Let me just point out, that the causes of vivid dreaming are, as medical science and common sense have long demonstrated, due to such factors as an excessively heated bedroom, certain aliments or traumatic events. Though none of these conditions were in any relation to myself the late evening of 14th, I have and still hold as the most probable cause of my condition something not terribly far from the aforementioned factors, namely sea sickness. The motion of the sea was at the time rough and that was the reason I sought out my cabin earlier than usual. Once there, having no interest to read, I drifted off into slumber. It must at first have been quite light, since I could feel the swings of the ship in my sleep. I had vague impressions of pummels, as the waves must have pounded the ship´s hull. They seemed to increase in strenght, so that soon they became a rythmic pounding, the vocality transforming from a metallic hollowness into an organical sucking thump. Suddenly, before my eyes were great oceanic vistas, their underwater horizon dissolving into a blur of tourmaline green.

I have always suffered from a slight anxiety when confronted with the ocean, and I remember, as I went deeper into sleep, surrounded by these vast quantities of water, a sense of panic that I was unable to influence by any degree. I found that I was able to breath and function, although it was much different from any normal breathing. Then I understood that my fear derived not from the deep sea surrounding me, or indeed my exposed location, but rather the realization of a transmutation of form. And even so, the panic did yet not reach it´s height until from a distant recess within my mind, the acceptance of this new form overshadowed whatever human objections I might have fostered. Thus, in this state I went deeper, below a vast ridge of ancient petrifications, into a gorge of indeterminable depth. I was not alone, but swam in the company of other forms, their shapes of a perversity which I find difficult to define, since it is impossible to determine whether they were marine mutations of human form, or human elements as grotesque deviations from an otherwise true structure.

We then reached the ocean floor and below us were cairns of stones of great size, which in the distance amalgamated into a towering cyclopean view, a megalithic construction of unmeasured size. Swimming into the subways of this hyperbolic structure, we feasted on the abundant fish that were unaware of our coming. It was then, by god, as we entered an open space, the size about that of many fields, that I glimpsed the horror that roused me from sleep, gasping for air and soaked with sweat. The rythmic beating that had filled my ears continually since my strange voyage began, seemed to come from an opening in a structure of cut off pyramidic shape, it´s height easily surpassing that of the highest buildings in the world´s metropoles. In the distorted distance, a fumbling and ungainly movement of something colossal protruded from the opening in the pyramid. The outlines of that which cast me even from my bed as I shrieked, lies yet beyond my ability to describe, or even relate, so the reader will know of it´s enormity purely through my pitiful reactions, here described.

I have now recounted the dream of the 14th, as far as I am certain of it´s correctitude. As a last note, I may add that I upon waking up had a notion of having uttered something else apart from my shrieking, but have no apprehension as to what it would have been. It was probably nonsensical, instilled by the terrible nature of the dream, only leaving me with a sense of having my mouth filled with accidental materia, causing me to lisp.

(I now recall a case I once wrote an article about, a certain John Robust – I remember the name because of it´s absurdity according to the circumstances – that temporarily had shown all signs of a well developed paranoia in little less than three weeks. Then he spontaneously recovered and remembered nothing of his erratic and volatile behavior, which, deemed a medical state and according to the doctors, with no exception always were permanent once developed to such a degree. After the case was concluded I was permitted to view the journals, and I also set up an interview with both John and his doctors about a month after his discharge from the Mensaposa hospital. The attention to John´s mental status had been raised by one of his neighbours after he had drowned her two cats in the tenements basement water basin. In doing so he had uttered very strange words that the unlucky neighbour was not able to recount. John had then taken his car and driven some 600 miles across the country, displaying a disturbing behaviour everywhere he stopped. Fortunately, no one had come to hurt, except from the cats and later a dog, just before he was taken in by the authorities. He had evidently also drowned the dog and while being caught in the very act, claimed that the lord of water would refuse him ‘if not the dog’. He had also said other things, which were as strange and unrenderable as in the case of his neighbour´s statement. In our two conversations, he was devoid of memories from his manic paranoia, and while being confronted with his actions, he started to cry. Upon being asked about his doings before the fatal day of his neighbour´s cats, he mentioned he had been away on a business trip abroad, as he usually was several times a year, and that he remembered having some stomach problems. I never managed to get anything else than that out of him, and I sincerely believe his state being as spontaneous as it is unexplainable. Now that I think about it…well, I will elaborate on it in case I have any spare paper left in the end.)

