Ramadan 19th, 1441: The end of words

The state of exception in Poland did not happen. Photos from Polish elections found its place in the section dedicated to humorous events. As I heard, a new idiomatic expression is born to the German language: Polnische Wählen, together with the old idiom Polnische Wirtschaft.
Perhaps even the current government will finally smash the wall. The wu-wei approach of the European Union will prove to be the right strategy. The problem will be washed away by Time. Headless, disorganised, frenetic Poland will continue where it used to be. To let it go would mean to open an ugly gap on the map between Germany and Baltic countries. This is why the gaping chaos will be filled with massive transfers of ready money, just like the gaping void caused by the explosion in Chernobyl was once filled with liquid concrete.
The expected catastrophe has failed to happen. Or rather, it did happen, but not as spectacular as expected. A clumsy catastrophe, not a beautiful one. Far below the level that would grant us our own five minutes on Al-Jazeera.
All my predictions were wrong, and in a way they were perfectly true. And here I am, knowing what I knew all the time. That there is no way back. Even if the government is replaced, the mentality will remain. I will find no place of my own in any Polish university. And of course, no sufficient money to live even this hippie lifestyle of mine. This is why I will go to Paris now, and go on with the planning. I will sell my apartment in Kraków, buy a house in the Netherlands, bring my books there. Acquire a citizenship that I might identify with. Become a stakeholder of a solid reality. Such a reality that might frame my work, grant me healthcare, security for my old age, mahogany bookshelves for my library.
And here I am, the erudite, the scholar. The only burden to carry is this, my erudition, my scholarship. The mission of writing. Just this. In a sunny afternoon of Lisbon, marble pavement under my feet.