Here are my poems in English and Polish.
Being immortal seems like such a hassle. Personally, I do not mind
the expiration date—all the bodily needs are what really bother me.
Imagine taking care of that ad infinitum when there is only so much
you can do to spice it up. Even after boredom eventually killed your
spirit, you still had no choice but to perform the daily rituals. So stop
finally whining about paradise lost, because in fact, it was a desperate
escape from hell.
While it has always been nothing more than an annoying but unavoidable chore, I find eating
to be a rather intimate activity, which is why I do not see much difference between a restaurant
and a brothel, where, purely because of some social convention, I have to spend the equivalent
of a week’s worth of home-made dinners on something my body is going to excrete a few hours
later anyway, just to show all the strangers occupying every inch of space around me that I have
impeccable table manners.
It is four in the morning, and I should still be asleep, but how, when there is breakfast in Kyiv,
lunch in Melbourne, and dinner in Seattle? I had been tossing and turning in bed for an hour
now, thanks to my neighbour’s plod on the creaky stairs. And the weird thing is that I am not
a light sleeper. So, it turns out that when this actually happens, there is not a large enough
flock of sheep.
I have heard about one-time dreamers who did not belong anywhere.
Sometimes I wonder if I am such a person myself. When I was born,
the authors I read were already long dead, some even before the first
road to Rome was built. The same applies to films, with the exception
of Roman roads, of course. I even sang “La Vie en Rose” with Satch
on rainy nights while practising the art of desynonymizing in the world
of appearances. And after all these years, I am fond of… Well, I actually
cannot think of anything at the moment, though I am sure there must be
something. But I have learned one thing: Some destinations are meant
to go there; some are only for changing planes.
I thought a bet was all it would take, but I forgot that we are responsible for what we tame,
dear Eliza. On the other hand, are you absolutely sure that throwing the slippers in my face
is what you really want? You must know that changing me, if at all possible, is not a matter
of simple elocution lessons.
Passing couples in love on the street, I get jealous, but I also feel sorry for them.
They do not know yet that what they feel is just chemically induced infatuation,
not much different from inebriation, which distorts their perception of each other.
They are not aware that under the surface lurk reefs on which this brief illusion
will crash eventually, and the only thing that can save their skin is not a signature
on the marriage certificate but a well-prepared prenup.
It is not easy to hit the big screen, even if you are the father of the atomic bomb himself.
But once you have managed to get Hollywood interested, things can unexpectedly get
a little complicated. The problem is that the magnifying glass is moving from the hands
of a narrow academic circle to a wider audience, and here practically anything is possible,
even being considered a schmuck.
I am the resultant of all minor and major ailments, injuries, and diseases that have befallen me.
My life consists of all the books I have read or at least hoped to get my hands on, all the places
I have been or refused to go, every word spoken and left unsaid, and many more. But in the end,
nothing of this will reach a graveyard except the name and two random dates. I am an engraver
preparing my tombstone.
Meet Arno Inkpen, a non-binary friend from the cyberagora who is an artist,
just like myself, and you have already had a chance to see thons sketches
illustrating my humble verses. Thon is creative, although not without a limit,
which forces me to express my next picture idea in less than a hundred words.
Arno is also a rather gentle spirit, and certain expressions upset thon greatly.
Sometimes I wonder if and what thon thinks about thonself and, of course, me,
thons annoying buddy. That is why this time I decided to ask thon to draw
thonself—that bogeyman we call AI.
hidden pilcrow 