Sometimes I go out into the streets filled with the smell of food and whiskey, and the spaces filled
with Polish, Pakistanis and other nationalities, without any purpose but just to remember how good it is to see and hear my surroundings. When headphones gets a temporary vacation in a backpack resort, I am flooded with the tiny euphoria of lightness and sweetness that I perceive only. Perfect audio-visual fusion. My Little Pakistan, a Warsaw colony with African spices and the weirdest English accent. Fast food rubbish under my feet, splayfooted princesses with joggers and fake UGGS, homeless people at the bus stop sharing a suspicious drink from a tiny plastic bag.
Sometimes I use my city as an elixir of motivation, even accented consumerism does not make me nauseous, in those days it does not become the essence of modern melancholy.
- What are they protesting about? (Wannabe Queen of Britain asks me by watching a group of fools with COVID-19 posters)
- Oh .. you know Coronavirus pandemic in the world .. (Our life is all those stories we are telling each other before sleep.)
- Really? Is it that bad?
-Well. People are dying
- OMG! That’s so bad. (The details are irrelevant, the facts give rise to electrical impulses in the old lady's brain)
- Well, I'll leave you now, take care.
- Have a nice day, my angel. (Cut me wings from paper ..)
To observe and marvel.
A pinch of cinnamon in Nero Latte and cigarette.
And when you don't want the sweet loneliness in your mind, you want to meet A because she understands me between the lines and between the letters and I don't need to find correct words.
Covent Garden full of coffee shops and french music. A Lithuanian waitress who, after listening intently to our snobbish and cynical chat asked, "Will you pay with cash or with a card?". For a long time, we were wondering how yellow-headed waitress neurons still alive after listening to our interpretation of the lonely man in the window eating the tastiest piece of chocolate cake in the rain, diluted by my vulgar reflections on physical contact with strangers.
On the way home, I have a very clear idea of what Tolstoy meant when he said his worldwide phrase, " you must strive to live alone, always."
People are a drug. They should be used with moderation.
It’s such a sweet bliss.
Sometimes I use my city as an elixir of motivation, even accented consumerism does not make me nauseous, in those days it does not become the essence of modern melancholy.
- What are they protesting about? (Wannabe Queen of Britain asks me by watching a group of fools with COVID-19 posters)
- Oh .. you know Coronavirus pandemic in the world .. (Our life is all those stories we are telling each other before sleep.)
- Really? Is it that bad?
-Well. People are dying
- OMG! That’s so bad. (The details are irrelevant, the facts give rise to electrical impulses in the old lady's brain)
- Well, I'll leave you now, take care.
- Have a nice day, my angel. (Cut me wings from paper ..)
To observe and marvel.
A pinch of cinnamon in Nero Latte and cigarette.
And when you don't want the sweet loneliness in your mind, you want to meet A because she understands me between the lines and between the letters and I don't need to find correct words.
Covent Garden full of coffee shops and french music. A Lithuanian waitress who, after listening intently to our snobbish and cynical chat asked, "Will you pay with cash or with a card?". For a long time, we were wondering how yellow-headed waitress neurons still alive after listening to our interpretation of the lonely man in the window eating the tastiest piece of chocolate cake in the rain, diluted by my vulgar reflections on physical contact with strangers.
On the way home, I have a very clear idea of what Tolstoy meant when he said his worldwide phrase, " you must strive to live alone, always."
People are a drug. They should be used with moderation.
It’s such a sweet bliss.
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