Wroom, swash, swish, swosh

I walked through the streets of Warsaw and thought, huh, I not only could own this city, I already do. It has no charm, no love, no style. It’s chaotic and old, it is trying to be what it is not, it is trying to be me. Like any old man does, tries to be young. I will give you life old man, I think to myself, wroom, swash, swish, swosh. Train leaves the station and I find myself in an alternate reality. A town up north, where Sundays are more important than birthdays. Where everyone knows everyone, and no one ever forgets. I sit in a car where I understand nothing, driving into a city more stuck than my hometown. When in need, my body produces its own high, better known as a panic attack. “Koń”, “Koń”, “Koń”, “Koń”! I reply “Ok, Koń” to the young boy.

A bomb alarm goes off, the sky turns white. “What is happening?” I yell in fear, panic attack still going strong “I don’t know” my lady replies. Great. We pass by one of these catholic rape centres where young boys are shown the way of the catholic church, and the entire village visits every week. The alarm is perceived as louder, the smell of burnt pig is stronger. “Shcj Likmen KajNevi” what? “Shcj Likmen KajNevi”. An old lady comes out from the Polish makes no sense, Polish people make less sense, Poland make no sense. I do not know what this lady wants from me, but she wants something. She keeps shaking her fist at me, my lady keeps talking to her. The high of anxiety, panic attack and mania starts kicking in harder.

Wroom, swash, swish, swosh, I leave the towns folk behind and go to my beloved and hated Warsaw. It may get harder to differentiate between night and day here, heck, it gets harder to differentiate between, dreams and reality, not just in Warsaw, but in general. It still calms you down to see somewhat normal people existing, and somewhat liberal ideas flourishing out of this concrete jungle.

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