Notalp Hyperanthropos: Translation from Polish

By Waldemar Wnuk

In notion Giorgio Colli, Hyperanthropos had be human being, who instinctively wouldnt be given up to impulses of natural life and simultaneously, wouldnt be submissive for brain violence, which incline to Anthropocentrism.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Apr 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524680367

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© 2017 Waldemar Wnuk. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 04/20/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5246-8041-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-8035-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-8036-7 (e)

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CONTENTS

Book One

Zarathustra’s Descend

Dionysus Dance

Expert’s Paper

The Zarathustra Descend

Proclamation

Book Two

Eureka

Aphorism 157

BOOK ONE

ZARATHUSTRA’S DESCEND

I was born 15th of October 1844 in the Lutzen battlefield. First name which I heard, it was Gustav Adolf. He wrote it in Curriculum Vitae, which together with Synopsis his Play Short course of love and High School of Dying, sent to Arka Publisher".

At the beginning, it was treated as literature extravagancy. Then, after conversation by phone, was recognized, that it wasn’t yoke. Notalp has never yoked. What for? When all his life was a kind of farce, over sensitive caricature, mystification borne in The World of Shadows and fantasy. No. He believed in it, what he was writing by all his existence. Proved with vigour, that his file has origin in straight line from Silesian nobility Nickich and fact, that nobody have believed in that, was unimportant for him. Was saying: I am on The Happy Isles, only when you are far away from me. Then, Alpine winds winged me around. Then and not early, I am ready to thinking in Dionysian categories. You can’t just to say, that it disturbed in his live. If it was The Art, that real and pure, then had catastrophic problem with find out, even one metaphysical recipient…, who would enthuse by its form, instead of to receive his game as disturbance in communication, as syndrome of illness. In some meaning, word illness was a key in this affair. He knew about. Nietzsche himself, can’t be indeed reckoned differently as ill person. Somebody who hurled himself, straight, into Land of Imagination and by his cosmic lie trying to save Humanity against irresistible humiliation, which bringing The Future. He wanted then, introduce himself to Publisher Agent from the best possible side. Turned then sometimes black moustache and spelled on computer every tens, such as from it would depend not only all his life, but also things much more important from it. He wanted to present publicity, such to explain from the point, who he is and what are his purposes. From publicity depended, if has ears to listening, or he has to speak to them language of mob, or what worse more Educated Phylisters. Those last once, felt from ten miles against winter, like experienced hunter wild animal in forest bushes. Didn’t want to speak anymore. Wanted to write what and how, and lets everyone choosing from it, what is good for him and what belonged to his race. Atavistically moved nostrils and smiled with superiority, oblivious in tragic state of his body condition. Almost couldn’t move legs freeze. Cherished himself, that circling around Alpine picks with stick in hand and doesn’t care of natural, winter ails. Pack of papers left in the corner, two blankets and heap of battles, had to be substitute of mystic Nietzsche’s animals in this moment, Don Quichotte of thinking, who his windmill wanted charge too furiously, too madly, dying over every corner… It doesn’t matter. Wanted present himself to Publisher Agent, not yet as The Crucified, but as great disciple and aspirer to this honourable title. The letter signed then Friedrich Nietzsche and purpose his creativity clearly and without scruples established I want to create Superhuman. This message wanted to explore from deep of his well, summerhouse on his little allot to the surface of reading society… Tucked in three shawls and cuddled in thick, black coat, lucky that Wydrzykovsky even thou pinned electrical wire to garden summerhouses, could dedicate to his mystic struggle against matter on the computer screen. Aware, that are no winners in this game, and only losers. He Philologist from Basel, thirsty of Gaia Scienza, here could suffer in solitude his mystery illness. He and His Animals his faithful listeners, coming to life through the night, to fulfil enjoyment his imagination by mysterious voices, ghosts, wolves, vampires and others predators ready for theatrical performance always when twilight comes, to before down again appear as dead things, forged into stone of silence, in anyway don’t betraying already its magic powers. In reality, thought, I was associated with them. I was a witness of night’s monsters escapades. Haunted me his present this one, who I was scared and who I respected. My privy father. He was only one, who could be this one, who will council me to the straight path of Fight, with rightful and good world. Already, then in Recke, he crossed off everything. Swiped me off from Earth surface. Determined everything, made it clear, that I am destined to unusual things. Here was in his Alpine Sils Maria.

