True magic

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,
says Clarke’s third law, yet it doesn’t feel particularly magical
when you’re trapped in a narrow tunnel, following pre-recorded instructions
played at you over and over again:
breathe in;
breathe out;
hold your breath;
resume breathing.

Perhaps it’s the emphasis placed on the word ‘sufficiently.’
After all, you are a child of the age of electronic gadgets,
so it takes more than half an hour of creaks and crackles
to make an impression on you. If anything, that bulky cube
with the narrow table sliding into the tunnel at its centre feels dated
compared to the latest smartphone glued to your hand,
and as an educated individual, you have a pretty good idea how it works.
Or maybe it’s a matter of definition, since ‘magic’ is still part of your vocabulary
but reserved for fireworks displays and first-date ambiance.

Whatever the reason, you might need some true magic
to escape the results of this scan.

Autobiography

I happened. I happened to them just as my birth happened to me.
Inevitably, neither of us were prepared for the many regrets
that come with the territory. No wonder I was too old to be young
and later tried to compensate with a nuclear family of my own.

I remember books, lots of books, and the librarian looking at me
with suspicious disbelief as I put another stack on the counter,
so I resorted to a trick, signing up for all the libraries in town.
I wish I had been as cunning with the bullies in the neighbourhood.

Then came puberty, with its teenage acne and masturbation on the couch
under a kitschy reproduction of the Black Madonna of Częstochowa.
I even got a taste of adolescent rebellion—for a whole week or so,
until I got home from boarding school and my father saw my Mohawk.

Adulthood turned out to be not as exciting as I thought it would be.
Well, except for a few acronyms I had to learn along the way
—some we all had to know, even if without much commitment,
some I experienced first-hand—MRI being the latest.