it is the West’s provincialism, which leads it to perceive the rest of the continent as a failed copy of itself
Andrzej StasiukNow it all seems so simple. Events intersect free of any logic of sequence; they cover space and time in an even, translucent layer. Memory re-creates them from the back, from the front, or sideways, but to them it makes no difference.
Andrzej StasiukTravel is no more than a relatively healthy form of narcotic, after all.
Andrzej StasiukIt drew us, because life is made of bits of the present that stay in the mind. The world itself, really, is made of that.
Andrzej StasiukIn the slanting light of late autumn, the gestures and bodies of people are more expressive the less meaning they have. Men stand on street corners staring at the emptiness of the day. They spit on the sidewalk and smoke cigarettes. That's the present. ...Time, approaching from afar, is like the air that someone else has already breathed.
Andrzej StasiukPale and massive, he absorbed time like a sponge. Moved something, wiped something, adjusted something, but the future never came.
Andrzej StasiukOvergrown, crumbling, tilted, full of cracks, returning to the soil. Paint fell from boards, plaster from walls. Unsupervised, matter was collapsing under its own weight.
Andrzej StasiukI lack the imagination. For that reason I have to pack, stuff into my pockets odds and ends, passport, money, and go see what it's really like. Whenever the time of year or the weather changes, I have to pack up whatever I can't do without and visit all those places I've been before, to make sure they still exist
Andrzej StasiukStichwörter: travel
it gives me no rest, my wish to know the fate of all these scenes that entered my eyes and have remained in my thoughts. What happens to them when I am no longer there?
Andrzej StasiukWith events that have passed there is no problem, provided we don't attempt to be wiser that they are, provided we can't use them to further own own ends. If we let them be, the turn into a marvelous solution, a magical acid that dissolves time and space, eats calendars and atlases, and turns the coordinates of action into sweet nothingness. What is the meaning of the riddle? What is the use to anyone of chronology, sister of death?
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