Trump and Jesus Walk Into A Bar

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~ Was it in vain?

~ What?

~ That you took My name.

~ They crucify me like there’s no tomorrow.

~ There is no tomorrow.

~That’s OK for You to say.

~ I know.

~ But, down here, I don’t get a break.

~ Don’t you think there’s a reason for that?

~ You mean because they don’t understand me?

~ Perhaps more because they do.

~ Hey, I’m looking after Your country.

~ You have other sheep to tend to.

~ But I’m King of the World.

~ You have a big fall in front of you.

~ Oh, I’m protected. I have (haha) more money than God.

~ The eye of the needle is narrow indeed.

~ I’m no fool. I’ll get off and walk.

~ There is no one other to walk in your shoes.

~ You know, we even look alike.

[Image] media.washtimes.com.s3.amazonaws.com/media/image/2016/01/25/1_252016_b1-dela-trump-halo-8201.jpg

On the Other Side of the Door

kafka-metamorphosis

The first claw was so faint upon the door he barely raised an eye from the page. It could have been the wind – it sounded almost like the wind. Wind at other times and in other places might blow such a sound – but not this night. As his thoughts returned to what lay before him, the tiny scrabble, hesitant at floor level, moved slightly to the right, aligning itself more closely to the doorknob.

The noise skittered up the wood, almost a metallic sound. His head swivelled toward the door, and the first thought he had was for the paint. Then he could sense, by the sound alone, that the movement was groping in the dark, that it was unsure of where it was. He closed the book on his lap, still keeping his place with a finger. His eyes remained fixed on the door, and he thought he saw the light of his lamp glint off something through the keyhole.

The doorknob twitched, a slight movement counter clockwise, and then a brief turn clockwise. He let the book slide down the side of his chair as he put his hand into a pocket. He felt the key between his fingers, and held it tightly. There was more fumbling with the knob, muffled sounds as if a grip was hard to get. The knob turned once more, and then the pressure on the outside was released. He could hear some shuffling against the wood, and then saw, through the keyhole, light reflecting off a muddy iris.

He stared back through the keyhole, only to see the eye blink and move slowly away. He started to rise from his chair, but was stopped by a thump near the floor, as if a clumsy foot had bumped the wood by mistake. He realized that all the sounds which he heard seemed fuddled and uncoordinated. The doorknob was once again twisted, but the motion seemed to lack the ability to grasp.

He was wondering whether to turn out the lamp or not, when a hesitant, hollow knock came on the door.

[Image] https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/kafka-metamorphosis.jpg

08/21/2019 0

Fine Dining (And Recipe) For Not The Soup Of The Day

I am editing one portion of a novel as I am writing another. It is, so far, 1,000 hand-written pages – so not too much clashes between editing and original writing.

My central character, Alison Alexandra, has (I find) many meals in the course [pun intended] of the book. One of the dishes she is about to enjoy, in the editing, is the following.

I make note of the fact because, I am reasonably sure, other characters in other of my books have also enjoyed this. But I don’t have time – at the moment – to check.

It is safe to say that I remember this delightful soup, the restaurant (now gone) where I first had it, and many of the times thereafter when I did have it.

I guess I better make it myself.

Tomato and Gin Soup

The Daily Meal Contributors

This recipe comes courtesy of ‘The Raglan Road Cookbook: Inside America’s Favorite Irish Pub’

Harry Weir

“This is one of my favourite ‘empty larder’ recipes that requires  little preparation and is quick to cook. Simple.”- Kevin Dundon

This recipe comes courtesy of The Raglan Road Cookbook: Inside America’s Favorite Irish Pub by Kevin Dundon and Neil Cubley. Click here to purchase your own copy.

