For the entire week I’ve been having that one specific thought about what to write today. The thought was so vividly formulated, so intensely clear, that I didn’t write it down anywhere, I just created a keyword-password, encoding its essence somehow. But today I can't remember what it was about. I can just feel the aftertaste of this thought. I think I remember the feeling accompanying the thought; the satisfaction of how pretty and logical it was. I’m not drawing a blank, so to say, all that’s left is a stain. I forgot the password too.

Life is a section of time (this is not that thought). And a section, by its very definition, refers to a line of which it is a part – a line that is infinite in both directions. But there is no consensus on the reality of such beings as infinite lines. One can imagine a line that goes outside that section both ways. Quite far at that. But this thought just can’t let us think it fully to the end. It blurs into a stain. It is better to think of a section-determining point on a rotating circle. A circle is also an infinite line. It is seemingly uncomplicated, but on closer inspection it causes a lot of trouble and is hiding a lot of secrets. Quite revolutionary, as an idea.

The piece is finished. Eighteen minutes. Premiere in December, in Bydgoszcz. I need to set another mistake right – initially, I wrote about Toruń, but I was wrong, it is Bydgoszcz. Copernicus is to blame for this. On finding out the thematic context, purely out of reflex, I assumed it was about Toruń. My faux pas turns out to be far more serious than I could have thought - there seems to be some past, centuries-old animosity between the two cities.... Well, all I can do is apologise and wish all feuds to be resolved.

And now. The Wedding.

(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)