DIONYSUS DANCE

Through the glass window all world appeared as the Wizard’s Land. Glowing in the morning sun crystals of melting snow. Sunbeams rebounded with unimaginable power and shocking eye pupils. Vivid mane of neighbour’s dog…, black, messy Satan, which used to look inside his allot summerhouse and escape after clasp in hands in frightening, such panicky, that in run mixed up rhythm of steps and desperately, spectacularly twisted somersault, just like would be only parody of dog and not living representative of this species… This morning he felt inside this heat wave, which usually was associating with him, after second glass and inclined him to great things. He had to, wanted or not, leave apart his work… Didn’t want to Short course of love… was his the last word. Quite opposite, it had to be overture…, illuminating stage, not worse than The borne of Tragedy…. Full apotheosis of basic assumes. Convinced, that successfully got this climax. Laughed… Was seeing behind window The Happy Isles. Short course of love… was already in Arc, Zarathustra’s Descend was almost done. Got bored already his power, his Will of Power, ordered him to stand up. Imprudently, even thou, two toes of right foot were unnaturally white, and hole in shoe had given guaranty, that as soon as after one minute in contact with wet snow, it will fulfil in water, kicked door, which creaking with difficulty pushed away wet snow and let hurled inside madly bright strip of laser light… He waved on his legs. Almost fell over on his face in threshold… Birds welcomed him themes heavenly sing, anthem for sun invitation… Stared at the sky… Key of black crows glided with flattering over his head… Satan frightened by violent opening gates, ran away in panic… They are here, thought, Animals of mine. They were mine company in the hardest times. Now, when I am pregnant in wisdom…, escaped. My snake and my lion don’t need me already. Time of Zarathustra’s Descend become. Invigorated by his own thoughts, rounded circle croaking with open jaw, showing world his incomplete teeth. Loose balance, drooped on his knees. For long and bravely laughed with bluff and full mouth, straight in face of sun, Here I am. I am here again. When he was lacked of breath, stood up on one knee. Then with the biggest effort undertook standing pose. Carefully, to don’t fall over again, in place, which was on time to unintentionally brushed away from snow by his old black coat. Started to rounded in circle… Intoxicated by this sunny carousel, more and more faster… like Jews dancer raised hands above, just like to want catch the sunlight… Full of passion, intoxication and pathos, had flown in imagination, toddling awkwardly in one place, I ruled over her… I am the Lord of her. Maya is a woman. I will posses her as Dionysus Ariadne. We will make love. What about you… you don’t understand me. I am not a tongue for yours ears. Buff laughter, nearly pushed him out of balance, Those fullers really think, that they can read it, that can to read something, what is written by blood. Even here in Sils Maria I feel vulgar odour themes bad stomachs."

