the undisclosed kingdom ii S'iz shver tsu zayn a Yid

Is there anyone out there? I need to speak before my vocal cords break... The last time when someone listened to my voice was in September 1939, I remember this date because after that the idea of time was forever gone within me. Now I can lose my vocal cords; it does not matter. I have the courage to tell the entire story. I am in panic, how could I have forgotten the exact number of the missing people in this house? I remember well all numbers, I eat numbers, I have drunk many different voices, digested their pitch, their rhythms and the spices on their accents... I sleep at the tune of their silence... I know how to speak and how to listen to many languages: Polish, Yiddish, German, Russian, French, English. How can I forget the many lands that have crossed my cords?... Now all that remains is for me to ruminate through the echoes absorbed in the walls...
Those echoes that make me feel so alone... Now I escape... I have one vague remembrance about one polish family. I was with them in their home and I remember very well how the autumn circulated from the tree fronds to the waves on the hair of those sweet and delicate voices speaking of berries and walks near creeks or tending to the sound of boiling chicken soup before Sabbath. The sound of the deeper voices discussing frantically about the will of the deity or about how much weight was permissible to carry or how far one could walk in holydays, constantly opening and closing books like doors. The intermittent stream of prayers mixing with children learning the Hebrew alphabet so one day they could enunciate those prayers and the nigguns of the elders serenading my tired ears. look at myself I am a human form... Now I am prepared to defend this house but I am too tired now and I want to rest in this red chaise, but I am afraid to break my cord, I am old, my elasticity has worsen in all these days, months or years, who knows... years!? I lost many nights above that table attempting to return to my friends' home by going through the glass of calendars. Imagining my happiness if they were to call their friends telling their stories of survival. One horrible sound, which did not care to ask if this was the correct recipient, stumbled into the roof and shook the house, it broke my friend the column, his hair now in ciphers. Soon afterwards, I noticed I was starting to lose my ring tone, weak signals came, but I could not deliver the urgent and desperate callers to their destination. I was not sure where they were myself; men with voices like thunder had taken them without any time to leave food for the cat that soon too left me in silence? The bad luck continued, one day I woke up after one rain and I felt so wet, in the middle of a turbid pool. I had bloated and grown too much. I hated that water that inundated my place. I had to leave the table with terrible regret...
Now I want to rest. Just to rest. To put my ear like on immense membrane in that chair, to be free of my countless thoughts and go out through the window like imaginary wires growing to the sky. I want to sleep. To dream of the good times, of the moment when the war is over. Soon, I hope, because I do not have too much energy. Oh, but I feel one impulse, I remember so well this feeling. I am so nervous, so agitated. How is that possible? Let me answer and hear what she wants...
_Shalom! The Schultz family there?
_No, my lady, I am sorry, that was in the past...

This text is the result of collaboration with my blooming flower, Esther Valentino.

In memoriam Bruno Schultz.

Very clever image. I think that it is very effective.

A very interesting composition. Very masterfully executed.

Such a brilliant, dark and moody scene you have created here. Perfect execution. Love your work!

Very Philosophic work here, my friend, Laurentiu!! Best regards!

 

Rakesh

A great creativity and surrealistic imagination