After having savoured the seafood (which is typically abundant here) (we both chose langoust, prepared simililarily to what they call ”Demoiselles de Cherbourg” in France) we finished our wine with Annie getting increasingly tired, no doubt because of her working hard lately, and we agreed to leave the restaurant for my tiny apartment. The small misunderstanding from earlier in the evening, was, to my gratification, obliterated by an hour of conversation and Annie showed a certain compliant affection as I helped with her coat. The only slight snag, as I remember it from just before we rose from the table, was her mentioning of the proprietor of the theatre, telling me that he ”had taken a liking to her”. There was nothing else following the statement and by the casualness by which she informed me, she made me unsure of whether her fatigue made her outspoken of ultroneous facts, or there was some part of her wishing to cause jelousy on my side. I found it difficult to comment upon, and so while considering her motif I initiated our leaving, absentaneously slipping the serviett ring from the table into one of my pockets, before asking for our outerwear.

The theatre, one of the oldest buildings in town and supposedly founded by the influential family of Strum in the increasingly renovated town during the late tsarist rule, showed, on the outside, not the typical achitectural style of neoclassicism as would have been expected, but rather a peculiar mix of Richardsonian and fin de Siécle. I had now become so accustomed to the unkempt facades and the gloomy aura of the town that I no longer took any particular notice; perhaps a contamination I thought, a degree by degree augmented degenerateness, caused on equal terms by the millieu and it´s influence over character.

Once inside the vestibule, I was ushered onwards by an elderly lady, no doubt thanks to Annie making the necessary arrangements for our appointment. Rather than going through the great doors in front of us, which must clearly have been the entrance to the theatre proper, she made a sign as for me to follow her through an opening to our left. Here, we entered a corridor, which characteristics I will describe for the single purpose of recording all parts – may they be small or even insignificant – of this strange current of events by which I have found myself being carried to the thriving nexus of some utterly skewed and unspeakable terror.

The brickwork showed, as would be expected, signs of decay caused by dampness. The floor, made of heavy wooden boarding, were slightly slippery, probably due to the surface starting to loosen, affected perhaps by fungus, as would be the natural cause in such an environment. The only light came from a single lamp in the opposite end of the corridor, it´s shine just enough to reveal a multitude of supplies and a steep staircase to the right, leading downwards to some cellar. Along the bricked wall to my left, ropes of various sizes were hanging from rusted spikes, some in a greenish hue, others charred brown, a few still seemingly pale. Above the ropes hung what appeared to be fishing nets, and, hardly distinguishable while walking past one net after the other in the obscure light, entangled remainders of sea weed actually were abundant in those heaps of angling line. Among the varying supply there were some disturbing items which I at the time was not able to quite discern as to their function, but, upon writing this, now being certain they were used in the abominable play I later came to witness on the 23rd.

I finally saw Annie backstage in a disquieted mood, and that might be the explanation to a a small misunderstanding. She was somehow commenting her part in the show, and, probably due to my confused status, I inquiringly stated (unfortunately much less inquiring than stating) she was not in any of the leading roles, meaning only to mask the sudden fear of having misunderstood the importance of her role. To that she admitted, trying to sound casual, although I did not fail to notice the hurt tone, and so, through declaring she needed to go to her lodge, informed me of me of my obvious imprudence.

Grabbing my coat, collecting the few commodities a man would always need, such as matches, watch, the very wrinkled and torn touristmap and taking care not to forget the doll, which I hastily wrapped in some brown paper I found in the kitchen drawer, I went down the dilapidated stairwell and came out on Albert street. Since it crossed with the Boulevard (really rather a typical street, or perhaps road, with a few trees here and there, tramway but absent-as-it-seemed tramcars and a muddle of small shops) the strong wind was not as noticable as when walking on the streets running in a south to north direction, all in all somehow connected with the harbour. It was already dark and the area peculiarly empty of people, but I did see someone standing by a pedestrian crossing ahead, quite nondescript of character and features because of the poor sight the weather offered. That being the direction of the theater, I steered left by the nearest crossing and followed the Boulevard.

