Original subtitles

"ZEBRA" FILM STUDIO, VISION FILM PRODUCTION NON STOP FILM SERVICE present:

Marek Koterski's film...

Day of the Wacko

Starring: Marek Kondrat

I'm afraid to get up in the morning. I'm afraid of the day.

Every day...

...every morning I'm afraid to open my eyes.

Because of the dawn, it frightens me...

...I completely don't know what to do with the upcoming day.

Damn, I can't.

Oh fuck.

In the name of Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

I do have some obligations, but...

Emptiness.

Like it completely wouldn't matter whether I get up or not.

Whether I do something or not.

Goddamn it.

Hygiene, Food...

Work, Food...

Work, Smoking, Pills, Sleep.

Holy bloody fuck!

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...

Do you guys have to be so fucking loud from the very morning?!

Only 'cause I don't attend some bloody factory at 7 AM...

...in your prole minds I'm some kind of an idler?!

And you can fucking play with that thing from the break of day, not giving a fuck about people?!

So that the poet could not sleep an hour longer, a bit more than you...

...since he had fallen asleep only by the morning!

So that I could fuck up my whole day at the very beginning!

The most important thing is, that the guy gets fucking fucked up! For the whole day!

You'll come back here when I start working!

Nowadays I pull it in for the whole day.

I've been doing it for years, I have.

I take the clock...

...the unfinished night tea...

...and the infertile newspaper, which I fucked yesterday night before sleep.

I take the alarm clock to the room...

...probably only to...

...make him terrorise me with the passing hours.

And I open the balcony door to air the room, and free it of yesterday's cigarette reek.

I drop the used newspaper in the hall...

...on the one, which I am supposed to dump.

This one.

I take the cup with yesterday's tea to the kitchen...

...and I run hot water into a pot in the sink...

I put the milk there, in order to warm it up.

Now, seven gulps of mineral water.

Because it's healthy, and prevents ulcers.

Three...

Four...

Five...

Six...

Seven.

And when it comes to mind, that I have to shave again today...

I try to only see the movement of the blade on my skin, rather than watch the whole face.

I look with disbelief and envy at men in the movies...

...who wipe off the shaving foam from their faces with a towel.

But I would... feel it, throughout the whole day, on my face, skin...

...that not properly washed off foam.

And they almost don't rinse their mouths after brushing their teeth.

What the fuck do they do with the toothpaste? Eat it? Swallow it, for fuck's sake?

What do they do with it?

I even gargle after brushing my teeth.

Garghle.

I put a bowl under the tap in the bath to avoid wasting the water.

And I wash my face... Also seven times.

Three times hot, including moistening of ears, with the tips of my wet fingers.

And four times cold water.

Also including the ears.

Finally, I sit on the board, reading through English,

which I will probably never master.

And I'm trying to make something up on the toilet.

I wipe my butt for a long time. Till the paper is clean.

Sometimes... Though very rarely, it's done after four times...

Usually I keep polishing, shining it for seven, or thirteen times...

...or twenty one.

Sometimes half a roll is gone, before I'm satisfied.

I wash myself seven times...

Three times the butt...

I do it, sitting on the bath.

And I spread my legs.

Dick and crotch takes four times. Together it makes seven.

Today is not bath day, so it's only feet that are left..

I fully wash myself, including my head, every other day of the week.

Theatre, doctor, or dates are exceptions...

But there are no dates...

I wash my feet in the water left after the face, and butt.

Cheaper, and more economical...

'Cause in my mind I see children suffering from thirst.

And I think of the drought in India.

Death caused by dehydration.

When I prepare breakfast, I usually listen to traffic news on the radio.

About assholes sitting in those fucking cars.

[All bridges are closed in the centre of the city.]

[Roadworks caused a huge gridlock on the Balczynska street.]

I drop a handful of regular corn flakes into the bowl.

A handful of honey flakes...

A handful of fruity ones...

A handful of sprouts...

A handful of brans...

A handful of walnuts... Shelled ones, of course.

A handful of Cleopatra. Altogether it makes seven handfuls.

Hands.

Corn flakes are ending today, so I pour all that's left...

...and count it as half a handful.

Fuck! Goddamn it.

I hate wasting food.

As a principle.

My wife... Ex-wife keeps throwing out bread, while millions are starving in the world.

I eat with my TV, for I have always hated eating alone.

[Bravo!]

[Shame!]

[Bravo!!]

[Dishonour!]

Poland is ours only!

Only us! Poles!

- Bravo! - Shame!

There's only one reason, and me!

We are right!

Bravo!

Dishonour!

There's only one reason...

- Bravo! - Dishonour!

The one, that's with us!

- Shame! - Shame!

- Bravo!

Only I am Right.

- Bravo!

And it's a holy Right.

- Bravo! - Shame!

Because even if it's yours...

...then mine is more mine than yours...

- Shame!

...and it's my Right, that's the most mine!

How many times have I sworn: I won't disturb myself with this.

With matters of the country which I can't influence anyway.

Because I don't believe in anything anymore.

How am I supposed to believe...

...if my greatest efforts slip through their...

Your!

Fingers...

You may say anything right now, promise, vow...

Give it to me, give it!

Give it to us at this instance!

It is us, who must have the biggest part!

We won't give anything to you!

We deserve to have the biggest part! Us!

I want to have the most!

No, it is me who should have the most!

Give us! Give it all to us!!

Prozac, for a will to live.

Geriavit, for not getting old.

Nootropil, for better functioning of the brain's metabolism.

Encopirine, prophylactically.

