Tourist Notes: Gdansk and Varsovie

My stay was punctuated by running tracks both in Gdansk and Warsaw due to the Sports Centres being supposedly unused during the summer. The accommodation is cheaply rented to those who can find out about it. These Centres are large, unpretentious, made in an architecture which is generic and approachable to apparently but not actually all. A pared-back kitchen offers short and often non-existent interactions with other visitors. A hello is sometimes not reciprocated. Likewise, brief remarks made in Polish are often ignored by me especially when these strangers seem to walk the words out the door or into another room. One morning I smashed a plate incidentally cutting the edge of my little finger as I somewhat stupidly attempted to catch a section of the cheap plate that appeared to bounce. Of course, this was more of a reaction than an actual desire of mine. It would be unimpressive to catch a section of a smashed plate inches from the ground for a stranger whom I had no previous interaction with. The finger has since become mildly infected due to failing to find a plaster and adequately clean the cut, instead, it became a small irritating flap for a few days which would soil garments and bed sheets with an inoffensive but still noticeable modicum of blood. 

The food I tried in Gdansk was good. Fried fish. Sometimes vegan, actually rarely vegan. Piergogi, heavy, starchy. One afternoon, we ate on the top floor of an Arcade with three sets of tables and chairs it was modest. A highlight was the sour beetroot soup served in a paper cup. Other shops in the arcade were shut or unpopulated by consumers it was hard to see if this was because we had visited during a quiet period or it was regularly like this. A hum of delivery drivers would come to pick up takeaway lunches waiting with their helmet placed on the counter.

(originally written circa 16/8/2023 opened and revisited on 20/02/2024

Lovelitter

... a beautiful act to litter? From the start its the wrong thing to do, apparently. A mess for others to clean. A luxurious act, no? Relieving oneself of the responsibility of an object. It's somebody else's problem now. Buying, purchasing. The purchaser is cleaning the object away, putting it elsewhere. Safely so. And stealing? The promiscuous act, must occupy a corner within this zone? To clean to remove the object, the thief is queen. And the idea thief, slippery? In Skyrim the act of thievery is personified by the character crouching,  knees bent low, hiding face, delicate and agile. In Assassins Creed clinking coins, metal-on-metal, jutting in the pocket, a nudge in the small of a pedestrians back and they’re at a loss. But then who steals rubbish? The unwanted thus discarded. The magpie, the scavenger, the opportunist, the idiot. To rid oneself of an undesired object, a bowel movement, get rid of the slimy packaging in your hand and slide onto the next moment of consumption. I drift, thinking about what it would look like if I were presented with all the objects that were once mine: etc, etc, etc, etc. A vulgar image. A piggy life. Littering may just be an object passing through me, for my stomach to filter and profit the best minerals. Transfer. Something endearing about a crushed carton that looks new sitting on the floor waiting to be swept up? The pavement it's stage, the audience in flux. I've noticed a particular cigarette packet design. A glaucoma veils an eye, watching out, a miniature lighthouse warning of the dangers of smoking, it is removed from its body, separated, cut. Printed on a box that is then left on the street to surveil, watch. It is the active litter, that lives, that has a body, that acts back at you. A pedestrian mirador. Branding lives on after the product has expired, advertising still, without damaging the corporate reputations, I dare mention the brand of the notorious red can, it’s said to be dorment in darkest corners of the ocean. The carcass continues to work for the machine, zombified. Out the car window, packaging flies seventy-one-miles-per-hour then rests in a zone too dangerous for humans to collect, it absorbs the vibrations loyally, the cars putter along until they too become litter. Footwells act as nets for the unwanted, convenient to use whilst driving as items can be disposed of quickly without pulling over. A dashboard, landing site for workers discarded lunch packaging, catalogues, papers, receipts, empty bottles, tools, dirt, waste. A shelf for the unwanted that presents itself to the curious pedestrians walking past. There's litter in pockets, deconstructed litter in the cleaned pockets of freshly washed clothes. Litter doesn't answer back it is ambivalent. Content with staining surfaces, spilling, oozing.

Markt

Change clanking. 
Bags russel. Plastic exteriors. Fruits placed next to the plastic kin. 
Exchanges occur, back and forth changing hands. 

Swift maneuvers and calls to the crowd.

Money is made, lost, departed with. 

Wasps. Chatter. Thanks.

Packed away for next time.

Into boxes into vans.

Into the pockets next to plans.

Some are making money some are losing it.

The bell rings next to the babies cry.

Yes

Its more crowded in that area. 

Forgotten relics.

Unravelling overlocks.

Unsold clothes are discarded left Sodden when left out.

Once someones in somebodies life now outside of it.

At the moment of tyranicalsanctions.

At the moment of transitio.

At the moment of transitio.

                             insitio

Transaction denied. Defiled. Declined.