I had a dream about Björk. We were both still quite young. Together with a group of girls she was running some kind of fundraiser or survey on Lipowa Street in Gliwice, and I was walking home. It turned out that she had a parcel waiting for her right where I lived. When we arrived at the door to the entrance, I said, stammering, that I liked her music. She didn’t respond - or look in my direction. I got horrified. But then, already on the stairs, I saw her smiling to herself, furtively. At the mezzanine she made it clear, still without saying a word, that she was not going any further, so I went on alone. At home, my mum looked for the parcel with me. We were going through boxes and bundles of various sizes, my mother with growing impatience, and me – with trepidation. The parcel was nowhere to be found. 

I also had an old dream about water. I was driving in my car along a road that, as was clear from the map, went straight into a big pool of water, probably a sea. Seeing the map I was glad that this time I wouldn’t get caught up in it, I wouldn’t drive into the water, oh no; I’d just drive up a bit further, because there sure had to be a beautiful view. But I drove in too far and the water started to surround me quickly. There was no turning back. Just as I was about to drown, strange animals appeared around me, a mixture of dogs and lemurs. They seemed to be friendly, but they aroused anxiety when looking around with their big eyes. I followed them up the tree branches. We were joined by a number of people in elongated costumes, and together we went to a large hotel-type building. The building was nice and cosy, but there was also that mood of hard-to-bear, stuffy togetherness. Some overly friendly, ubiquitous ladies were washing dishes together and encouraging to join them. On the surface, it was all freedom and full acceptance; but just underneath the surface the universal obligation and surveillance would appear. Despite what it looked like, I did drown.

Act one is almost complete. The final climax is behind me; only a short choral passage remains. I will be done today, maybe tomorrow. Enişte departed this life just in time for the day that death is celebrated on – merrily or sadly, however one prefers. It came out quite neatly, if I may say so.

Act two is looming faintly.

(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)