You could suppose by ignorance, that Notalp it is only humiliated person, alcohol addicted and looser. You wouldn’t be more mistaken. In phenomenal meaning he was somebody more real than even Nietzsche, whose posture was able to adopt, when was wearing his famous glasses… Well, even was enable to identify with him almost perfectly. Saying in his voice and to converse juicy with his friends. Well, so from that, if Professor from Basel himself, was indeed Professor and not The Old Man from mountains, such haw imagined it Nietzsche himself. Look only at this Zarathustra’s face! Oh! It is real Zarathustra! Exclaimed Nietzsche when discovered in 1885 y. reproduce of Leonardo da Vinci self-portrait… Let’s look at this fatigued! More wonderer than scientist… at long rings of hair, poured in one with huge, silver beard… Exhausted old man eyes… No. It couldn’t be nineteenth century intellectualist. It had to be someone with origin straight from Jews Bible. Like God Father, Abraham, or Moses… careless, the total artist. Knitted with Nature by all his personality. Enrooted as tree in landscape. Monster into his hair the birds preparing nests and butterflies sitting for a while on his nose and eyelids, just like he was the death matter… Might only bushing brose move, let Nature to understand, that though he is vivid matter… Leonardo wanted to be the old man. Old and careless. Huge in his genius, body treated as abstract sculpture, live structure mutated in time toward divinity. Here in Sils Maria, Notalp done all what is in human power to become Zarathustra waiting for descend from mountains… Like Poseidon shutting from time to time thunders, like Moses straggled against desert. Like Zarathustra himself, had wrote in this mountain cave his Avesta. Words, which from cosmic space streamed on keyboard were Enlighten. He was certain about. No less certain as Buddha, or Mahomet… He was than The Old Man from mountains, like extinguishing in Sils Maria Nietzsche and swallowed in knowledge no less than he himself. More though, similar was to him, to this one who philosopher desired to become… It is not like that, that Notalp sunk immeasurably in world of metaphors, that buried himself in infinite allegories… Had such as Baselean his scientific doctrine… The same way as he, didn’t want its analyses, to be compare, to be condemned for pointing and divisions, searching for words sources, to be considering where from borrowed every word included in. He wanted to be believed, that it is blood written words and to be absorbed it not through the eyes, no by brain, but by heart. It is not also such, that he desired to whoever left with him in his believe. Faithful Nietzsche disciple, wanted to everybody could absorbing reality, fall in love to his own ideas and to try press the world to listening about. Loved every moment, when underneath his skull temple something new was birthing and contemplated with it, until thought didn’t become pale, didn’t sterile by constant repetition in different contexts, by comprising and neglecting… Well then, when sow for example beautiful woman face, and unreached its ideal left for ever Athenais, knew that she is code of Nature, incompatible work of divine, artistic genius and was doing everything what was in his power, to as long as it is possible meditate her sight. It was early. Here in Sils Maria could enjoy only downs and sets of the sun, snowstorm charging violently in his eyes, mystic present his animals, the most faithful friends. Here between one and another bottle of vodka he was fighting against demons… Mercilessly floundered in theirs nightmarish grasp. Had his little triumphs, catastrophic defeats, was neglected, humiliated, ridiculed and again had been borne to the live. Full of vigour, such as yesterday, when in Dionysus mask, on threshold allot summerhouse, was dancing his Dionysian dance of life. Already wasted all tears for crying. Hart was powerless already for fallowing love adventures. Shaking hands weren’t already able to quick keyboard using. Occurred on the screen words, had to repeatedly correcting. Too often accidently pressed bottoms. It was his Golgotha. He was a winner, when preached Sermon on the mount and crows crowed scientifically over his head in unspoken gesture of acceptance for his intoxicating, ecstatic eloquence… Laughed lone to himself… He knew, that it what created was good. Knew, that it is mystic, metaphysic experience, at least for one human being. I wondered. I said, that he was his disciple… It is not true. Rather he was him, in matter of fact. In the same meaning in which Nietzsche was Zarathustra. Sage from mountains. Bringer the light for humanity. Farmer breeding new kind of human being. Dreamed, Hyperanthropos, who supposed to be next stage on the way in process of development toward mastering the world. He was unchallengeable critic. Wanted to valuing absolutely everything, through the prism of his phenomenal awareness. Believed, that his judgement is like fresh air, which with time will be unfolding in typhoon and will broken down damage skeletonised structures. By hammer of his logos, wanted to break down to the pieces, ingrown, like mushrooms after rain molochs. Was a need to come back. Come back to the bases, to liberate from chest the spirit, to become his shadow, than united with him, to finally, he himself become spirit and shadow, depart to The Happy Islands. Once his notes had been reading. Stared at him mercifully. In deadly concentration Doctor Obwarzanek noted down from that it, what from meritorious point of view deserve for remark. Everything sum up in four points, which considered as quite original, however far from revolutionaries in perspective History of Human Thinking. For long time carried with himself this Paper of expert. Thought, haw to improve his thoughts such way, to make its interesting for experts? Thought Might to attach to text big arithmetic tables, or create hand drawing sketches, such to speak by own to reader imagination. He was thinking about a lot. Used to sitting, and it was thousands of years before Sils Maria, by the table, sinking in red climate of alcohol, reading around critical thought of Doctor Obwarzanek and to contemplate, if only found somebody, who would like to listen those commentaries. Shocked him, once beautiful, summer day, catastrophe. Then regarded this childish habit, that scramble with acquaints. They were leaving him and stayed along. Often beaten and scratched. Such was and then. He was with girlfriend. Notalp only wanted to touch her slander nose and it happened. Shaking hand fell over in its flight toward the stars of her face point and black Porto elixir poured on surface Paper of expert, irreversibly damage this priceless document. Since that event could only trying reconstruct from memory, it what was there spelled in effect on Doctor Obwarzanek demonic effort. He had big problems with it. Like Nietzsche had inclination to over interpretation. Sometimes acclaimed this way himself, and sometimes hurled into abyss of No Existence. So… undertook even desperate try, to meet him again. Although he wasn’t there, and charming assistant…aren’t all assistants charming? Closed only stealthily nose from abomination and said something about his illness and inadequacy visit at University in such state. So, well… gave up this matter. Just in Sils Maria was able to concentration in such extend, to distillate from memory equally objective sketch of Doctor Obwarzanek critic… Created then for it special file in computer’s memory, where appeared six its variations. In greedy night, when had been dreaming of becoming Katy with bottle of wine, was able to sober consideration and articulated basic points of his critic.