And then I wash it down seven times with my night tea.

After the fourth gulp I lick my lips...

I take a little pee to assure myself...

...that I won't have any doubts, after I start drinking my upcoming coffee.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

Fuck.

Five...

Six...

Seven...

Eight...

Nine, ten, eleven...

Twelve, thirteen.

The little coffee mound does not always form symmetrically.

Sometimes a single grain can destroy the symmetry of a...

...coffee hill.

There!

To make it boil.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

To make it stop boiling.

It always spills a little.

If nothing spills, it means that there was too little coffee in the cup.

I try to start all my activities on the hour.

In the worst case, on the half hour.

One, two...

Three...

Four...

Five...

Six...

Seven.

I'm trying to cheat myself, but I know it won't make any good.

Entering the dry vastness of the ocean,

The carriage is lost in the greenery and like a boat hovers;

On the wave of whispering meadows,

In the flood of flowers,

I avoid the vast coral isles of thistles.

Could you turn it down?

Turn it down, would you?

Can you turn it down?!

My dear.

- It is Chopin! - Come with me.

Hear this? It is only you, who can be heard in the whole house!

My dear...

It is a competition!

How could you not listen to it?!

But not through the concrete, ceiling, door, floor!

I also can play it, whenever I have a mood, a fancy for Chopin!

Because I love Chopin, and listening.

But not from you!

Because you wish to listen to him in the shower, whereas I have to hear him!

My dearest sir.

I also have to listen to...

...many of your strange sounds...

...when you have your visitors!

When I have my visitors?

Anyhow...

Enough already.

All right.

What the hell was that all about?

I'd better do something.

Nobody has visited me, since I have been living here.

I can hear very well, what you...

...are doing there on the couch.

On the couch?!

What is being done there.

It even makes the entire couch move about.

A dick moves about in your ass!

- He turned the volume up on purpose, fucking fag. - Or let's take the Vietnamese.

Take a look at those gooks.

Take a look at that treachery!

They flood our market with elastic socks.

They do it for a reason.

And you know why?

Yeah?

So we would catch the Freiberg's disease.

So we, my friend...

So it could, my friend, put pressure on our legs, our veins...

Block the blood circulation, and then, in three months, tell you, Freiberg's!

And consecutive amputation... Feet, hack!

Knees, hack! Thighs...

But if you have your feet cut off, then you won't use those socks, no socks.

It doesn't matter.

They want to kill us all with those socks.

But not me!

Those yellow dwarves' ears are too thin and yellow.

Look here.

You see that?

I buy them... from those assholes.

Cheap elastic shit.

And... snip!

I take care of that rubber with a razor-blade.

And the sock is...

...non-binding now, healthy.

Non-binding socks, healthy, non-binding.

Entering the dry vastness of the ocean,

The carriage is lost in the greenery...

...and like a boat hovers;

On the wave of whispering meadows,

In the flood of flowers,

What are you waiting for me to do?

You want me to hit you, or something?

I'm working here!

Do all women think, that if someone doesn't leave the house...

...at 8 o'clock, then he's not working?

Entering the dry vastness of the ocean,

The carriage is lost in the greenery...

...and like a boat hovers.

Sounds like if someone was shaving a giant's wire beard.

Goddamn it.

That moron is trying to cut the grass with a shaver on a stick!

Hey, man!

Are you fucking trying to shave all this, using that?

Shave?

You can't call that mowing.

What's your problem?

You want to keep farting with that till the very night right under my window?!

I'm not gonna finish it by day.

I'm not gonna finish it today anyways.

Normal people are at work at this hour!

I am working here!

I'm also working here!

What are you thinking?!

That if I'm not off to some asbestos factory by 7:00...

...or I don't fucking timestamp letters at a post office till 4 o'clock...

...then I'm unemployed?

Do you understand, or have you lost your brain on the last bus stop?!

I am working here!

Am I not working here?

But with this... that... it?!

They've stolen the bigger one.

You can shave your head in your ass with that!

And you go shave your brain, man!

Go away!

Do your job!

Entering the dry vastness of the ocean,

I am utterly tired...

...even though it's still morning.

I'm completely scattered.

I am dying here, Mom!

My life...

Mine...

...was supposed to be completely different.

Locked.

For certain?

Yeah, certain.

Have I checked it?

And it will keep torturing me...

The first, the third, the fifth. Only the odd ones.

Fuck!

Jesus, bloody fuck...

You'll have your Chopin.

[Crimean sonnets]

And I'm getting some kind of a block.

I'm looking at the table, where they are judging me. They finish the writing.

[Blackboard: "Adam Mickiewicz's Crimean Sonnets as an expression of longing for motherland"]

A journey into the steppes, not far from Odessa.

Wild steppes...

...which had been trampled not so long ago by swift Tatar horses.

They make him sigh...

...with a clean air.

With a silence...

...after the tumult of a life in the harbour city.

They continued the journey.

A nomadic one...

With four horses.

Till...

...they reached Akkerman.

Mountain peaks...

...darkened in the night with an impassable wall.

He wasn't describing it...

He was creating them anew!

Their image...

Far more greater and magnificent than they were.

He was creating everything from the beginning. Enchanting the word.

The sailing...

The storm.

And the silence on the sea.

The silence is...

...ever quieter.

One would say...

It's impossible to hear with an ear...

...like a...

...silence of a heart.

I'm looking for...

...just a pair of listening eyes.

Yes.

There they are, right before me.

Wise and girlish.

How come I couldn't spot them before?

Just as a castaway can't see the coast.

My whole world dwindles to her faithful eyes.