Somehow I must have misjudged or rembered the map wrong, because many of the intercepting streets I had anticipated never showed up, either to the left or to the right. But it was not very long before I could see the sign of Annie´s theater ahead, time still being very much too early for my appointment with her, let alone the time of the show. Thankfully, wanting a cigarette and being out of supply, I could also make out a faded sign saying ”Hari´s kiosk”. Before going in through the narrow door, loose on one of the hinges, the sligtly odd behaviour of standing by a pedestrian crossing but not yet cross, passed my mind. But met with the smell of an ordinary tobacconist, I let myself be absorbed by the interiors of the kiosk.

After conferring some time with the elderly lady behind the counter as to what brand would be the closest to my usual taste (resulting in something all but capricious anyway since she knew very few words in english) and paying for the package, I lingered in the corner of the shop after having sighted an article regarding the ongoing show. As I was glancing over a few blurry pictures, the doorbell rang and someone entered the shop. Not because of someone entering, but rather the sound of ongoing business reminded me that lingering at the tobacconist was actually somehow awkward, and that I would do better to try and find something else to do with the remaining time. On turning about while I put back the magazine, I was stunned by the appearance of the newly entered stranger. The features of his face suggested that he had lived the greater part of his life in adjunction to, or at least close to, the sea, and that the hardships of such a life showed with a clarity seldom beheld and, through some grotesque analogy of thoughts, brought forth an expression commonly found in marine life forms.
Aghast from not only his appearance, but indeed by the rough way he spoke to the shopkeeper, I shrunk back into the corner. I could not make out any of the words exchanged, but grasped as much that it was far from cordial. While it seemed that the strange man, which seemed to me a wharfie, a fisherman, or perhaps a homeless, was not someone to persist in large measure, the madame showed no sign of fear or greater distress and appeared firm while she provoked the ghastly man to growls and even more threatening gestures. Finally, the palaver stopped with the supposed fisherman holding out a fleshy finger towards the shopkeeper, with his lower lip abnormally overlapping his upper, uttering a word.

Thinking of it, I am not sure what that word actually sounded like, much less it´s implication, but from the desire to deconstruct the situation I am now positive it sounded quite close to ”maar”. I am also quite positive, on a second thought, that he might have added ”Iää”, but the truth of that must be debated, since I was in a state of nervousness inflicted by the man, who at that moment turned towards me as if he had known I was there all the time, without letting me know. The shopkeeper then spoke very sternly and pointed him against the door which he then went through and disappeared.
That throaty voice! As I was stepping out of the door myself, carefully looking in every direction for a sign of that hideous creature, I came to think of the fetor that had filled the entire shop in his presence. A raw and putrid effluvium of fish and saltwater.

The muffled rattling from the tram stole my eyes from the S/S Salmon’s would be whereabouts and had me gazing along the street that connected the commercial district with the docks. From my unfolded tourist’s guide map, which had started to fall apart quickly from the moist weather and my careless handling, showed that Roth street actually bifurcated just beyond the old customhouse, and from there became Roth Lane and Albertstreet. It was on Albertstreet I had been walking, continuing down Roth and then sighted the lone man in the harbour. I first had a glimpse of him by the containers that blocked entrance to the minor piers, a somewhat stout silhoutte in a coat. As I walked on, I lost sight of him and thought no further of him, until pier 18 emerged out of the fog. The man was facing the water front, his head turned slightly upward with his hand making a grip that seemed to need slight adjustment. As I walked closer, curious as to what the nature of his doings were, a slippery sound broke the monotony of the windy sea, like clatter of movement against an unyielding material. As I later recalled, several times – first at the sailor’s diner – I was so startled by the sight of what he was trying to push into his mouth that I halted and very quickly turned and walked away. But beyond these reckonings I have learned that I even walked past the stranger and that he looked at me with malice. Last night I dreamed of him, his grotesque lips pale and swollen, either from some distortion of his flesh or the chafing of the headless twitching fish. And the sound he made. Unintelligible.

