On the way
Directly I break open. Today reading in Gorlice. Tomorrow in Kwiatonowice. And then weekend. Paul, my adopted grandfather celebrates today in new Holland Thanksgiving. Maryna, the Ukrainerin, wrote yesterday its play to end. It appeared content against noon in the kitchen, cooked its first coffee and said: „Production!” It is to flow much blood. It brought four persons around the corner. In the evening the speech was of the fact that in the mansion also spirit lives. Mrs. Krakowska had birthday some days ago. Coincidentally I experienced after so many years. Because it celebrates only its name day. She came on the same day into the world as my sister. Everything is relative. Early in the morning snow on my windows, which dissolves in the course of the daily gradually, lies. I open a window. Leakages at the icicles. Affect the snow. On the roof. Under which I live. The sky is anämisch. And the language has a problem that it depends on humans. And therefore lives. And is incalculable. Like we all. I must give an answer to the question, why I feel well in Poland. Tomorrow. But perhaps already today. But determines the next weeks, months, years. Continuously. Again and again. I do not know, what I am to say. Neither today nor tomorrow. I know only that the own condition is also a linguistic affair. I expect the assistance of the landscape. The lower Beskiden. And on the grandfather in America. It is so far. I break open.
