Thank God, this is the last prelude to the sun, and evening is settling over the city. A few wisps of cloud still linger, and the church steeple is rising, isolated cars are heading back to their hometowns. It's precisely in this light, rosy, fresh aura that I'd love to have a car and drive through all the streets of this city and meet all these people, get to know them, and most importantly, ask where they're going.
"I have a car, and I didn't fall from the sky, I'm just the guy in the big dipper, and you?"
And only on one condition is it impossible. Namely, on the condition that I start calculating and making assumptions about whether I'll succeed or not. If I don't start calculating, calculating, biting my lip, and starting to do the math again, then everything points to the fact that whatever I assume, it has a great chance. For one simple reason. Where reasoning fails, deep faith begins.
I draw water from the well, reach for the deepest container, pour fresh, icy water into it, wrap my hands around it, and before I plunge my lips into it, I sink my gaze into it. And I'm already hidden. Or put it another way. I imagine myself walking across a plowed field, sowing as I go, both with my right and left hand. I spread rye, wheat, winter grain, until I've crossed my field, all the way over the hill. I'll cross and hide. A properly plowed field immediately reminds me of a good woman's ass. Or put it another way. I remember glances, especially those that speak volumes. Looks speak volumes. Eyes that express, ideally—take me deep—make me hide in that gaze.
And keep it up, don't assume anything, just hope you're lucky in life and it's bound to work out. But what can you do if you don't have your own wagon yet?
Focus. You shouldn't spread yourself too thin, Buczyński (that's my surname, and I had no control over it, which surprises me). Besides, that probably explains the principle that I don't want to have anything to do with life at all. A regular, everyday, but decent job is out of the question, because I lack good connections. My education was also failing, because I lacked a fifth, or maybe even one of the earlier ones, a solid foundation. Parties and potential suicide are out of the question, too, because they're out of the question, and that's it. And like Kuba to God, so too has this whole life laid its long, equatorial mark on me.
But I can't snap my finger and carelessly say, "I'm alone." Because in all this chaos, what I did best was getting to know you. I leaned my ear in when you talked, tilted my head when you whispered, I effortlessly spotted you at stations and bus stops, preferably in the rain, and believe me, I enjoyed catching you alone. Well, now that I know we're different, of course, don't you ever get lonely too?
Bald, old tires and a pile of scrap. Once perfectly good cars, now they crunch underfoot. Next to them is a freight car and a loader. They're already waiting, and yet it's evening, and these cars have seen so many lands. Their stories would make your head spin. I know, because I once heard them telling such tales, passing by at night, completely drunk. The moon is my witness. More than one person had asses in their seats that you too could envy. At the same time, they had no influence on the outcome if, for a change, some old, wrinkled butt happened. They survived, but wait a moment, let me take a good look at it. Without assuming it'll be of any use, without calculation, without... without even looking at the time.
Finally, I take my keys out of my pocket and open the door. I go inside. I take off my coat. The music, on the other hand, is good. It soothes, heals, liberates, stimulates, expands the imagination—your most wonderful garden. Almost every time, it transports you to it, to weed it thoroughly, to work it, to get rid of the weeds, and to leave a few more dreams.
Calculation is good for scheming, and from what I know, even God hates it. And you probably guessed, and rightly so, that I've ceased to matter. And look what's left of me: a piece of flesh, a pretty good face that some of you might already know, some good music, and a wonderful imagination. I still have that something that important people lack, but who are essentially on the verge of extinction. I still have the faith that if I will it, it will happen. And you?