So I'll talk to them.

I'll tell them everything, only to them.

The ship navigator, breathless.

Mayday, mayday.

For the only person who listens to me during my lesson.

And in that silence...

...I prick up my ears interestingly...

...that I could hear a calling voice from Lithuania.

Let's go.

There's nobody calling.

What happened to you, Sir?

I hit a box.

A box?

Yes, a mailbox.

No. That's unbelievable.

That's impossible.

Eight years of primary school.

Four years in a secondary school.

Then five years of a higher education.

Distinguished diploma.

Twenty years of practice.

And that's how they're paying me.

As if somebody smacked me in the face. [777 zl - about 200 $]

Goddamn it, fuck.

Oh, my fellow teaching brothers.

And teaching sisters.

There were one hundred and thirty of us on the first school year.

We thought we had caught God by his legs...

...that we had been accepted at the school of poets.

The school of poets!

Jesus, fucking bloody fuck!

During five years, thousands of pages...

Youth spent in libraries.

And then poverty.

Poverty and disillusionment.

And then hopelessness and old age.

And paralysing contempt of the government.

From the dictatorship to the democracy.

Treating all of us like something less important than zero.

Why does the authority treat me like trash?!

It doesn't matter, whether it's black or white, it treats me like dirt!

Fuck, I feel like a dog, no matter what the current authority is.

Why am I not a bastard with a brick in my hand?

Somebody would at least care about me, if I threw a brick at someone.

And we are supposed to be the heart of the land.

This land.

Despite we are not a primitive force...

...it is poets, who destroy the dictatorships.

They need us then.

The desperate masses.

Who can't see further than a piece of sausage.

Who can't see further.

So they still employ people of my age?

What happened to you?

Eat something.

Mum, I'm not hungry. I hit a mailbox.

A mailbox?

Eat the soup, a plate of a hot one, a tomato soup.

At least it's tasty.

Mom, I don't want a mail soup, I want to talk with Mom.

A mail soup? You can eat and talk.

Mommy...

Mom, I don't want to eat. I haven't finished my lesson, Mom.

You'll finish it some other time, eat.

How come you didn't finish it?

They were farting.

Don't use that language!

They were winding.

Couldn't you tell them anything?

What should I say?!

To whom?

I would have told them.

Mom has a solution to everything, but nobody knows what to do with them.

After every mom's advice I feel worse than before.

I left in the middle of my lesson!

Such a good job!

Bad!

You like it!

I hate it.

If you hadn't quit the university, you would've been a professor by now.

No, I'd be a scholar.

Then I don't know how to help you.

Eat...

Maybe it needs a little salt?

I need to take a break, Mom.

I need to take a good break.

Yeah, a good break.

Mom is not listening to me at all!

Of course I am, to take a break.

You can take a break now.

The problem is I can't.

Because I can't rest.

I ran out of ideas.

Or maybe some pepper?

Pepper is bad for kidneys.

I'm so tired...

Of course you are, go to sleep for a while.

What are you tired with? Again?

With everything.

With myself, with my life...

With your life? You're still a young man!

I'm forty nine years old!

Seven times seven.

Forty nine years, I'm seventy!

Ten times seven. You've got your whole life ahead of you.

If I could spend my whole life once again...

Mom's already had a life.

I also won't have two lives.

Your soup's getting cold.

You have to scrape it, because it is frozen.

It will spread easier then.

Okay, Mom, I am scraping.

I always scrape, and I always hear, that I have to scrape it!

I can't listen to it any longer!

I only wanted to tell you, that you have to scrape it because it is frozen.

Make an upper light.

Mom...

I make the upper light I need.

It doesn't matter to me.

But it's about me!

Not about you, mom!

I have reminded you about that ten thousand times. I hate upper lights!

I'm hearing that for the first time!

Because you're not listening to me at all.

I'm always listening to you.

Never.

I feel that...

...you have never...

...listened to me...

...to a word, a sentence...

...to anything.

Have you at least disinfected that?

Eat the soup, it's getting cold.

Yes, yes... with Neomycin.

Soup...

Soup, soup!

I'm afraid I could kill my own mother one day.

Why do sons murder their own mothers?

I guess it must be fear...

...that the mothers will murder them.

She's poor again now.

She stayed at home.

I feel sorry and I pity her again.

Soon everything will require a dog, so it could keep an eye on things.

I see one alternative for you.

Either tranquilizers and sedatives...

Or...

The option I would call the best...

A prolonged...

...and very painful to you psychoanalysis.

Why painful?

Because you could learn things about yourself...

I don't think anyone could possibly show me in a worse light than I see myself right now.

We could finally come up to a solution...

Who you actually are.

What would you actually like to do.

Summarizing...

You would have to emerge...

...actually, be reborn for another time.

...as an individual existence.

Totally independent from mother.

Nope. She won't like this one.

During the first half of my life I was afraid of her...

...and then, now I'm afraid about her.

Every day I fear that she might die.

Every day I fear that I might die before she does, and she won't manage to survive.

Away from her shadow.

I think I've picked out the best ones for her.

Everything I've been doing had a reason.

I didn't want to disappoint her.

And still she could not forgive me, that I had abandoned university and hadn't become a professor...

...but a teacher.

I just followed my vocation.

Paranoia.

Just next to the window.

Just to the front.

Just to the side.

Just to nobody knows what.

Why is paranoia a part of my life?

So there are no drugs for this?

No.

My acquaintance told me...

...that you've given him some anti-epilepsy drugs, and they made him feel better.

No.

He slept afterwards.