Detta är alltså ouvertyren till min nya följetång på ‘gustavsexistens’, och tillika ansatsen på min framtid. Inom loppet av några få dagar kommer jag att lämna mitt nuvarande liv för att därefter skeppas över till och under sex månader vara pappaledig i Helsingfors. Min fru kommer att försörja mig. Vi kommer att bo med en annan man. Min målsättning är att undvika projekt. Just nu är mitt enda bekymmer överskeppningen. Jag har en gång lovat mig själv att aldrig mer upptäcka att jag befinner mig på en finlandsfärja. Upplevelsen är ångestmättad på ett bedövande vis:

vår tillvaros ömkliga tillkortakommande framträder nämligen aldrig naknare än inramad av ett sådant spektakel som en kryssning. En hel civilisations fåfängliga tidsfördriv och falska förespeglingar är på en båt komprimerade till samma outhärdlighet som alldeles för söt parfym över en sjuklig utdunstning. Ett frosseri i ytliga sensationer, uppblåst till befrielse, men egentligen en tröst över ett uteblivet innehåll. En symbol över konsumtionens tomhet.

Strax utanför skenet av glas och plast; det glupande vattnet i nattlighet.

Jag tilltalar mobiltelefonmannen:
- Ursäkta min bäste herre, skulle ni vilja ha lust att bli lite mer uppmärksam på er omgivning?

Mobiltelefonmannen förstår att det är honom jag tilltalar men säger inget. Jag fortsätter:
- Ni kanske inte har lagt märke till att någon här försöker få plats bakom er?

Vad som nu sker är lite oklart, men jag tror att det är ungefär så här:

mobiltelefonmannen tittar misstroget på mig, ungefär som om han ville övertyga sig om en häpnadsväckande flugarts lika häpnadsväckande beteende, då plötsligt den andre mannen säger:
-Jag tror du läser situationen fel.

Mobiltelefonmannen bryter tystnaden.
-Alltså, vad är problemet?!

Medveten om att jag oåterkalleligt gett min in i en palaver med främlingar en torsdag morgon försöker jag anföra min kritik ändå:
- Ja, säger jag och försöker göra mobilmannen uppmärksam på kvinnan bakom honom, du kanske inte lade märke till att hon klev in här?

Han som från vänster menar att jag har läst situationen fel, säger:
- Jag var på väg att flytta mig, men hon gick in där självmant. Alltså, jag tycker du är fel ute, du gör henne till subjekt.

Telefonmannen:
-ALLTSÅ, VAD ÄR PROBLEMET?!

Jag känner att jag börjar tappa greppet om det här. Jag säger:
-Ta det inte så personligt. Jag försöker bara göra dig uppmärksam på att det finns andra omkring dig.

- Klart jag tar det personligt, du tilltalar ju mig!

Den andra mannen:
- Jag tror du har sett det här lite fel, det är dåligt väder – du är ute i ogjort väder.

Kvinnooffret: bara ett generat mummel.

Bussen anländer. Den är naturligtvis också fullsatt till den milda grad att folk står packade i gången. Jag och den andra mannen blir stående på hållplatsen. Mobilmannen tränger in i bussen genom mittendörren. Den stängs. Genom den smutsiga rutan möts våra blickar.

