Dispatch from David Gilmour

gilliemot@net-venture.com 7:18 AM (3 hours ago) to me Koon, Without my cardio pills that have been nearly 10 days en route, I am periodically winded and dizzy. My robust strolling gait has been reduced to an amble for fear of overdoing the heart-throbbing affibrillation. Me no worry, me no fear, the reality is here up front and I walk on in a more riverine line of direction, barely able to keep to the lay of the flagstones. It’s an old person’s waddle, for which I find alternate side-streets for safe passage. Early at breakfast, every guest I speak with at the Gasthus has car and some boat passage, a cruise vessel to take them where they go, whether whale or puffin watching. After the break in the Punk Museum (more details on that later), I balanced it out with a tour of the House of Collections, offering an ecological art exhibition of Air, top floor, Land (mid-floor) and Ocean, bottom floor. Famous sculptures, paintings, and electronic art pieces were very high class. Interactive art rooms for children where I spent a 20-minute rest to cut our a fish (see picture in next email). While I rested in a chair to watch a video of shimmering cod fish, which twitched ever so slightly in odd moments, a couple from Grant Woods’s Nebraska strolled through, never stalling for a look-see. even though I mention I was watching a video of still living codfish, they did not wait to see the spasmodic flashing movement as the camera light illuminated the scales. Downstairs in the basement was a series of charcoal sketches, horror folk tales of Ogres and Trolls snatching at young maidens and boys. No whole stories were related on the cards but one picture reminded me of Cyclops Polyphemus grasping at Odysseus in his cave. At the craft table I drew a picture, a 5-minute black pencil sketch. (If I kept a shot I’ll send it.) Not another soul in the place, I looked at the books and bought the exhibition poetry and prose art book. Outside, the streets were thronged with boisterous tourists looking for fish and chip shops, and into the fray I ambled, carefully pacing the steps to the street. I found a bar serving salads, which I chose for my early dinner before returning to my room to crash. My legs, strong as they have been, are wobbly after hills and restless leg syndrome has set in because I have run out of magnesium tablets. My count for meds was off by four days. A cautionary tale for people on meds; take extras just in case. First poem of the Museum book: Long I for a long dream / that enters nature and night and into morning / and another that starts by day and lasts till night / dreams filled with light that melts. (vv. 12-14) Translated by Vala Thorodds from original “Skuggi minna api” “Ape, my shadow,” by Asta Fanney Sigurdardottir. In Goetuhorn, (Crossroads): Skaltextar innblasnir of Islenski myndist. “An Anthology of Art Inspired Writing.” A UNESCO supported project with the National Gallery of Iceland and the city of Reykjavík. (2025)