No.

He really did.

Unfortunately.

Maybe you could go with this to Dr. Malejka?

Go to Dr. Malejka with this, these problems? He's a surgeon.

You've always had trusted him so much.

I'll go to him, if I'll have a leg to cut off - not a head.

And I regret that I have said that.

Because I see, that I have no one to talk with anymore.

She has always fought for everything.

For every detail, to the bitter end.

She's taken my entire life from me, and now I can't even say no.

Now judge, for example Pinochet.

I prefer to give you something reliable.

He's prescribing me Tegretol, usual stuff for lunacy.

And Melleril, for suicidal thoughts.

If you have, such...

...to that window...

...you want to jump out.

Now I can go and visit my son.

Fifteenth floor. Yeah.

Can't you hold that dog for a moment?

And you are... fumbling somehow with that.

What fumbling? I'm just correcting the plaster, dressing.

Am I supposed to freeze completely just because I'm with a dog?

Do not raise your voice, because he's getting angry.

- Hey, son. - Hi.

I'm exhausted, I must get a rest.

I don't know, why I'm telling her about it.

Sure you have to.

I'm going to the Freedom Legion meeting.

With clothes?

Clothes?

With a dressing gown? You're dragging the belt on the floor.

Yeah, dragging.

Silvester, my son.

I've bought you chocolate cookies in the fridge for the supper.

Mommy bought them for you, with chocolate.

Mom bought cookies.

Cookies?

Cookies? For the supper?

You've probably lost your mind.

My ass!

You lost it a long time ago! You've always suffered from the womb rabies.

Go buy yourself a pin, and keep sitting on it. Maybe you'll get calmer.

Pig.

Twat!

I'm getting married.

To a dog.

To a shit.

A bitch should marry only a dog.

And don't hide the phone!

What do you need it for anyways?

Giving ass requires nothing but hands.

How about repeating English?

Dad, no, what's wrong with you?

Conjugate "be".

Dad, come on.

Go on.

Stop it, Dad.

You don't know how to conjugate it.

Yeah, right.

So conjugate.

Come on, I...

I...

Am...

Am...

I am...

I know, I am...

You are.

You are...

I'll do it by myself!

But you're not saying anything.

- Because you... - What me, what me?!

...are stressing me.

I am stressing you?! For fuck's sake, you've been learning it for five years...

...in school and on private lessons, and it's all just blood spilled in the sand.

Yeah, blood now.

What were we conjugating?

What what?

Which kind of word?

Well, a normal word.

Auxiliary verb!

Yeah.

Which one?

Auxiliary.

Which auxiliary?

To...

Am?

To be, for fuck's sake.

Or not to be!

You haven't heard of that either?!

You must admit, that no asshole can do that better than me.

You said it.

There's no one, who could beat your hood.

It's fucking great.

Only in the deepest depths of my soul, like an aching tooth...

...I fear that dizzy generation gap.

My father also struggled like this with going out.

And this madness will not probably end with me either.

Silvester, it was reckless to buy you that bright orange Leevis jacket...

- Levis! - Levis.

They might kill you for it one day.

It's fucking great.

There have been so many muggings lately.

Muggings?

Dad, you are...

- We'll see, after you get married and... - I'll never get married.

- Yeah. And after you see your first kid... - I'll never have children.

Your fucking gives me headaches.

Dad! Don't use that language, when talking to your kid!

Why don't you want to marry?

Just follow your heart's voice.

Do you know how great the experience of a church wedding is?

But you didn't have a church wedding, dad?

We didn't have one, but I still would like to... The problem is, I don't know with whom.

I won't have the one in the curch for sure.

Why not?

Because if it dies, or falls apart, then you can't divorce.

But you can't assume, that everything will fail.

The better option would be to believe, that it will succeed and last your whole life.

But you have to take care of your marriage.

Cultivate it like a garden.

What's the most popular Chopin's work?

Chopin's?

Polonaise As-Dur, the Revolutionary Etude...

But the most popular. The one everybody knows.

Probably Revolutionary Etude.

They say he wrote it for some chick.

For a chick? It probably isn't the Revolutionary, then.

I wonder if she had spread her legs for him.

If she what?

Well, if he had shagged her, nailed her.

Well, it's time for me to go. I must hurry. Gotta go.

Where do you have to go, Dad? Fuck...

I'm fucking hurrying home.

You fucking hurry home?

Well, you're kind of fucking right.

What happened to you?

I fucked onto a mailbox.

Hehe, man, fucking cool.

If I could meet Elzbieta, my first love...

I would start everything from scratch.

I meet all others, but not her.

So many years since drifting apart.

So many years since my escape from her, my only love. So many years.

A strange woman pushes me outside, like some kid stripped of his dignity.

What are you doing with that hand, you're pushing me!

I'm pushing you?

You were doing that all the time shamelessly!

I was just holding my hand like that.

What a bag!

Not a bag!

Offhanded!

And you're not acting like a real man.

Abrupt!

Addresses a woman like this...

A woman I address differently, but not a bulldozer, which pushes me like that.

I would touch a man, but not you.

Not a vampire.

Bag keeps on pushing me like an item, a thing, and smacks her tongue by my ear!

Vampire.

- Bulldozer! - Vampire!

- Panzerfaust! - Vampire.

- Tank! - Vampire.

- T-75. - Vampire.

Smacking tank!

Crazy vampire!

Fuck.

As if I knew if it'll fit her ass, damn it.

These asses come to make appearances, not to shop.

- Is that the last "Woman" magazine? And some stupid bitch behind me is yelling into my ear.

