Arvo Pärt je poznan malo širše, Henryk Górecki and Toro Takemitsu are a little less known. In fact, apart from audio-enthusiasts and musicians, frankly pretty much a mystery. William Blake was not acclaimed in his home country for a long, long time, before they have finally put him as 38th on the "100 greatest Britons" chart. Luigi Pirandello is a great situationist, satyric writer, and much, much more, but outside the circles of a few, his name is still, to my big surprise, unknown. Who knows, outside Poland, the great music band called "Raz, dwa, trzy"? Has anyone of you ever heard of the name of Afel Bocoum?
You will expect a punchline to all that. But there will be none. And one other thing, very noticeable, from this day on, I don't care, in which language the diaries will be in. The mood, the need for practice, the unusually strong feeling, whatever... So be it.
After about 30 hours without sleep, full of work, eating, partying, sightseeing, plane traveling and moving from seat to seat at the airport, I am finally back to the ways of the old Slovenia republic. I believe it is not what I expected to see when I come back, but after all, there was only two days that I was gone. Only two, and I thought Mikołaj Kopernik turned the Milky way around. I still cannot find the Ali Farka Toure's albums for making some order in my music library...
I feel a bit lost, I admit. Yet, admitting is not the way to do things nowadays, so I would do better if I lied to you... That would be a totally different, but equally inadequate and boring story.
Poland was great. In fact, the most depressing, almost suicidal fact after such festivals, in which you invest a mountain of your own energy, is that you do not feel the life for the next few days. Everything is in vain, the senses dissolve, the eyes blur the vision. I would like to live again.
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