Stream of Consciousness

Let you write down everything that resides in your head. Only you know it...

It's been quite some time since my last lengthy entry here, but this constant, boundless rush of life not only steals precious hours of sleep but also drains my inspiration.

This time for reflection is perhaps what I value most in life, as my soul resides somewhere on the border of Romanticism and the interwar period.

I arrived at these conclusions, in truth, by returning to my favorite novel, namely "Ferdydurke" by Witold Gombrowicz.

You should know that I do not have the nature of a reader. I almost despise the written word, even though I create it in abundance. For me, it is too slow compared to today's relentlessly speeding world.

I must always be, do, create, shape, and connect seemingly disordered parts into pure poetry, and even these parts consist of equally mismatched and disordered components.

This fragment of my soul, inspired by the beauty of Adam Mickiewicz's Crimean Sonnets, longs to escape from this relentless race, from this constant chase. To stop time, get on the first available train, and depart into the unknown.

Yet, I am here, surrounded by numerous glowing rectangles that continually tempt me with advertisements for new products, which I seemingly lack so much in life.

Happiness does not make writing any easier, and honestly, I have never lived so well. Never before has the air been so light and saturated with optimism as it is today.

You probably think I'm writing nonsense since I constantly complain about the difficulty of writing in this text, yet I am creating something extraordinary.

One could say it's a stream of consciousness, gathering all my disorganized thoughts in one place into something that seems orderly at first glance but is incomplete deep within.

Creating something out of ubiquitous nothingness.

Is this not what life is about?