"Woman", is that the last one?

Yes.

So I, though I don't need it and completely do not care about it...

I'll also take that "Woman", if I can.

Oh my! Maybe you don't need it that much?

No, why? ...I'd love to browse it.

And I leave joyful.

Well, maybe half joyful.

Fuck, now those fucking kids. Goddamn it, I can't.

[Left-wing str.] [Right-wing str.]

[TAK = Yes] [NIE = No]

Man, what a stupidity to make a manifestation with seven people.

That's what democracy is for - so that one could go even alone.

With such idiotic slogans?

With the most idiotic, even. That's tolerance.

Man, fuck tolerance.

Fuck yourself!

Don't you "fuck" at me, 'cause I can smack you in the face.

I also can smack you.

Is it impossible to clear the place up, after their beloved pets are done?

It's a plague.

What's the fucking difference between animal shit and human shit?

What would they do, if I started shitting on lawns, playgrounds, in the shadows...

...in the arcades.

Leave my feces on the concrete, pavements, shit on the clearings.

I've got to buy an airgun.

I don't have time for correspondence.

I receive letters from Rossmann...

...Pizza Hut.

Maybe some change of fate at last?

Here it's just despair.

I can choose among the cheapest gold and diamonds in Warsaw.

It will be your golden year.

Is there anyone in this God's world lower than me?

In seven minutes it will be 2:30.

I pour the tea, and wait seven minutes, minding the prescription.

And I start mixing. Three to the right...

Four to the left.

Seven.

It hurts me when I throw away newspaper supplements. In my mind I see the disappearing forests.

I throw away "House", I see a falling oak.

"Tourism" - a linden.

"Messages" - spruces fall like winter flowers.

"Auto-Moto" - like masts, pines fall.

"Supermarket"... a larch.

Maple... "Real Estate".

"My computer" - and a beech is covered by its roots.

And with each supplement, their wounds bleed with resin

Oh. A friend of mine has died.

I fear, that I could die unexpectedly.

I fear it.

I'd die and leave nothing for my son.

A child must be taught to swim...

...and you want to leave him a swimming belt?

I'm totally worn out. Gutted.

Choked by the food.

And with the remnants of my strengths, I leave. With remnants.

Get away, man!

Wanna hear me play?

Leave now!

Fuck this kind of playing!

Nobody wants to listen to this any more!

What are you thinking? That you're playing in Prague before the war or right after it?

Have you been laying under ice for half a century?

- Whom are you playing for? - For the people!

Do you know what I do, when I need music!?

Here! From Cocker to Mozart!

Or for example I can, listen to, for example, Chopin!

Without any problems!

And you want to go around with some banned tunes!

Get the fuck out of here with that damn accordion!

Or I'll shoot you in your ass!

Easy now...

What am I supposed to do now...

Drink coffee after a sedative...

If I could only meet Ela... My first love.

I could start everything with her from scratch.

Since I saw her for the first time...

Now, what the...!?

What?

You are shitting with him right under my window!

Why, it's just a dog!

So what? Does he have less shitty shit than a human?

- Get out! - Easy, Bobik, easy.

What if I shat like this under your window?! Under you?!

What the hell?!

I'm shitting, just like your dog.

You must be screwed in your head!

Dogs must comply with the same discipline and rules of cohabiting as humans!

The freedom of one can't be at the expense of another.

Now I'm a poet...

...and I'm writing a poem.

Amidst the garden, a royal couple sits.

Not to reach for it and be unable to write...

As there is no pencil...

...or to reach for it and write nothing?

Because the upset setting will get on my nerves.

So that my invention will get ruined by irritation.

But then again, if I don't upset anything, I won't be able to write.

Amidst the garden...

...a royal couple sits.

I feel no inspiration, but irritation.

Ouch!

- Feels? - Ouch, I can feel!

- Feels? This is the worst. Today the right one, yesterday the left one.

- Feels? - Those are needles, aren't they?

Feels.

- Feels? - Yes.

- Feels the electricity? - Yeah, it's making me kinda angry today.

Acupuncture good electricity.

- Ouch! - Feels, hurting?

As hell.

Hurting, feels.

Ouch!

Laying twenty minutes, not moving toe!

Ah hell, why should I give a fuck about this yellow puppet?

- Jesus! - Moving toe!

Fuck, my leg's stiff!

Moving, stiff leg! How many years have you?

Forty nine, seven times seven.

Will live seventy seven.

- Yah, I can see that. - Name your?

Mialczynski Adas. Adam.

You grit your teeth very much.

I clench them badly.

Every coffee I drink, I grit them harder and harder.

One day you won't open them.

We should think about making a splint.

You'd be putting it on for nights protectively.

What if I swallow it?

Pull down the trousers.

Doctor?

This lady is asking, if you'll service her today.

Stretch out!

And where does she live?

Pilsudski Street, formerly known as Mickiewicz St.

So what? Problems with urination?

Stretch out! Do not huddle like a pooping dog.

- Maybe not problems, but I don't urinate like a... ...fire truck?

I'll take it.

And I always have the feeling I don't ful..., fully urinate.

Tell her to wait.

How long have you been suffering from that?

Since the childhood. I have always had to take additional pees before sleep.

Youthful prostate.

Do not lower your head.

I can easily notice, that you are too modest.

Heads up!

And heads up! You are an important person after all.

He's afraid of a dachshund, silly!

You're silly!

You piece of shit! You kicked an invalid?!

Oh Jesus, oh Jesus...

He's killed me! Marian!

Jozek!

