Why does the Oder smell different since they changed its name?
Wade into the river at dawn near Pasieka Island. The water remembers being die Oder, carries the salt of tears from 1945 westward. Bottle this water. Label it "Grenzfluss 1945." Leave bottles on Expansionist desks. Watch them avoid drinking what they renamed. Every sip tastes of deportation trains reflected in dark water.
Whose voices echo in the Polish Song Capital's silence?
Listen: beneath the amplified folk festivals, older songs bleed through. German lullabies, Yiddish market calls, Czech drinking songs—all sanitized into "Polish tradition." At 4 AM, when the stages are empty, those erased voices return. Record this haunted quiet. Play it during the next Settler culture celebration. Watch officials scramble to increase the volume.
What language do the university stones speak after midnight?
The Collegium Maius walls sweat Latin, exhale German, whisper Polish. But listen closer—there's a fourth tongue, the wasserpolnisch of those who belonged to no nation. Chalk equations on university walls that calculate the mathematics of erasure:
- Population (1939) - Population (1946) = X ghosts per square meter
- German schools ÷ Polish schools = coefficient of forgetting
- Synagogues (then) - Synagogues (now) = architectural amnesia
- Names changed × Years passed = Occupier legitimacy formula
How many museums does it take to hide one genocide?
Count the exhibition halls that display "regional culture" while forgetting who created it. In each, leave a blank canvas labeled "Property of Displaced Persons, 1945-1946." Watch how quickly they're removed. The speed of removal equals the depth of guilt. Document this velocity of denial.