EXPERT’S PAPER

• Fallowing Nietzsche steps, you rightly underline possibility of language impenetrability. Language, which can be alienated in special code of meanings, accessible only for someone with extraordinary original experience and way of expression. It is not accident, that in fact Philosophy of Language in nowadays constitute main base for knowledge ascertain and simultaneously main hope for future development. I even don’t say of Wittgenstein Theory, but let look at such innovators like Noam Chomsky. They don’t understand me. I am not tongue for those ears. Bravo! It is anticipation of future trend. Although, it is worth consideration, if in this concrete case, isn’t it just Elitism, typical for artists? If really, then post like this led rather to turn over, back to The Reality, to conscious horizon darkening, to such extend, to make impossibility true meanings recognition. Operation it forgettable in The Art World, for philosopher is something reprehensible. Obviously, if he keeps going traditional attitude to methodology its discipline, elaborated since Aristotle and Descartes clare at distincte. Then, in first instant, to make things clear and able to measuring. It doesn’t mean, that language which use philosopher must to be simple. Has to be though, fully able to complex analysis his text and to explain to reader, haw are really meanings of his writing? Artist can appeal to subconscious, to emotional perception, to thinking archetypes, but philosopher must to rest on Rational, if he wants to be philosopher in proper sense of its word… The University, isn’t then place for visionary sensations, for prophets, or for artists. But for methodologists and analytics. Lets you sincerely turn attention, that even in Nietzsche times, was him never forgotten, his Birth of Tragedy from spirit of music. None in Basel couldn’t imagine, what should be done, if cross off all achievement of analytic thinking and refers to those what is intuitional and irrational. It is impossible in science meaning, by one tens about impenetrability, to cross off all intellectual achievement of generations… Bravo ten for intuition! Words those can be always refer to Nietzsche. Language… yes, it is matter of future, but its exploration, and not closing up into ritual code impenetrable meanings.

• Culture creating Activism, which you such shapely sum up in formula, Panta gar tolmeton, it is motive of vitality and reflect less activity. In my opinion, as a old practiser… and here you stay along with intuition… I remember my father tale, of moment, to let myself for free speculation, when beautiful woman, who later occurred as my father partner for lifetime, over 40 years, stood in front of him in Theatre Box and from his life activity depended, how he will use this situation. And truly, he felt in this moment as The Last Man, to pregnant in hope broke through and incline this lovely creature, to give him some hope. Panta gar tolmaton, Nature has never forgotten its creatures passivity… Again you targeted well. It is an interesting object for researching. What has influenced humans activity? Haw are motives in decision undertaken in particular situation? Why Caska, had courage stabbed by stiletto as a first defenceless Julio Cesar? Bravo! Isn’t it though field of activity rather for Psychology, Neurology, I don’t know? Science of humans brain building. Problem of destination, such lively discussed in Nietzsche times, particularly by Schopenhauer, in nowadays by Philosophy as for Science is reckoned as scholastic subject, which cant bring any hopes for exploring any rational conclusions. Do you understand? If Shopenhauer has right, what has similar with it our self-knowledge? Theologians were in different situation. They had seen The Free Arbiter in Person of God. Then, themes dissertations were justified, because described only his omnipotence. Well…, again true in commonsense, but in ascertain of knowledge don’t give any hopes. Stress on Activism, in any extend don’t uncover field for tree basic philosophical enquires, which from rational point of view put on Immanuel Kant. Was kann ich wisen? Was soll ich tun? Was darf ich hoffen? It is only cry for blind activity, for experiment with Nature, for impact our personality with matter of Nature and Society. I am the wisdom lover. Again then, I am against you and against Nietzsche and with Socrates and with Basel. I do apologise if it is abused you. Even thou, again excellent intuition. Experiment it is source of Natural Sciences. Exactly, as you propose it, according to ancient role, Panta gar tolmaton".