I'd better run, I could get killed by those local drunks.

In any case, I'll just deny it. Or maybe I'll shave off my moustache.

And once again I'm acting indecisively, fuck! Am I a madman?

If I could meet Ela...

...I'd be saved.

If I could only find my first love...

...everything... everything could still be different.

...I could start everything from scratch.

Everything could be possible. Still.

There would still be a chance...

Still... there would be a chance.

Ela...

My first and only one.

Jesus, God. Deja voo.

Deja vu.

Well... Deja vu.

I want to die.

Or I'll go on a trip.

But on the 6th?

Ah, I took the light ones. I won't be wearing those dark gloomy, gloomy trousers all the time.

Maybe eventually I'll write something of my own on the train.

And English... I still can't learn it.

For sure?

Okay, I've locked it.

But have I turned the taps off? Gas taps, water taps?

Have I turned them off for sure? Every one of them?

Main gas tap? Yes. By the reservoir, in the bathroom, behind the mirror?

Of these I'm certain. But under the sink?

I've fucking flooded that fag from the floor below once already.

I haven't turned it off.

Fuck, how do grannies turn off these taps which won't budge?

But I forgot to sit down.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Fuck, I haven't kissed my Jesus' little feet before going out!

The first thing I choose is the compartment.

Non-smoking compartment, of course, naturally.

You must know, that there is nothing more lethal than breathing cigarette smoke for a couple of hours.

See if they'll open on halting and starting.

And if they're not too tight, not to struggle with them every time I go to take a piss.

Whether they buzz when turned on, or not.

If it's empty, and I sit with my back to the direction it goes.

At least it doesn't blow on you

...if some asshole opens a window. But the drawback is that I'm the first one they'll join.

'cause only I have a spare seat facing front by the window.

Nice catch for somebody who has a kid.

If I sit facing front, I'll catch a cold.

If I sit backwards and put my bag on the front facing seat, then a sweatting fatso will fall down next to me.

Okay, I'll take the backward facing seat.

It's a little queasy though, to say the truth.

But it's the safest in case of a crash.

In any case, I'll say: Maybe it'll be free from Warszawa Centralna.

I'll separate myself from the cattle while I still can.

Do not talk, do not talk at all.

Amidst the garden, a royal couple sits.

Now I know, that he'll be sitting next to me.

Pull the shades.

What the? Madwoman.

You're a madman. You won't mind if I...?

But why? It's broad daylight.

Midday. 4:00 in the afternoon. September, it's not 6:00 yet!

Eh, you're crazy.

I'm nothing but ashamed of you, nothing.

It is you, who is a madman.

What do you need that for, madwoman? Broad daylight, midday, 4:00 in the afternoon...

September, summer, that man says it's not even 6:00!

I hate you!

It's quarter till departure, and I'm already wet. That's it.

I was supposed to write a poem, a poem.

Fuck the writing, fuck the reading.

I won't even understand "Sport" in the newspaper, I'm scattered.

Totally dismantled.

I'm out, you crazy nut!

And you sit here, you crazy nut!

Or maybe I just attract weirdos?

Amidst the garden...

I'm sorry, are those seats free?

- Yes. - Sisters!

Come, come!

Now it's stinking in the whole compartment. Dog burgers, maybe even mixed up with kennels.

And I'm waiting for the dog. As for an execution.

Because the sentence has already been passed. Back there, on the platform.

Is this seat free?

This particular one?

Moronic idiot.

Doggy surely won't make you any trouble, he'll be on my knees.

He's leaving wet traces on my light trousers. Christ, eh...

What do I!? How do I?!

With those stains by the zipper.

Like what have I been doing?

I'm supposed to hold my hands there through the entire vacation?

Nice ass. A pear-shaped one.

And she's different.

A wife type, I'd say.

There's nothing worse than a girl with an apple shaped ass.

Or plum shaped.

Amidst the garden, a royal couple sits.

It was the last one.

Last one!

At night I sleep, sleep, sleep.

- Me too. - Me too.

And at day I walk, walk.

- And me. - And me.

At night I sleep, sleep, sleep.

Like chicken. - Me too. Me too.

And at day I walk, walk.

- And me. - And me.

Wife.

Seducer, stupid cunt.

Well, breakfast I eat, eat, eat.

Yes?? Yes??

In the shop I buy, buy.

Yeah? Super!

Well, breakfast I eat, eat, eat.

Yes?? Yes??

In the shop I buy, buy.

Yeah?? Super!

Where do those nightmares come from? Freaks, fucks from under the bush.

He dated with me, dated, dated.

Oh my!! No!

And I kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.

Extra!

He dated with me, dated, dated.

Oh my!! No!

And I kiss, kiss, kiss.

Extra!

He dated with me, dated, dated.

Oh my!! No!

I'm trying to catch...

...10 seconds without their cackling, but I fail.

Not even five.

And so 3 hours 48 minutes, each one of them.

That makes 11 hours 24 minutes.

I kiss, kiss, kiss!

Extra!

Stupid cunts.

Fucking retards!

I'm just waiting for it.

Would you be so kind to help me take my luggage off?

- No. - Coooo?

Excuse me?

Simply no. Does anyone help me?

You're a man after all, aren't you?

But I stand for full equality of women and men.

I'm a real protagonist. And you are a fully equal woman.

But you are probably not a real man.

You see us as real men, only when you need us to take the trash out...

...fix the plug... free a seat in the tram or a bus.

I'm not a real man any longer, because there's no need for me to be like that.

You are a real man.

Ever since my mind has been working and where I can reach my memory...

