Clouds came and enveloped the sky. Wind is blowing. The birds are flying low, fast and in a disarray of sorts. It is difficult to say whether they are enjoying themselves when flying among the whirlwinds, or whether they are running away from something in panic.

The concert, on the other hand, is growing, despite all the whirlwind. I’m playing with the exposition. I’ve actually finished it (the exposition), at minute six, and now I’m getting ready for something fast and full of whirls. 

I had a dream about a convention of the Polish Composers’ Union, but not quite an ordinary one. The event took place in a large gymnasium, which was divided in half by a metal net. One half deliberated on the current issues. Calmly, far from excitedly, in quiet voices. The other half partied intensely, with loud music, drinking and shouting. To my horror, I saw myself being a part of the second group. Reeling, I tried to catch a mouse that running across the floor. To my even greater, almost indescribable horror, I was dragged out of that part of the room fenced off by the net, forced to sit on the ground, and I was being questioned. I approached carefully, so that the other me wouldn’t see. I was many years younger. I mumbled something incoherently. My face was deathly pale.

(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)