• Role of Myth. Only it explain in allegoric form, things and phenomenon to which reach isn’t able human brain. It is obvious truth. From such consideration, had origin equally the Shaman authority like Old Testament Prophets, to don’t walk in with dirty shoes on still alive matter of common religions. Nietzsche then and you fallowing him writes also in allegoric form, to explain things and phenomena, in face of which Science occurred as powerless. Here I can’t say bravo. It is coup against building of human knowledge. The most pretentious act in History of Humanity. Obviously, if you can say like that of revealed texts, which have always been doing revolution. But, if you really expect from me, that I will my own name justifying yours perverse tends? I am a scientist. I have been operating my own method and I am rather not interesting in demolishing the science building! I am not such priggish! Or might I am lack of Dionysus’s energy, Greek’s dare for everything! For me it is already only academic polemic. And again I am in support Basel and The Plato Academy. Please forgive me. I won’t be start to write in allegories, such as an artist. I won’t be curse all acknowledged authorities, though I remember, that as student, I had lots of will to do it… Witkacy’s Insatiability is hidden in soul every living person. Again I have to admit, that you impressed me, but I won’t be walking fallowing yours traces. Epistemological capitulation, you write about, it is attractive abstraction. Return to Philosophy sources. Yes. The Man have been trying to establish its place on the Earth, sense of existence and still can not to find answer for those questions. In same then general human meaning I am with you and with Nietzsche. Shall I reaching for banal, to prove it for you? Life is a moment, illusion, measurable affair, etc ... Yes. I am not, a genius. I capitulated in face it, what is the most important. I have known nothing, just as Socrates. I put nose in thick Book of knowledge and such as Father Benedictine, I try to decode from it something, sometimes, to make it clearer for reader, I have been analysing alien thoughts in various contexts… It is not too much. Though, can you forgive me, if you really, inspired by Nietzsche activism, were able already, walk in onto Agora and tell to the mob gathered in the acrobat show something sensible? If you in such meaning were impenetrable? Or in such, that you turned back and blocked yours ears? Humanism hidden in Myth, it is challenge for all human being condition. If you really anticipate, that in our body are hidden some more other, specific only for our specie powers? It is very risky attitude. Or you are just believer and assuming, that human becoming divine during historical process? What was unexplained, had been explained and the world changed its face, you write. Haw to interpret it? Myth showing for us horizon. Lets then start to create myths, to perform, in Nietzsche meaning, next step on the evolution way. To become Superhuman. I do understand this kind of thinking. Mythology it is the base for culture. Let’s start than to create new myths, to in effect on, create New Reality, suite for Superhuman. Wasn’t it indeed will of the contestable movements. Isn’t indeed, all avant-garde Art, have been searching for it? I am sceptic already, but also already good scientist and in it and not in new myths creation, which despite of everything, I would consider as created in historical process, I see my task. Again then, interesting but useless for me. Search it is moral duty in future generations face. Yes. I wish you then lucky. Though, you must remember, how many sailors were got lost on the way to America, until Columbus reached there! Bravo! Well directed remarks. We can’t be self-important. We still don’t know, what is the existence? Then, Myth is mother for everything what exist. Yes, Mr Notalp. I feel instructed by you and rebuked for my pettiness, but if really enlighten? Rather not. I such as Baselean, know something of The myth of eternal come back the same". I don’t discourage. I only want to push you to detailed job. Then, a) You believe, that into human are some more other meanings, outside the civilization building. b) You believe that new allegory-myth is able to draw nearer humanity to such meanings. I understand. I wish you luck.

