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By Daniil Kharms 

On phenomena and existences - No. 1

The artist Michelangelo sits down on a heap of bricks and, propping his head in his hands, begins to think. Suddenly a cockerel walks past and looks at the artist Michelangelo with his round, golden eyes. Looks, but doesn't blink. At this point, the artist Michelangelo raises his head and sees the cockerel. The cockerel does not lower his gaze, doesn't blink and doesn't move his tail. The artist Michelangelo looks down and is aware of something in his eye. The artist Michelangelo rubs his eyes with his hands. And the cockerel isn't standing there any more, isn't standing there, but is walking away, walking away behind the shed, behind the shed to the poultry-run, to the poultry-run towards his hens. 

And the artist Michelangelo gets up from the heap of bricks, shakes the red brick dust from his trousers, throws aside his belt and goes off to his wife. 

The artist Michelangelo's wife, by the way, is extremely long, all of two rooms in length. 

On the way, the artist Michelangelo meets Komarov, grasps him by the hand and shouts: - Look! ... 

Komarov looks and sees a sphere 

- What's that? - whispers Komarov. 

And from the sky comes a roar: - It's a sphere. 

- What sort of a sphere is it? - whispers Komarov. 

And from the sky it roars: - A smooth-surfaced sphere! 

Komarov and the artist Michelangelo sit down on the grass and they are seated on the grass like mushrooms. They hold each other's hands and look up at the sky. And in the sky appears the outline of a huge spoon. What on earth is that? No-one knows. People run about and lock themselves in their houses. They lock their doors and their windows. But will that really help? Much good it does them! It will not help. 

I remember in 1884 an ordinary comet the size of a steamer appearing in the sky. It was very frightening. But now - a spoon! Some phenomenon for a comet! 

Lock your windows and doors! 

Can that really help? You can't barricade yourself with planks against a celestial phenomenon. 

Nikolay Ivanovich Stupin lives in our house. He has a theory that everything is smoke. But in my view not everything is smoke. Maybe even there's no smoke at all. Maybe there's really nothing. There's one category only. Or maybe there's no category at all. It's hard to say. 

It is said that a certain celebrated artist scrutinised a cockerel. He scrutinised it and scrutinised it and came to the conclusion that the cockerel did not exist. 

The artist told his friend this, and his friend just laughed. How, he said, doesn't it exist, he said, when it's standing right here and I, he said, am clearly observing it. 

And the great artist thereupon hung his head and, retaining the same posture in which he stood, sat down on a pile of bricks. 

That's all. 

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An unexpected drinking bout

Once Antonina Alekseyevna struck her husband with her office stamp and imprinted his forehead with stamp-pad ink. 

The mortally offended Pyotr Leonidovich, Antonina Alekseyevna's husband, locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn't let anyone in. 

However, the residents of the communal flat, having a strong need to get in to where Pyotr Leonidovich was sitting, decided to break down the locked door by force. 

Seeing that the game was up, Pyotr Leonidovich came out of the bathroom and, going back into his own flat, lay down on the bed. 

But Antonina Alekseyevna decided to persecute her husband to the limit. She tore up little bits of paper and showered them on to Pyotr Leonidovich who was lying on the bed. 

The infuriated Pyotr Leonidovich leaped out into the corridor and set about tearing the wallpaper. 

At this point all the residents ran out and, seeing what the hapless Pyotr Leonidovich was doing, they threw themselves on to him and ripped the waistcoat that he was wearing. 

Pyotr Leonidovich ran off to the porter's office. 

During this time, Antonina Alekseyevna had stripped naked and had hidden in a trunk. 

Ten minutes later Pyotr Leonidovich returned, followed by the house manager. 

Not finding his wife in the room, Pyotr Leonidovich and the house manager decided to take advantage of the empty premises in order to down some vodka. Pyotr Leonidovich undertook to run off to the corner for the said beverage. 

When Pyotr Leonidovich had gone out, Antonina Alekseyevna climbed out of the trunk and appeared before the house manager in a state of nakedness. 

The shaken house manager leaped from his chair and rushed up to the window, but, seeing the stout build of the young twenty-six-year-old woman, he suddenly gave way to wild rapture. 

At this point Pyotr Leonidovich returned with a litre of vodka. 

Catching sight of what was afoot in his room, Pyotr Leonidovich knitted his brows. 

But his spouse Antonina Alekseyevna showed him her office stamp and Pyotr Leonidovich calmed down.

 Antonina Alekseyevna expressed a desire to participate in the drinking session, but strictly on condition that she maintain her naked state and, to boot, that she sit on the table on which it was proposed to set out the snacks to accompany the vodka. The men sat down on chairs, Antonina Alekseyevna sat on the table and the drinking commenced. 

It cannot be called hygienic if a naked young woman is sitting on the very table at which people are eating. Moreover, Antonina Alekseyevna was a woman of a rather plump build and not all that particular about her bodily cleanliness, so it was a pretty devilish state of affairs. 

Soon, however, they had all drunk themselves into a stupor and fallen asleep: the men on the floor and Antonina Alekseyevna on the table. 

And silence was established in the communal flat. 

1935