Så här i efterhand inser jag att jag gjorde två misstag: det ena var att be mobilisten att inte ta det personligt. Det andra var att jag gav kvinnan huvudrollen. Jag brydde mig i själva verket inte om hennes bekvämlighet. Hade jag gjort det, skulle jag naturligtvis ha tilltalat henne och bett henne ta min plats alltmedan jag själv klev ut ur kuren. Men nu började jag alltså istället anfäkta den ignorante mannen.
Men det har sin förklaring. Jag har nämligen under en ganska lång tid gått omkring och burit på en inte obetydlig irritation över folks bristande uppmärksamhet. Eller, som det träffande heter på engelska, situational awareness. Det har blivit i det närmaste outhärdligt att åka tunnelbana i Stockholm. Det är som att hamna i en buffelhjord. Och det värsta är att knappt någon tycks läsa av sin omgivning och göra ens den minsta symboliska ansats till artighet. Till detta kan man sedan lägga ännu ett barbariets fullbordande faktum:

nippertippret, d v s mobiltelefonerna. Inte så mycket för att det pratas i dem, utan för att det pillas med dem. Det är en på många sätt gräslig världsfrånvändhet. Det kollektiva umgänget blir inte bättre av det.

Det finns en teori om varför svenskar i storstäderna är så mycket buffligare än exemplvis engelsmännen i London, som ju råkar vara sisådär 10 gånger större än Stockholm sett till folkmängden. Den går lite förenklat ut på att vår välfärdssatsning på individens oberoende har resulterat i en avsocialisering. Vi har helt enkelt blivit för självständiga. Därtill kan man också tänka sig att vår obändiga strävan efter ovillkorlig jämlikhet resulterat i att fenomen som artighet och inte minst klassisk artighet mot kvinnor blivit beskyllda för konservatism- klass- och könsrollstänkande. Och i samma mån som artighet och omtänksamhet lyser med sin frånvaro i det medborgerliga umgänget, i lika hög grad försjunker individen i tekniska divertissement, som om dessa hade företräde framför människor. Paradoxalt nog ser det ut som att vår strävan efter en bättre civilisation – genom optimering och teknisk invention – snarare leder fram mot en avcivilisering, ett barbari med andra ord.

Om jag stöter på en liknande situation igen skall jag för övrigt nog be vederbörande att googla John Locke och Rosseau.

Faktum är att detta för de egyptiska kungarna förmodligen var en nagelbitande problematik som ansatte dem allt skoningslösare ju närmare sitt livs slut de kom, utan att de för den skull någonsin nådde en tillfredsställande lösning. De var nämligen, antingen de var medvetna om det eller ej, intvingade i en paradox.

Det man måste förstå när det gäller den egyptiska dödskulturen, är att man i det ögonblick man förseglade kryptan trodde att den blev en tummelplats för liv. Alla väggmålningar, som antingen var delar av den dödes förutvarande liv på jorden eller önskescener ur hans nästa i dödsriket, gick från att vara tvådimensionella till att lösgöra sig från väggarna i full tredimensionalitet. De blev helt enkelt till liv, ägnade åt nödvändig stimulans för mumien. Vidare var också alla möbler och attiraljer nödvändiga för det fortsatta livet inne i den tillstängda kryptan; ett tillbommat näste för evigheten.

Det fanns dock två saker som kunde grusa dessa dödens lyckoformer. Det ena var att gravkammaren bröts upp och plundrades, den andra att ingen längre kom ihåg vem man varit. Och därmed inser man att egyptiernas lösning på dödsproblemet orsakade sitt eget dilemma:

för då odödligheten krävde att faraon byggde sig en betydande och välkänd gravkammare som också var välfylld av skatter, lockade man till sig gravplundrare som då skulle störa den store faraons kvarlevor och förhindra att han lyckades med sin odödlighet. Alternativt kunde man låta bygga en hemlig kammare, men det kunde istället innebära att de levande glömde bort att utföra ritualerna till faraons ära, vilket då också skulle hindra honom från att uppnå sin odödlighet. Paradoxen var ett faktum.

I skenet av detta övergår betraktandet av gravkamrarna från det kanske främmande till det rörande. För bakom det komplicerade och påkostade systemet för att säkra odödligheten gömmer sig något lika enkelt som medlidsamt, nämligen detta att var och en av dessa mumier, vilka en gång var levande människor, tvingades att bestämma sig för ett av två alternativ som vilket det än blev alltid medförde en möjlighet till total och evig död. I en kultur som trodde sig äga nycklarna till själva odödligheten, måste detta ha varit ganska förargligt – att till slut, efter en lång tids grubblande, tvingas kasta sig ut i något som liknar en chansning.