Servings

238

Calories Per Serving

Ingredients

2 Tablespoons olive oil
1 small onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 Pounds ripe plum tomatoes, halved
2 Ounces gin
3 Cups vegetable stock or water
1 pinch light muscovado sugar, optional
1 Cup cream
salt and pepper
1 Tablespoon herb oil, to garnish

Directions

Heat the olive oil in a pan over a medium-high heat. Add the onion and garlic and sauté for  a few minutes until golden.  Add the tomatoes and continue to sauté for another 5 minutes or so until well heated through and just beginning to break down. Season with salt and pepper.

Pour the gin into the pan and allow to reduce by half, stirring occasionally. Stir in the vegetable stock or water and allow to reduce by half again. Blitz with a hand blender to a smooth purée. Season to taste and add the sugar if you think the soup needs it.

To serve, add the cream to the soup and allow to warm through. Season to taste and ladle into warmed serving  bowls. Garnish each bowl with  a drizzle of herb oil.

(recipe) http://www.thedailymeal.com/recipes/tomato-and-gin-soup-recipe

08/18/2019 0

Franz Kafka – the Race Horse

stare_mesto_old_town_prague_czech_republic_capaet1183-horizontal

I doubt that Kafka would ever turn over in his grave about anything – considering the accuracy he had in observing the world. Also, he wrote some very – peculiar – stories which puts normal reality to shame.

But this – I think – would give him pause.

He has had a race horse named after him.

I don’t think there are any reports, or diary entries, or letters, about him going to the races. It seems his interest in sports was minimal, except for those that one does on their own. He liked swimming, and long walks, and rowing around and about on the river. But that seems to be it. Plus, he was never much of a gambler – except in life.

So, I think that at best, he would be bemused about Franz Kafka, the Race Horse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Franz Kafka

Age3 (Foaled 28th February 2016)
TrainerJ H M Gosden
SexColt
SireDubawi
DamKailani
OwnerHH Sheikha Al Jalila Racing

Date	Pos	BHA	Type	Race Details	SP
14/08/19	6/8	87	FLAT	Kempton, 7f, Standard / Slow, C4	4/1
28/05/19	1/5	86	FLAT	Brighton, 7f 211y, Good to Firm (Watered), C5	8/15
07/05/19	3/11	86	FLAT	Wetherby, 7f, Good to Soft, C5	1/2
18/04/19	2/14	82	FLAT	Newmarket, 7f, Good to Firm (Good in Places), C4	13/8
31/03/19	2/10	–	FLAT	Doncaster, 7f 6y, Good to Firm (Good in places), C5	11/4
26/10/18	6/15	–	FLAT	Newbury, 1m, Good to Soft (Soft in Places), C4	8/11
06/10/18	3/12	–	FLAT	Newmarket, 1m, Good, C4	33/1

(http://www.sportinglife.com/racing/profiles/horse/901864)

08/16/2019 0

R/Jane-the-Ghost Is Not The Ghost Of Christmas (Past, Present or Future)

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“That is a peculiar-looking ship.”

“It is,” agrees Alison Alexandra.

She agrees because it is a peculiar-looking ship. She is studying it through her military-grade binoculars as she stands near the edge of her cliff, leaning against a waist-high barrier she had constructed just for this purpose.

Three sturdy posts painted blue.

There is a wooden knob atop each post, painted red. Four broad boards, painted white, are securely nailed to the posts, with slight gaps between them. There is room for five people to stand side-by-side.

Alison Alexandra has never had more than one person at a time accompany her on this venture. A slight problem at the moment is that this is not one of those times. She is standing alone, binoculars to eyes, looking out to the ship in the harbour. The peculiar-looking ship.

“In fact, it is not just peculiar-looking, it is actually peculiar.”

It is,” agrees Alison Alexandra, who does not lower her binoculars. “Though that is not the only peculiar thing at the moment.”

“It is not?”

“It is not,” says Alison Alexandra. “One other peculiar thing is that I am standing here by myself.”

“I see.”

“I don’t,” says Alison Alexandra.

“I’m out of your vision.” The voice does not falter. “I’m R/Jane-the-Ghost.”

“R/Jane-the-Ghost?” asks Alison Alexandra.