• Finally, you have approached in yours discourse to very actual matter, to building of human brain. And here all World of Science is with you. Neurologists, Genetics, more even Informatics, struggling furiously, to establish its functions. It is ethically dangerous operation, but also promising in eudemonistic meaning. Searching for ways to Happiness on The Earth. You have been paying attention in languages inadequacy to description structure of human brain. It is fact. However it is pretentious remark. We should searching for solutions and not only pointed lapses others. You are frightened together with humanists and Masters of Spirit of devastation Language of Culture in the name of scientific schemes, which ignoring it what hidden and what created in historical process as content of language. You are positive, that Language of Culture, as deeper must be victor. Ambiguous terms are better suited for ambiguity surrounding us world. Intelligent remark, but again against analyse, and in support for nihilism and abortion. For me it is obvious fact, that Philosophy haven’t discovered but reinterpreted still the same questions in new cultural context. If yours article was directed to board publicity, then would have epistemological value, but you turned with it to experts. They, though expecting to get some solutions, methods, widening balloon of knowledge, as you sincerely described it. The Perspectivism term, which had be the great Nietzsche achievement in Theory of Knowledge, is indeed only methodological clue, very close in meaning to his Activism. It is warrant to free interpretation, such characteristic for The Western Civilisation, at least from Martin Luther times. Here I stand- He wrote. And from this point of view valuing. Isn’t it remind you Nietzsche’s Human means valuing? Acknowledge individuation it is Nietzsche’s dream, which been dreamt on. The West broken down in stardust all dogmas. What was functional became only one religion. I am far away from crossing significance Nietzsche’s Philosophy for Western Culture. It is beautiful and artistically fertile interpretation philosophical problems. Fertile in meaning aggressive. Able to reach to rebel brains. Outline new forms in Art, ideas in Culture. I am not an ignorant Mr Notalp. And then I encourage to reading Nietzsche’s Collected Works and I expect solid articles in this matter.

Yours sincerely

Doctor Obwarzanek.

It was thousands of years ago. Like on the other planet. Then he had friends, pupil’s aspirations and whole in heart after affair with ebony-hair girl.

Here he found peace. Submerged in mystery, velvet matter of his thoughts. Through all nights, he was sitting by night lamp and struggled against demons his own invention. Nearly physically. Just like to fight against shadow. Repeated few times every emerging from mind tense, corrected on the computer screen. In painful flow of soberness, reconstructed Doctor Obwarzanek Expert’s Paper and dropped as dead on musty armchair… Through his thoughts ran up, that needs more Nietzsche’s Works, that in Course of love…, went out too far from The Great Interpretation. Cloudy looked at Kasia, who just in the morning delivered promising bottle of wine famous mark Apple Flower. - Better later, then never- Whispered and shaking hands got its cork. Already, after first gulp, relief poured on him from alcoholics light sky…- And what about me? To have brought to you such every day? Well… boys have, yes, but don’t want to give.- Seat down and stared at him motherly sight. She tried slightly correct blanket, which slide down from his shoulders.

-You have lucky, that I like you. You are somehow different Mr. Like Christ, or something like that, somehow different. – He didn’t answer anything. Only looked at her, twined in few coats of material. At her short, bronze hair, rounded face, flashes of red in eyes and wide almost Negro-like lips. Through long moment they measured each other by sight…

-You must move from here Mr. Everything stinking already like in pigsties.- Again, didn’t answer anything…, then she didn’t carry on. Interrupted her meditation,

-I need books…- O Jesus! It is still not enough for you! About two heaps stay by the wall.- Not such common books… very important. I will give you my order and you will pass it to this old one in book shop. He will know.

-All right. All right, and what about money daddy! And what I will have from it? You are good one. I became, because I was scare of you, that might you been frozen.-Laughed… –O! Last time you had funny madness…You were dancing like lunatic before allot house. Wydrzykowski firstly wanted calling for ambulance, but later with boys had such good fun, that hood almost broke down… And you, even didn’t care of them, only waved on the snow just like some idiot… O man! Man! You have lucky that I like you…- Kasia drew up from bag second wine, to keep him company. Wide move poured glass wine for herself and delighted every gulp, oozed its consent.

-All right. Let’s be. Tell me. What about it yours books. Shall I give paper this old one from pipe? All right. I will do it. And angels from heaven once will pay- She laughed, showing abominable, rotten smile…- O! My old one for laugh like this, wouldn’t be fucking about mine pain, but you are just like little son. Such falling asleep and wise, that only cuddling you and cradle such small baby boy, or even lullaby intonate, to give you colourful dreams… Well, why don’t you talk anything!

