfortable.
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