I'm going to Amsterdam next week. I should be preparing my presentation for "Machinic Ecologies", as well as reading through the materials for the workshop with Jeffrey Bell on Thursday.
Yet I'm still in bed, writing on my blog, and adding bits of an article in Polish for a volume on Mia Couto. I read in a popular psychology review this is called "taking coffee on the edge", procrastinating at the moment when the radical and long desired change is close at hand. Indeed, the thought slowly bores through my head that these days might be my last in Warsaw, and last at home in Kraków, before I leave for Brasil, hopefully this month of September, and then either for Portugal or Austria. That in fact won't be that from home at all. There is a train, another train, that might take me up and down again.
So many things to finish, to clean up before I go. This is why perhaps I stick to this paper on Couto, even if I know nothing I could write in Polish now will make any change whatsoever. I stick to a kind of nostalgia of insufficiency, as if there was a poetry in fighting battles that are not only lost, but also of no strategical avail. Yet I know the only way to finish it up is to get through it, exhaust it, let it consume it completely.