Somnambular Journal

# 13

Sat, 14 Jul 2012 20:30:00 +0100

>For many months, without even a single day off, Mr. Crumb appeared in this mug of tea. After a time it transpired that he had set himself an ambitious goal − participation in the Olympic Games. Yes, this was not a joke. For many months Mr. Crumb, focused and disciplined, practised for the Olympics, which was about to open less then an hour’s journey by bus or tube from his current location.

Unfortunately, for the last few days he has been missing his training. Every morning a closer examination of the tea’s surface incontrovertibly proves his absence. Has he lost his enthusiasm to fight for Olympic gold? Has he become haunted by despair and lost confidence in himself? Let us hope that he has not. Let us trust that it is merely a temporary crisis, which he will overcome shortly. But even if Mr. Crumb has given up his sporting ambitions, we believe that sooner or later he will be the talk of the town.

# 12

Tue, 10 Jul 2012 18:40:00 +0100

Buying books in all kinds of second-hand or thrift stores brings not only a prickle of excitement connected with the possibility of coming across a rare title, first edition in hardback like new, or for the price of a mug of coffee from a popular chain, but also a deeper, subconscious expectation of a surprise of another kind. Every now and then it happens that in a newly purchased second-hand book we find an old cinema ticket, a page from a notebook with a few sentences scribbled on it or an unfinished poem, a drawing, a receipt. In other words, anything that its former owner left as a bookmark, which now, when we are comfortably seated in a tube carriage, beginning to browse through the purchased title, manifests itself between its pages. Those of a romantic nature, with the element of magical thinking, will define such findings as signs; those who are more pragmatic, but not lacking inclinations towards sudden outpourings of imagination − little windows into someone’s everyday life. And what would you say to a filled lotto coupon discovered years ago in a book from a second-hand book store?

Do you sense encouragement from fortune, Providence, a mysterious half-smile of the universe? Then go ahead! Use it! Play, win, become rich! Find for yourselves if a card in such a deal is, as Pynchon calls it, an intrusion into this world from another, a kiss of cosmic pool balls, or merely an illusory belief in the supernatural character of the most ordinary piece of paper.

# 11

Wed, 04 Jul 2012 14:42:00 +0100

Ophelia − the first (unsuccessful) attempt.

# 10

Wed, 27 Jun 2012 10:26:00 +0100

Every angel is terrifying − the poet Rainer Maria Rilke used to declare, and this opinion was strongly supported by the fiction writer Ted Chiang who described the destructive power of the entities in a vivid, at times blunt, way in his novelette “Hell Is the Absence of God”.

Nevertheless, this female angel shot by an anonymous photographer turned out to be a harmless individual. She was spotted near Kazimierz Dolny (Poland), where she appeared with no particular intention to herald or work God’s will. This aroused substantial disappointment among the members of the local community, especially among religious people, who often petition specific actions from supernatural beings, demanding if not miracles then at least some firm interventions in current issues.

If you ever manage to photograph angelic annunciations, visitations or any other appearances, please write to us and send us your photos. We will describe and publish them. The authors of the most interesting shots can even count on fees!

# 9

Mon, 18 Jun 2012 11:34:00 +0100

According to numerous theories it is primarily headgear that makes the man. In fact, this is quite right: perhaps you remember from your preschool years that it was enough to put on a miner’s hat or nurse’s cap and right away you were racing to grab a pickaxe and run to a coalface or reach for a sharp object, which for want of anything better could be taken for a syringe, and began to show an alarming inclination to prick anyone you could lay your hands on. Awareness of the power our headgear may give long ago permeated even to the Dadaist art, distinctly epitomized in Max Ernst’s 1920 collage with the all revealing title The Hat Makes the Man. (Do the colourful rays of light coming from the hats symbolize the power that emanates from all kinds of headgear?)

But what makes us the Europeans? It is the immortal woolen beret, of course!

This advert comes from the January 2011 issue of Harper’s Magazine, which, as you must know, offers something more than just sophisticated adverts. Reading this with the beret on your head will make you not merely a European but a real cosmopolitan − and all this for slightly above $20!

# 8

Sun, 17 Jun 2012 11:36:00 +0100

It has been known for a long time where babies come from, even though most of the time the truth about it remains hidden behind the facade of sophisticated physiological theories. Nevertheless, attentive reading of old papers and illustrated magazines provides conclusive evidence.

# 7

Fri, 15 Jun 2012 10:24:00 +0100

The countenaces of those leaving Eden are marked by discontent, and even anger. One can clearly see traces of recently experienced emotions, triggered by mutual resentment and accusation, a violent quarrel, still echoing in the midst of the paradisial luxuriance of trees, bushes, and grasses. Worse yet, the uncertain future looming ahead does not fill them with optimism; an awareness that the changing weather is yet another manifestation of God’s wrath is becoming stronger and stronger; the sky slowly but persistently becomes obscured by clouds, the temperature drops − cold and drizzly days are coming.

# 6

Sat, 09 Jun 2012 10:24:00 +0100

As a private person I have no particular obsessions, but as a writer I feel a strong urge to experience the situations I create more deeply. Hence my predilection to the deep diving equipment, seamen’s uniforms and hats; wearing them I’m able to enter the atmosphere of the described places, get deeper into the psyche of my characters. I have never sailed myself, but as a teenager I read books by Joseph Conrad over and over again.

The illustration by Kuken Kuksson and the fragment of a conversation with Ingrid Ljundberg, a Swedish author of seafaring crime fiction, come form her biography entitled The Squalls of Imagination, Wahlström & Widstrand, Stockholm1974. Below the deep dive helmet she used to wear while working on her series of novels about Tilda Mörkssen − the most famous Swedish female detective. The piece is currently an exhibit in the Museum of Ingrid Ljundberg in Malmö.

# 5

Fri, 08 Jun 2012 12:02:00 +0100

An excessive fascination with poetry may lead to some imprudent attempts to empirically verify the truthfulness of information comprised in poems. Especially visionary works, those rich in sophisticated descriptions, stimulate imagination and generate tourism in the corners of the Earth where strangers with cameras haven’t been seen so far.

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

                                   Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
                                   Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
                                   And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
                                  Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
                                  Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
                                  The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.

                                     And on the pedestal these words appear:
                                    `My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
                                     Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
                                   Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
                                    Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
                                    The lone and level sands stretch far away”.

# 4

Thu, 07 Jun 2012 16:05:00 +0100

The translation of the text in the narrative box:

Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove fulfilled from the day on which the son of Atreus, king of men, and great Achilles, first fell out with one another.

# 3

Wed, 06 Jun 2012 19:38:00 +0100

The fatal effects of reading difficult novels, and the so-called difficult literature in general, have been known for long. Perhaps this implicit social knowledge of the perils that this kind of reading may bring along has been recently expressed in the increasing number of the EU citizens who, apparently concerned with their health, keep away from books and avoid reading. The fear of the tragic consequences that carefree contact with the written word may cause, including death, has permeated into popular culture:

(The author of this I-only-am-escaped-alone-to-tell-thee cartoon is Tom Gauld.)

# 2

Tue, 05 Jun 2012 12:52:00 +0100

The fall of Icarus − an amateur reenactment of real events.

# 1

Mon, 04 Jun 2012 12:19:00 +0100

Of all that is written, I like only what a person hath written with his blood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit.

NIETZSCHE Thus spake Zarathustra