TAK SAMO ( PROD Jeleń)

A night in the stairwell, where the air is thick with ethanol and the same thing keeps going around in circles - a reprise of hooligan phrases and frozen bravado. The sound feels like it's hitting my chest: fast, prickly, with no attempt to soften it. There are no attempts to be good here - just loud gestures, raw images, and a jagged rhythm that twists the scene until it cracks. Crude vulgarity works as armour and as a whistle signal: "attention, a performance is coming - and it's dangerous." Sarcastic self-assurance is mixed with weariness: every lash of his tongue reveals a habit of destruction and a pathetic attempt to feel power over the moment. It's not about the hero - it's about a state where noise replaces meaning, and repetition is the only constant. Between the onslaught and the mockery, a human crack suddenly appears: where the boasting deflates, a dim light from a bulb remains, and a warm, strange languor of loneliness. The irony in his voice is like the highlighting in a diary that will never become tender, but still holds its little truths about why everything remains "the same."