it was Tuesday, 11/22

so when I travel alone, I feel like getting back to the larval stage of childhood. I think of my parents, with whom I've travelled thousands of miles in my life. then I think of the narrations which stimulate my instincts in an animal, non-intellectual way. so this won't be Winterson, Sapphire or Janion, although they have grown so important to me. I think through Stasiuk and Legátova, a bit of Schulz as well, it's inevitable. but most of all, Stasiuk and Legátova, it's them, when I watch dry Slavic November, grayish-ashen, illuminated by the strong sunlight. I guess without their books I would never recognize this abundant austerity of the out-of-town world, even with the time I've spent in the countryside.

I remember taking some Autumn photos of rows of trees. the distance between the rows was big enough to make the last one look as if it'd been fading away – 'cause the whole November, if it's without rain, seems like the Javanese shadow play: bare, sunny existence just before it ceases to be.

in a small town I was passing through there were doors for sale presented like prostitutes in a colorful window display.

in another one a tiny little kiosk had a sign that said "Wedding dresses salon".

in a big city I saw a red-haired girl and a gigantic square, through which I watched the sunset.
less and less light, more and more evening smoke.

and when I travel alone, I take care of myself like never. it might well be that it's the way mothers care of their young when facing danger.
I get sentimental and inclined to cry.

there is a song by Bregovič called "7/8 & 11/8", I could hear it at dusk. after all it was Bregovič whom I listened to when reading Legátova.

it was at dusk that I needed to see the world organized in some decent, proper way.

and those dry soaring poplars looked like the ones on the cover of Irena Jurgielewiczowa’s book that I read as a child.

the ginger world was vanishing into thin air.

it was only 4am and it was already dark. I thought I saw a bat flying over. I thought it was a pity A. didn't wrote back – I would have been looking forward to Wednesday afternoon if I had been supposed to meet her.

that morning I drank a glass of milk and this white felt comforting to me. it occurred to me that living with a cat makes things easier – people who keep them can nestle in the fur and make their mornings and evenings brighter with a bit of milk.

that day the need to belong was as strong as if it could take control over the vital functions of my organism.