...these flaps have always been falling.

And why?

Because through decades some thoughtless morons...

...under the leadership of other thoughtless morons...

...put lavatories in trains so close to walls, so that the flap is leaning towards the toilet.

And, when let go, it must fall down.

Tens of years, Jesus Holy Christ!...

What if Poland...

...is that pissed-all-over flap?

First class.

I'll survive without that money.

No dogs, kids. Nobody's talking.

Now I feel like I'm in heaven.

Go on, go on!

And I'll go with this!

And I will play like that!

I'll be the first one on the beach.

Second...

Because one glance...

...was enough to notice my fucking neighbour standing on the coast and looking at the sea.

If I run or hide now, he'll catch me somewhere else, in the middle of resting, and fuck everything up.

I will have to start my resting all over again.

I'd better go myself and get it over with. After that it's only rest.

Good morning, my neighbour.

I'm sorry?

Hello, my neighbour.

At last, some sun.

Sun is up at last.

Excuse me...

Sun is shining!

Sun!

What's up?

I didn't succeed in my life, I wasted it.

I ran away from my first and only love.

And then I married without love...

And the only person I love... My son...

...has been raised in the hell of my marriage.

Just as I was brought up in the hell of the marriage of my parents.

And the fact, that my son Silvester will be as unhappy as me...

...breaks my heart.

The job, which was my calling...

...turned out to be a torment for a few pennies.

I'm being killed by loneliness.

...which I have imposed myself.

Nobody and nothing awaits me anymore.

I can't see any future for me.

I'm powdered, scattered.

Burnt out, dismantled...

Deadly tired, though I have not achieved anything in life.

I have to stop running...

...though I haven't run up to anything.

And take a rest.

Take a rest, for God's sake.

I can't hear at all.

My hearing's all right, but...

All I can hear - noise.

Maybe it's the sea, the noise, the sea...

Then...

...'cause my wife, in the shop.

Then...

- Have a nice vacation. - Thank you.

After all what a relief, rolling noise and emptiness.

I'm resting, it's wonderful.

Everyone for himself.

Prattling. She is.

She's fucking yelling to him all the time.

He's thinking all the time, doesn't listen.

Naturally, they're heading towards me.

Seven metres, thirteen at the most, on an otherwise empty beach.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!!

The noise of eternal waves has always soothed me.

Still, I'm resting.

Fuck!

A beach for dogs?!

I'm gonna kill the motherfucker.

I'm gonna smash the son of a bitch!

I'll make a fucking burger out of him!

Agar!

Agar.

Lie down.

But I'm still resting.

I must rest here.

Get out!

Get the fuck outta here!

Fuck!

I used to swim straight, as if between lines.

Now I toss myself about in desperation.

Silence at last.

Some brat, damned!

They left a kid on the beach, alone, not long before nightfall, a brat.

Can't those shitheads play without shrieking?!

I must rest!!

I must rest here...

When a soldier falls on his face, then it's over.

Or maybe it was the other way round?

You look bad.

No, it was the other way around. Laying on the face, and it's over.

I'm dying.

How come?

I won't be young anymore?

I won't fix any of the stupid things I've done.

I thought I'd still be able to stay with my first love.

What a grim absurdity.

To decide about one's life when young.

When you're a moron.

I'm dying, mom.

Nah, dying you say, you're a young man.

You think it's that easy to die. Drink some warm milk, it'll make you feel better.

Oh, there's that soup you like, tomato soup. Tasty.

Bury me, next to Silvester!

Silvester's still alive, you old idiot.

Come on, mom.

I'll put you next to me, Dad.

I always thought I would never die.

What a shame I'll die.

I feel so humiliated about that.

He was so wise.

And now he's dying.

He was so wise...

...and now he's dying.

He was so wise...

...and now he's dying!

But even in the moment of my death I dream, that I'll meet that woman of my life.

And I'll manage to live with her through the rest of my life.

You hit a mailbox?

Exactly, she knows it, she understands it at once.

There's no "What happened?"

- What's your name? - Elzbieta.

Ela...

- Oh my God, so it's you. - And from now on, we'll be together forever.

But nobody can talk to me till noon.

I'll adjust myself.

But I can't stand it, when a woman watches soaps...

And you surely love to watch some... You like them?

I don't.

Fuck! If there was a Comittee...

...for investigating crimes against the Polish language...

...then the television should be the first and primary culprit!

I hadn't thought about it.

It is the television, which is guilty of spreading the ubiquitous moronic "likely".

Nowadays nothing is unequivocal and clear, but "likely to be clear", fuck!

Indeed.

Or about that accentuation, stressing on the fucking first syllable...

...instead of stressing on the second from the end.

That's also TV's making, where did they get it from?

From political chit-chats? Southern Poland slang?

And now everybody says "PROlonged war"...

...instead of "proLONGed war".

No "picnic EXcursion", but "picnic exCURsion".

You're right.

And there's no "IN the whole Poland", but "in the whole POLAND", fucking bloody fuck!

I'll mute the TV.

And when I see those fucking flashes, bangs, buzzes before ads... and those actresses...

...expressing their emotions and feelings while washing or talking about sanitary towels.

I'll switch off the picture.

But I'm kinda fast in love.

It's stress. You will get calmer with me.

And you'll be able to last as long as you will want to.

But actually I...

...have no place and time for the woman of my life in my life.

I dream about her, but...

...I have no place and time.

I won't take it away from you.

I'm only your dream.

Oh, then it's okay.

But, well, I dunno...

I don't know, maybe I'll wait for the other one.

