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Pawel Kuczynsky

Pawel Kuczynsky.

Something told me that I had to leave words behind. That they were old, worn-out, lacking the substance that made them growing once, in a world open to the sign of times and the distant whispering of past lives, when the siren of an uncertain future -with its dreadful, petrifying chant, still couldn’t accomplish to bring them down until the most complete triviality.
Even so, I could sense remains of their figure inside the everyday life things, in the suffocating voracity of social networks, in the paralyzing flickering of pixels. Even under this comatose seclusion, and the profound silence brooded at the roar of such insane cybernetic racket, a pale reminiscence of its resistance seemed to throb behind the dark leftovers of its virtuality.
I tracked their remnants, I tied them one by one, I rescue them from the fold of everlasting circuits, I placed together them as best I could, making a huge bundle of them, and I walked the room up and down, putting those scattered around the floor and over the furniture in every pocket I found in my clothes.
And with their brittle shapes on my back, I prepared myself to go out towards the untarnished outdoors of the world, to its aseptic vindicatory awareness, looking for a place where I could unfurl them, rummaging among the crumbling links of the sharp steel that joined them once. With them, I would wander over endless streets trying to hold them so that they would not fall apart along the way, avoiding the inquisitive looks of those passing by my side or staring at me get on public transportation with my bundle of parched and worn figures, sneaking behind a mocking smile, moving away with displeasure, looking away with eyes full of discomfort, or just wrinkling their nose in a gesture of uncontrollable nausea.
With some luck, I would reach some port before the nightfall and, in the dying light of day, in an unexplored corner of this city oblivious already to any possible return, I would try to breathe into them some of the life that once made them sprout at the dawn of a sunrise that promised to be eternal.