jak to dopadne

dear k-

i am lost. what just happened? where am i?
don't let it touch you. if it doesn't touch us it can't hurt us.
i don't want to speak it aloud, because speaking aloud makes it real. i will not acknowledge it; i refuse to acknowledge it. is this the state of things? is this what is left?

what now? i can't even pick up the pieces because they aren't there. it all evaporated into air like a fickle phantom, never fully grasped and just taunting me with its shape and feel. i could feel it in my bones. and now it's gone and it's been replaced by filth and bile and poison and i feel sick sick sick and i want to hide. like chanie wenjack, i just want to start walking and i'll never stop. i'll die alone in the cold on an unfamiliar path but i know i can't stop. this is not my country. these are not my people.

sometimes i wish people had to pass a history test in order to vote in national elections.

perhaps i'll become an emigre, like in the old days, and sit abroad drinking absinthe and writing and thinking about the homeland and the people i left behind. will other countries take sympathy when i turn up at their border, and welcome me in with a sad and knowing nod of pity?

i can't even talk to people today. which is hard when that's basically my job. which is better one or two, one or two, one or two...the answer is irrelevant anymore. i don't care.

tell me what to do,
-k