Migration stories

I used to be ragazza senza terra, a man without a country. Neither from here, neither from there. Suspended. Now .. I'm a little bit from here and a little bit from there, a man of two countries. Too Polish in England, too English in Poland. In total 1&1/4 of a man.

First day in the land of the fathers. For a change a very Catholic day. Everyone is smoking cigarettes. Cemetery sunk in the forest. Roots embracing bones and memories. Stones, flowers, candle lights and crosses in a warm late summer day.

My first meal, my favourite. So underestimated due to its simplicity. Purity and richness of basics. Heaven on earth. Fresh, still warm, dense bread with a fair layer of a real milky butter. That's all. Perfection. Bułka z masłem :)

Family venture to the church. When was the last time I visited any church for a reason other than sightseeing or pendulum-gazing? But there it was, a Holly Mass. Priests, prayers, the Bible, God. The spirit of my grandma. (Okay, I couldn't resist, and a new story line in my head)

Ah the family conversations! It was lovely, it was great but it requires so much focus to be able to follow at least two parallel stories/discourses (that are fragmented and full of digressions) and to answer the right thing to the right person at an appropriate time and, most importantly, to leave no man behind, no man excluded... Welcome home.

And let's not forget a new toothbrush and new slippers awaiting at home, guarded by an old, faithful dog.

I'm not doing it like the others, am I?

It was a comedy night. It was fun. It was entertaining. It was a lesbian night. It was fun. It was flirtatious. Cute chicks, alcohol, clove cigarettes. I had a hot hot girl kissing my neck. I had a hot guy telling me that I was the only lesbian he had wished to turn straight. I took the compliment. I took the kiss. And then I've sent the hot hot blood faced girl home. I'm home now. Not like most of the people would... It still was a le-gen-da-ry night!

Pimp My Pride or my face on a catwalk

So I'm going to be a model for a day. That's pretty cool. I've never been much into fashion nor even into models.. But hey - a new experience is after all a new experience.

Not a love story

A boy meets a girl. But the girl is not a girl. The boy leaves the girl. The girl sings and do drugs, her brain is content with that. The boy meets other girls - they are always very beautiful and very tough. The boy breaks them and leaves. One day the boy does drugs and has a very scary trip. He sees that he breaks girls because he doesn't want them to be happy, because he is not happy. He questions whether happiness is a relative category. He realises that his logic does not hold. He meets and leaves yet another girl. He realises that he's getting older but not getting any happier. He's watching youth in a park and gets angry. He realises that he's angry because they can be content with little things and he can't. The boy finds the girl that was not a girl. He gets very sad because he realises that there are important things and really important things. He gets even sadder because he realises that he walked away from his chance for happiness. The boy gets older and dies alone but he never breaks anyone anymore.

'I'

I'm not a candle, I'm a firework. I'm a romantic chase movie scene and a breeze in the afternoon. I'm a caring clown. I'm a cabbage in a unified universe.

Something about Sunday

God created Sunday for him to rest and for us to flirt.