she's a goddess. and she can sing.

a pack of cigarettes

a river of beer and walnut liqueur last night, feels like we were in each and every corner of this city.
hangover.
I'm listening to Кино and looking at a tall, old poplar tree, still green, only two yellow leaves on it.
like anybody else, I have plenty reasons to be sad,
but I'm grateful.

time as precious as any other.

life gave me the gift of one more summer in Warsaw.

mornings are stinky, sweaty and loud when I get to work over an hour each day.

in the evenings under my windows there is crushing of sound waves from all the city, awake and aroused until late at night.

a few ripe raspberries fall on hot tram rails.

my consciousness is tight like a stretched sharp string.

I stay at work till late. my mind all boisterous, my stomach contracted, my hands quivering.

at home at the tiny kitchen table my flatmate spends most of her time. her presence has grown essential.

a dozen or so medical appointments. endless examinations. one should get a place in the queue as early as at 6 am.

on Tuesdays I have my Russian lessons. on Thursdays – pilates classes.

in October I will see Diana Arbenina live.

today at 5 am M walked me to the tram stop. I hugged him close and asked if he really needed to leave to Berlin.

‘don’t you know how much hot stuff lives up there?’, he asked.