WKURWELEPSZEPOGO

Closed teeth and a cage made of panel blocks sound like they're squeezing out the air, leaving only fragmented phrases that are repeated like a spell: open the window, let them hear, blow up the city. These words are less of a call to action and more a reflection of weariness, cynicism, and a childish attempt to make oneself heard more loudly; the hum of speakers, echoes of Polish words, and fragmented images combine into an urban confession that is both funny and scary. Boasting, threats, and domestic violence flow through the voice stream, as if the neighbours' conversation had turned into a rap report from the backyards – someone is singing, someone is shouting, someone is strumming an imaginary guitar. This whole mix sounds almost homely: lonely, with warm irony and a hint of resentment towards a world that teaches you to breathe through cracks.