I'm finishing a small book made with various writings and pieces of conference papers that cover these last five years and that may serve as a conclusion of my Varsovian period. The title, "coming humanities", stupidly post-Agambenian, is auto-ironic. I cannot stop being ironic about myself, especially about me in Warsaw: the most useless member of the Faculty "Artes Liberales". They should give me any distinction or award for the courage of eliminating myself.
But well, the book. The book is divided in four parts: "Emergence", "Desert", "Circulation" and "Topologies", and collects various pieces of writing around some key concepts. That of transculture, of course, taken as an emergence of complexity, as well as several other topics crucial for those years: the desert, the void, the legacy of postmodernism.
Together with the history of the Portuguese literature that I really want to finish and submit to the editor before the end of the year, the Coming Humanities book will be the last one I publish in Polish. Thence the melancholy of departure. And the melancholy of those mere 100 pages, that will be printed cheaply, and of course, entirely ignored.
These things I leave behind...