She'll be better, maybe I'll find her.

But how should I escape, from this one?

Don't leave me now!

Don't leave me now.

Don't leave me now!

I must write something finally, create.

Amidst the garden, a royal couple sits.

Unpredictably I'm starting to feel better.

Where are the Lithuanians coming from?

Hah, yes yes!

Lithuanians?

And right after I come into my house...

...I instantly switch on the TV, just as Robinson did with his surviving desk.

Fearing the empty flat.

I must make the supper.

Fuck, I don't have to do anything. Who said, that I have to? I don't...

...have to eat supper.

I don't have to sleep.

And I'm making myself a supper again, for fuck's sake...

Don't play there!

Stop that debauchery above me!

Don't make your knight feel your dandruff on his lips.

"ScurvyDent Total" cleans totally.

"Anti-Worm"

Pipeos?

Nah, dickos.

If you break air, while being with company...

...Antifarter will save you.

You smell nice, what is it?

Dick essence.

Dick essence!...

...is your scent.

Anus-vag-Vaginex...

...is a 40% more effective exercise...

...of Kegl's muscle of labia minora...

...and anal sphincter.

One, two, three, four...

...five, six, seven.

How long is this nightly smoking and switching through channels be the only thing I await by the end of the day?

How many times have I achieved everything in my mind?

I have only managed not to become a communist.

Osteoporosis.

Pollakisuria...

...and no holding of the urine...

Anus bruises.

Prostate.

And, finally, cancer... by the way...

Prostatic cancer, anus cancer...

Bladder cancer, lung cancer, and throat cancer...

Pancreatic cancer, and skin cancer.

I'm terribly afraid of cancer.

I'm afraid of everything.

Parkinson's disease.

Alzheimer's disease.

I'm afraid of the night.

Or maybe that's not the reason... I can't go to bed.

Although I'm tired and sleepy. Some kind of anxiety...

...squeezes my heart. How come?

Is it the end of the day?

Nothing more will happen today?

When the evening casts its shadow,

Before I lay down on the pillow...

Here I'm offering my prayer...

...to Almighty and His Son...

Screw my neighbour till he's gone!

For myself I request nothing,

Just as long as you can fuck him.

Who am I? A little Pole.

Petty, mean and envious.

My vileness describes me whole,

So hereby I pray pious

...to God, Mary, and Son.

Destroy that motherfucker.

My countryman, and my neighbour.

My enemy, this miscreant man.

Make them burgle his garage...

Make his woman betray him...

Make him lose his precious shop,

On his head a brick should drop,

Make his daughter date a nigger...

Whatever bad things you can trigger.

Give him cancer, give him AIDS,

This is how a Pole prays!

I thought...

Lithuanians?

What Lithuanians, I thought.

Because I didn't understand.

I was thinking about it all night.

And then it rang a bell.

Where... are the Lithuanians... coming from, am I right?

I didn't understand it at the beginning.

They are coming back from a trip...

...night trip, by the way. I thought...

I'll knock by, 'cause my neighbour spoke to me using poems, and I haven't even responded?

Where are the Lithuanians coming from?

I didn't wake you up?

I was just going to bed...

I thought: Lithuanians...

I won't make it till the morning.

I'll go, knock at the door, and tell him, that Lithuanians...

...are coming back from a trip.

Okay, Lithuanians, you've already told me about that...

I'd like to go to sleep.

Ahh, I'm sorry, but...

...it wasn't me who started with those Lithuanians!

You're asking, where are Lithuanians coming from, so I'm responding. Isn't that, what it's all about?

That's good, Lithuanians.

I didn't say it for a reason, fuck them.

Well, Mister... What do you mean, fuck them?

First you start the whole thing, and then you get mad?

Have a good night.

As usual I'm thinking about committing suicide. If I'm not doing it...

...then maybe it's because I'm thinking of my son?

Because I lack courage?

Because I got used to it?

Because mom used to say:

You have to live on!

So I live.

A half of Tussicodin for cigarette cough.

The one with cross for headaches, also caused by cigarettes.

And a half of Lerivon against black thoughts before sleep and depression.

And it makes it easier to fall asleep.

And a half of Imovane...

...for first sleep.

Add a half of Stilnox...

...to maintain that dream.

Aspirin just in case.

I advise to drink a glass of warm milk before going to sleep.

Take a cold shower...

...and then jump wet to the bed.

No sleeping for one night. Answer the letters...

And it will be easier to fall asleep the next night.

I'd have to answer Pizza Hut or Idea.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...

Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen!

And a nerve pee.

Pro forma, to check.

Sounds like a galloping pony, fuck, goddamn it!

What the heck, have you rented a room to a pony?!

Did he run away from poles?

No, it's like a glass ball falling.

What are you doing with that ball? Got totally childish?

That bouncing shit...

...is jumping on my brain!

Ball?

I'm sleeping under you!

Under me?

That's over the top, Jesus.

C, C, C W K, CWKS Legia! [CWKS Legia - first league football club in Warsaw]

My fellow traveller.

You have built your life...

...blocking, like a termite, openings to the world.

And huddling...

...in a cocoon of habits.

In a choking ritual of daily life.

And though it kept driving you mad every day...

...you slowly rose a barricade from this ritual.

Against all the storms...

...tides...

...stars, and feelings.

It costs you enough efforts to keep forgetting daily about your human condition.

Now the clay which had once shaped you...

...dried.

And hardened.

Nobody will find in you no more...

...an astronaut...

...a musician...

...an altruist...

...a poet...

...a man...

...who maybe had lived in you once.