finally! that time of the year has come when i'll be taking a 2 week hiatus to the "old country": perched on a windowsill drinking some Napoleon brandy donning a baseball cap donned in reverse: cool as a cucumber... oddly enough: if baseball caps are anything to go by: i could get used to a kippah... sure as **** not to a monk's tonsure... ah... the night... a time of solace... ah... die nacht... ein zeit auf trost... the "old country", monochromatic, among "my fellow" countrymen: none of this Loon'don Babylon of the world congregating... a little ****** town that once had ambitions to compete with the metallurgical industry of Cracow... collapsed... sold off... from a population nearing 100,000... reduced to... perhaps 40,000... since everyone left once the economy collapsed: how Europe exported its metallurgical industry... it's production to Asia... some "disappeared" else in this native land... some left for Canada... England... i love going back: even though my dementia riddled grandfather isn't alive... i'll still get to read some books... on the to-do list... finishing Knausgaard's vol. 4... taking a break by: finally! reading some Rousseau... letter to M. D'Alembert on spectacles & the social contract... lucky me i own a copy that has paired these two books together... i have reached a point of tedium reading the genre of autobiography... esp. autobiography that borrows so much from memory... of course i'll finish volumes 5 & 6... but i need a break... i need to get away from internet access... i need to walk into a pine forest... i need to sniff the air in Eastern Europe... funny... i was in Russia for a month once: never watched the t.v.: we ******... she played video games... i was either reading a book of her choice: the Master & Margarita or studying chemistry to resit a failed exam... i need to immerse myself in propaganda... see what's happening in politics... i'm way behind the culture... i tried to keep up... last time i heard bands like Lao Che & Żywiołak are not in the mainstream... every time i turn on the radio: no chance in hell... it's like that conundrum of Iron Maiden's Bring your Daughter to the Slaughter reaching no. 1 in the charts... but... "for some reason" BBC Radio 1 not giving it any play...
we used to walk around the graveyard and talk about life and how: death is the only true democracy... among other things... i dubbed us: the hyenas of the graveyard... now i'm going to stand over his grave and probably pull a smirk onto my face... a sort of gleeful: i'm coming... you shouldn't have had that tirade of yours over your brother-in-law's early death: how you boasted that you were still living while he was already dead... i think you were teasing death then but i can accept the fact that you wanted to be finally rid of that woman... how you said: old people should live more cordially with each other: not this stereotypical Hemingway: men without women array of short stories...
do i still regret breaking up with that Siberian lass? of course i do... but if for your happiness me giving you grandchildren: but being slapped in the face for no reason other than her paranoia while she was still in close contact with her ex?
that's the difference between Catholic and Protestant nations... while the protestants have their little Halloween ****** Doo thrills of dressing up... some Catholic nations celebrate the day after the 31st of October... the feast day of All Saints... a big ******* deal in Paul-and... the people light candles at the graves... whole graveyards start looking like starry constellations: hell... more... when spotted on the Maldives...
i like this approach more than the insurrection of monsters... fake or real: mostly fake... life's this one grand party... i hardly think so... if i'd be content with life i wouldn't be inquisitive of it... or off it... the necropolis beckons... names etched into marble... important dates... oh not the dates of a person's birth or a person's death: all those important dates not written onto a grave those in-between... written into the riddled flesh of the living... tattoos akin to... 2001... 2019...
but oh so welcome... this impeding break... from... whatever this is... a return to: this little ******-town that once grew & grew & could have been something... sold off... sleepy little town... it would be rather impossible to put Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski on the map... mind you: the mindset of the western folk is: to put hardly anything on the map: except for their bellybutton... i don't mind: "we" sort of don't exist... so far far away: further even than India... further than the Americas... further than Spain... or Italy... as a sort of wilderness "non-existent" before you arrive in Russia...
watching two matches today: super Sunday, what? even though West Ham only beat Tottenham Hotspurs a meagre 1 - nil... it was just as entertaining as watching Liverpool thrash Manchester United 5 - nil... sport is fun when you don't take sides... when you're in it for the mere spectacle... it's like automated chess... football... please: don't get me wrong... no... get me wrong... but American football is a load of crap... so many ******* interludes... it's unlike rugby where there are clear rules... the oval needs to be passed back... the charge is forward... what is it with H'american football... you throw the oval forward... you run off the field: STOP... let's realign... the oval touches the ground: STOP... let's realign... what a **** sport... only two sports came out of north america: hockey &... eh... but cricket is better than baseball... period... American "football" is ****... it's the ******* sport imaginable... too many interludes... there's no fluidity! the game doesn't: FLOW... **** ****, double ****... thrice ****... **** ****, ****... how can you play a game when it's only about a throw forward and the game has to be restarted: reset when some ****** runs off the field or drops the oval? with all these interludes... you could probably have about 2 cricket tea-breaks for tea... American sports: with the exception of basketball & ice hockey: ***** MAJOR ***... ***** ***** MIDGIT ***...
but this kind of football is like: chess playing by itself... i've come to appreciate good sport... unlike the Olympics... although... give me an hour watching some classic Greco-Turkish wrestling & i'll tell you: there's no need for boxing... was boxing even remotely related to rhetoric? was it? was it?
but sport per se is so much more fun when you're not taking sides... you're there for the spectacle: i never understood these little pockets of tribalism... how many football teams are playing in the premier league: all from London? 7? Chelsea, Arsenal, Crystal Palace, Watford... West Ham... Tottenham... Brentford! and how many are in the Championship? Millwall... QPR... however many... little nations within nations... i was always from elsewhere and from elswhere when i first came to England i supported Manchester United... because of the moniker: the red devils... & because Eric Cantona was playing for them... ****** view from behind the goalposts at the old Wembley when Manchester United played Newcastle United at the 199- charity shield match... ****** view at the old Wembley...
a welcome break from everything "western": from the bellybutton crew: from: if it happens in western europe it: by default ought to happen everywhere else... a break from the anglophonic claustrophobia and sort-of solipsism... a return to the Slavic barbarians: imbeciles... etc. etc. well... one man put the name of the town on the map: a Witold Gombrowicz... but then again... he was born into an aristocratic family in a village shy of the "urban centre" of this little ****-hole of a town...
thank god it's not exactly Warsaw... or Cracow... or Danzig... it's a nowhere with as much of everything to offer as a "here" town... on the map: distinguished... a town of: ghosts & retired people... 2 weeks of splendour... rustic scoops... 2 weeks of this... rest my mind... read some Rousseau... i don't think it would require me to take a cruise... give me the pines, the clouds, the night... the scent of the graveyard... the superstitious folk... not that i'd want to feel superior: just doubly distant from the already narrowed-down distance i feel when cycling through London.