-I think… You don’t understand anything. Truly, Queen of shallow water woman is. When I only organize my financial problems, I will pay him. I am waiting for big advance on my haven’t published yet play, and also University has had outstanding payment for still haven’t published yet article. Be then more patient my darling and don’t look at me such merciful eyes. I don’t need yours pity. I disdain pity. I resolved irreversibly, that the time of descend from mountains become. I have to abandon my animals and descend to people… Don’t be then afraid of me woman. I am pregnant in wise, and it what will birth from it, isn’t for yours eyes…- She interrupted his monolog…- All right, fucking any. I can pass this pace of paper… but nothing would happen, if you yourself move ass to there. Or… let’s be like you wish- She poured one more glass for herself.- Have you ever had same woman Mr? But such really, to covering one duvet? Because it appeared to me, that you are not very real man are…- He kept silent. Deepened in armchair, breathed deep and silver rings of his beard and long messy gray hair, waved like sea weave, lightly and gently, just like on pace, disappearing in greyness sea. With every moment sinking deeper and deeper in his thoughts. Just like to swim in deep of oceanic chasm and explore unknown coral reefs, mysterious chambers on the sea bottom, treasures hidden before humans eyes. Kasia stared at him with expression motherly care… foggy eyes, which didn’t know authentic problems. Like deep in love to his countenance. Quite like she would adore icon, or some beautiful picture…- You are so beautiful Mr, when you sleep on like that. There in head you have colourful violets… You would only talking and talking… You are so beautiful- She stuck to him from the back. Seat down along his armchair and rested head on his leg. Cuddled in it cheek, blinked eyes and for long moment, they were sitting together and dream on about something. Partly opened allot gates creaked painfully, pushed by neurotic, blustery wind.

She firstly, stood up on balanced legs, frightened that freeze penetrated her limbs…

-O Jesus! Close up, fuck, this door man! Wydrzykowski cried even thou, that is ready to disconnect you from electricity…- After one moment she was laughing again.

-But I told him, that only upon my death crop, that I would break his lame legs… and he gave up in silence.- He wasn’t react in her laugh…

-All right, I will pass this paper. I go away.-Just now, he beak up from deep, dull contemplation – Blessed, who gone away from me…-When she went away, quickly and skilfully on the electric cook, boiled water and prepared black coffee. Corrected mob hands and seat on chair by computer.. Even for one moment hadn’t forgotten, that is in his Sils Maria and that in his life matter only his Work. Though Life is short and Art is eternal. Thought, if characters which described in his Play, are suggestive enough, to shocking the agent to such extend, to quickly would decide of its publishing and gifted society his genius… Positive, that Course of love… is perfect metaphor, elaborated through demonic cost of his life and blood written, in the Zarathustra scale. More, may Zarathustra it was only beginnings.

-It had been only my beginnings- thought… -Ecco Homo, it wasn’t already something in the same scale… They needed Aeschylus, to strike them by Art as hammer. Powerful chorus of black figures in context, primeval music, mysterious sound, which could be tear up air and to give birth for everything what exist. Just like Indian mantra Ommm, vibrating in outer space… It is sound, it music awoke humanity to life… The same way like before had awoken, as first factor, to life Cosmos… Because from Spirit of Music, the tragedy was born, and from tragedy Culture- Breathed deeply- It is such simply. Such obvious… Already, then I wrote about. This fuller Gast pretended and Lou, she similar… They were by me, but they eyes glided in outer space… My eyes blazed, but theirs were still dried up and empty, such as dried up well… He had to hurled it out of himself. Couldn’t any more to suffocate anger in himself… From outside the gate hired like animals of him creeping to listened, the lecture again… Lion murmured pitiably by gates, desperate that can’t lie down under Master feet, always proud in its heroism, but boundlessly dedicated and childishly naive and trustful. Eagle, by loud cracking given to understanding, that it is also by him, that had never left him, his the highest hope… Glided over him, always ready to fall down as thunder from light sky and shocked every single enemy… They understood each other without words. By one face gesture, by one sight, given orders to it. Now wanted to it be his bearer of becoming storm…, because truly, like thunder becoming from mountains was Descend of Zarathustra. The Snake of his wisdom, it only one was always able, to tricked him. Cunningly guided in the open field. Unmoved crawled in his hermit. Always ready, to find some chink in floor… more… it wasn’t what he was scared the most. The most cruel, paralysing experience for Sage from mountains was its walk in his imagination world… Arrogant and conscienceless circled, turned over, flipped upside down everything inside his subtlety elaborated doctrine…, such that exhausted after fight for death and life, so often was left with nothing. Lonely as dog… Broken down… Abandoned as little kid, who was last by mother. Yes. He was scared the most of him. Now considered, haw to guided it in the field? Haw to quietly put on shoulders yours Art and slip out of hermit, such to it wouldn’t recognize, to wouldn’t damage everything by power of his dialectic… He knew, that time became. Only waited for sign… Pregnant in wisdom waited for sign…

