The coffee this morning tastes pretty much like what I imagined it would have tasted had I ever licked one of those red wheels on a steam train from Jastrzebie Zdrój to Katowice. It is a bit as if the coal dust never dissolved, just turned to this brownish cloud in the water, luke warm, because there was no time this morning to even drink the coffee…
Things are moving along swiftly, as we wag our tails at the day.
Big Orka is here with me now, in the corner of the room, suspended by the air conditioning outlet. I am not sure what happened to the other guys that were in this little drawing private exit drawing…
Somebody else is definitely very private behind these barely usable doors on 73rd. Orka knows.
No, Orka does not know.
The softeners seeping from his dirty belly left stains of dissolved plastic on the cover of the printer at home. He had to hide soon after. Cheat his toy-death.
The place where I got Orka is now some fancy fashion experience… no more old fashioned New York toy outlet. (Orka might be about 20 years old?)
He has a little sticker in a very particular place. It claims that he was Made in Poland. He was not, I assume, but maybe his idea was, maybe the best possible scenario already exists, somewhere ahead of us, and we just carry it along with us, until everything falls into place, and we can finally just close those eyes and dive into another incredibly intricate dream…
I drew all over my arm with a pen that draws pink dotted lines. I wonder if this was part of that Made in Poland childhood dream. ; )
There are some really strange paths to happiness.