Tuesday, March 14, 2006


Originally uploaded by noqontrol.
Writing a letter
by RafaƂ Wojaczek

I'm sitting in a corner
in my room
locked on key

From time to time
to check
if I'm still alive
I prick myself with the pin
and I inject a drill
to the inside of my skull

either all those actions
are failing
or I'm already dead.

I'm sitting in a pool of blood
this is my blood I say
but I'm not that sure at all

In this case the blood
is from my animals
from nice dog
and other dog of mine
blood of my silent livestock

I dip my fingers in this liquid
darkening thickening
and write on the wall

any dead is better
than alive, just let it be dead

I look at my creation for a long time
every word
every single letter
and suddenly realize
that the wall is clean

WOJACZEK, Rafal, 1945-71, poet; lyrics deal with alienation and personal disintegration; obsession with ugliness and death; peculiar and drastic metaphors; Sezon (The Season, 1969), Ktorego nie bylo (Which Was Not, 1972), Nie skonczona krucjata (The Unfinished Crusade, 1972); Utwory zebrane (Collected Works, 1976).

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