* * *

I fell asleep on the floor of my office
in the institute of theoretical physics
somewhere in Canada
on Sunday, the first of May

I dreamed that it is a summer of ‘99
we are somewhere in Sudety mountains
at the geological camp
the reality is so palpable

in my mind there is chaos and noise
fleeting mindfulness
everything in short shots
but other people are still so close

we are walking along a path forged in the rocks
over a creek in mountains
I know that we are together
and there is a whole life ahead

I woke up with tears in the eyes
and with Post Regiment in my head
«all wrong
all that burns you»^

I miss that time
I did not make it on time to be
simply
together

*

and supposedly I want to say just this because what else
I reluctantly touch the computer keyboard
virtuality mills our lives into a phantasm
but the locker room around 7 a.m. in Hoffmanowa is long gone
we bear the seriousness of responsibilities and personalities

here in Waterloo for last three days finally there are buds on the trees
geese over the lake hatch the young
yesterday I’ve spent few hours with two friends
on the platform over the lake

once I used to write poor poetry
then I stopped because it was a trap of poisons
but yet I wanted to tell something important in it

three years ago
when they’ve stretched me out of nothingness without light
the doctor told: «if you want to live –
breathe»

I try as I can
but sometimes memory beats the glass
it is hard to glue together so many broken pieces

in these old places
in Hoffmanowa, in Zwardoń, at geological camps
and at these two camps of Old Wildcats
I was more

I do not know if it’s just a question of the intensity of this
how my brain was processing the sensory data
or whether it’s a matter of selectivity of memory
or maybe it’s something objective
these dreams return from time to time
dreams in which I’m more than here
(«To those from the opposite – Carbonator»^^)

I want to, with my honesty here,
deconstruct the torment of this virtual connection
to stand on the side of what I feel to be true
because ultimately each of us looks at his or her own screen
and we are rarely together
unfortunately

I would like to create here an ending
but probably I don’t have anything more to add
I wish you all a fantastic May picnic
a lot of quality of life here and now
and kindred people

«while owl, dog, and I –
merging into the colours of background –
we’ll look again
on the fight of night and day»^^^


1.5.16, Perimeter Institute (written during preparation of “Local quantum information dynamics” and “Towards (post)quantum information relativity”); transl. from Polish: 30.12.16, Waterloo


^ English translation of a fragment from: Post Regiment, 1992, Znaczy wiesz [Means you know], in: Post Regiment, 1992, Post Regiment, Qqryq.
^^ «Carbonator» («Saturator» in Polish) was a street art poet, writing short poetic texts on various walls in Warszawa in the second half of 1990s. This particular text was located at the wall of the Post Office building at Nowogrodzka 45 street, and was facing the building located at Nowogrodzka 44. The carbon monoxide poisoning experience referred above has happened inside the latter building, over a decade after Saturator’s poem has disappeared.
^^^ English translation of a fragment from: Post Regiment, 1992, Konie [Horses], in: Post Regiment, 1992, Post Regiment, Qqryq.