The snake moved sometimes books, never showed itself, then again scampering as panther wondered among electrical wires connected with computer… Sometimes physically felt its present, when papers collected in big bag were suddenly moving… Smiled to himself –You know, that you have never won with me. Obwarzanek will never be written by allegories, but I am allegory myself… metaphor of human being condition on the doorstep of divinity… My handsomeness is boundless. I have to give them Superhuman…Lion of my heart roaring under perception gate, unable to penetration… Snake-Azazel, breaking here through with easy… He has to gathered in himself enough Will of Power to break down gates by hammer, tear to pieces snake by nails and proudly roaring to the sky, where majestic circles drawing Eagle of the highest hope.

He was working out so long. Was proud of himself. Smiled bravely to the Moon… Finally, black veil of the night covered him such tidy, that sunk in deep sleep… Sailed in others lands. Always wanted to tell somebody about… Desperately penetrated memory, to find there person, who would tell his most intimate secret. Darkness answered by darkness, from sunbeams didn’t want to emerge any light figure. Stars kept silence meaningfully… Exhausted by searching, dropped on his armchair and just then came up to him such conscience, it mystic discovery, that all his trek here and everywhere have been observing huge, black eyes, which are Cosmic Gates… Huge, deep and gleaming, ready to absorb the Ocean of his sorrow, humiliating, suffering… It is for her, for his mystic friend this story was dedicated… It is appeared that only she from all creatures on the earth was able to listened it. He undertook her offer. Only a little disgusted, that didn’t deserve for her smile. Couldn’t then hear and watching associating his revelation sings and birds dances, grass waving on the wind, to feel aroma of blooming flowers…

Now, he was standing up, in old fashionable jacket, on his nose put on glasses, given his face expression of enlighten and intelligence posture.

-Father of mine, Carl Ludwig, Priest from Pebles, in reality has never died. He stayed with me, to keep me company in my trek. From my birthday, he knew that I am destined to doing great things… It is difficult to say from nowadays perspective, what he indeed had in his mind? Himself was devoted God’s servant, all evenings deepened in his books and all days passionately debating with arrogant women about parishes affairs. May be he wanted, to I become The Great Theologian, skilfully elaborating Saints of Church works, Bible, Jesus Christ Life and showing people way to the future, or may The Great Musician, organist, who would be able to study such musically mastery organ accords, to don’t leave doubts in question of world sanctity, sinking recipient in misterium tremenduum, intoxicating by differentness. Such to be see, second nature of surrendered us world, this one mystic, deep, guided to Eternity… I don’t know it. And we never will known it already. It is fact, that in Rocken he was like monument made from stone, too huge and too cold, to be touching by naked hand. Old ladies had drunken every single word from his mouth, seen in his person not only parish administrator, but also real mediator between God and Human… I couldn’t believe, that haven’t outside off his piano music, pressing tears from maiden’s eyes, outside off huge organ accords, some mystery world, dancing ghosts, calling powerful voices theirs future sacrifices. O! If I would be able yet to quite rest… If I would be able to life… If he wouldn’t be pass away such young in age only 36. Then, might yet I would believe, that I will find light in my heart, light which will warm me up and lead out on The Happy Islands. Although he damaged everything. He has gone away. He took everything from me. Didn’t pay attention for my thirsty sight, in childish laugh… Lost himself in other world, such I could to wave childish hand before his empty eyes for all hours, and he even never shacked… Was sitting only in his armchair, death among living… Any tear, any laugh, weren’t able to change his countenance.- ...He took deep breath in lungs and eyelids of black eyes closed and again opened in gesture of acceptation and understanding.

-O! If he would be even able to pass away! If the tearful crowd would cry