The Christmas Eve is finished. Ultimately, the conversation moved towards a rather large climax, followed at the end by a kind of reprise that uses the initial material, but considerably distorted. In inversion, above all, but not only, probably making it virtually unrecognisable. The initial quote looks in the mirror, but does not see itself, only the scene in the room, after the Christmas Eve. Some three persons, a body of the dead woman at the table, a cross on the wall, and that't it, silence.

I also already have the last part of the cycle, Death. It almost wrote itself, in the course of creating The Glimpse and The Christmas Eve. It emerged gradually, as if unnoticed, and at the end of The Christmas Eve I had it practically ready. It is short. It is  just a postscript, a kind of echo or 'remains' of the two previous songs. The poem, again (like The Glimpse), written in the first person singular, depicts the very moment of dying. Stopping, quieting down. I imagine that while The Glimpse  and The Christmas Eve could be performed separately,  Death’s raison d’être exists only as a conclusion of the entire mini-cycle performed in its entirety.

In the document entitled Last Breath (2019),  at the centre of a slightly irritatingly conventionally sensational story about a deep-sea diving accident in the North Sea, there is a unique scene. The main character as a result of, as they say, a series of unfortunate events, is lying alone at the bottom of the sea, dying. He is cut off from the oxygen source and from radio communication, while a storm on the surface and a navigation system failure make rescue impossible. He feels a sense of calm in his final moments. It is sad, but it is okay. On the surface, the fight for life does not stop, it cannot stop, it must not stop. But surface and bottom are not two different worlds. They are within an arm’s reach from each other.

Tomorrow marks one year since the first post in this "log". I will probably sum it up somehow in an updated introduction.