Here I am, and I exist as I am, and that is enough. The answer is here, in all truths waiting in all things, in all flavours, insignificant being as big to me as any, in all tastes and possibilities. I perceive my answer, after all, in so many uttering tongues, as they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing. So, now seventy years old in perfect health, I begin, hoping to cease not till death.
Why in English, if even my thinking is Polish, sometimes French, or Italian, but never English? And why not? Is there an owner of a language? Is there a criterion, a compulsion to think in a specific language? Constantly trying on, trying out, fighting against the rules of grammar and the dark magma of the mind, that’s it. Proving that the will counts and that everything – still – is possible.
So, I am not a wine professional, and, in fact, I am not interested in the description of individual bottles or flavours immortalised for eternity, just because they are tiny in their volatility, changing at any moment and depending on just any fart of nature. Instead, I am interested in discovering what constitutes the power of such volatility, because of which disputes and wars take place, books and poems are written, people build careers on them, and all these “exegi monumentum“.
I try to understand and grasp the phenomenon to reduce it to dialogue, which is the only way to save me from loneliness and annihilation. So when I write, I sit with You at the table and talk in whatever language I want, which is how I build this site. WINEY.PL