“Yes,” confirms R/Jane-the-Ghost.” Yes.”

“A for real ghost?” asks Alison Alexandra. “Not a figment produced by an undigested piece of potato?”

“I like that idea,” says R/Jane-the-Ghost. “Being a Dickensian ghost. I liked reading Dickens.”

“As do I,” says Alison Alexandra.

“But – no – no Dickensian ghost am I. I bring no warnings.”

“”No festive cheer?”

“Nary a candle.” Says R/Jane-the-Ghost. “No bony finger have I, pointing at anything.”

“You did – in your way – point out the peculiar ship.”

“In my way.”

“Point taken,” says Alison Alexandra.

There is a low chuckle, bordering on hearty, close beside her right ear. She does lower her binoculars at that, and moves her head to look. Her view is unobstructed all the way down her cliff. The water sparkles.

[Image] http:/cdn.notonthehighstreet.com/fs/06/90/c0b3-fff4-4518-b7d7-527c4703c9d8/original_little-ghost-acrylic-brooch.jpg

08/13/2019 0

Hey, Hey, Hey – It’s World Elephant Day! Trumpet About That!!

world-elephant-day-2018

So, there is no question that the world needs more elephants. The more the merrier, say I.

On the loose and living the good life.

Tanking up on fresh food.

Swilling up at the water holes.

Getting a mud bath on the muddy shores,.

Getting a dust bath in the dust fields.

And making a hellova lot more baby elephants.

And those elephants still alive (and – alas- they are getting easier to count) should be left alone by the vicious human beasts who slaughter them for fun and ivory.

An Elephant stampede would come in right handy.

Now, I’m partial to Elephants, having written a book of short stories where an elephant holds his own in conversations with God.

Yes, God gets a good talking to, though the Almighty does manage to give as good as He gets.

So, I’m all for WORLD Elephant Day.

In fact, I’d give them a whole Week.

Nay, a whole Month.

Alright, a whole Year!!

They’re BIG animals. They can handle it.

(Image) https://www.wildlifealliance.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/World-Elephant-day-2018.jpg

08/12/2019 0

Kafka Never Slept In This Prague Hotel

hotel-century-old-town

When I visited Prague to research my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I went to many of the places that were part of Kafka’s life. One such place – the small house where he wrote a whole book of short stories – became a setting for a third of my novel.

However,the building where he was employed, The Workers’ Accident Insurance Institute for the Kingdom of Bohemia in Prague, I only saw at a distance across a Square. It was not a happy place for Kafka, though he was very successful at his employ, and rose to an administrative position of importance. It was not really much of a setting for my novel.

That building is now a fancy hotel, and Kafka’s office is a room for rent. It is even designated The Franz Kafka room, and contains mementos. It is where I plan to stay when next I visit. I hope there is not a long list of folk wishing to spend the night there, too. It even includes a restaurant named after his fiancée, Felice.

Following is some information about the hotel, and some photos of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hotel is situated in the heart of Prague, next to the Old Town Square, where the famous medieval astronomical clock is mounted on the southern wall of the Old Town City Hall. The Neo-Baroque building was built in the 19th century by Alfonse Wertmuller, a famous architect in Prague. It was formerly the office of the Workers’ Accident Insurance of Kingdom of Bohemia, where Franz Kafka worked as an insurance clerk from 1908 to 1922. His spirit can still be felt in the hotel, as his bronze bust welcomes guests in the lobby in front of the majestic stairs.

(more)http://hoteldesigns.net/latest-hotel-review/miniview-mgallery-by-sofitel-reopens-following-refurbishment/

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In addition, this is one of the few diary entries I wrote, set in his office building,

Excerpt from Kafka In The Castle

16 February 1917

There was a commotion at the office today. It was late morning, and from far below, coming up the stairwell, I could hear a voice bellowing: “Doktor Kafka. Doktor Kafka.” It was a terrible voice, full of blood and darkness.

I got from my desk and went to the door. There were other voices, trying to calm, saying: “He can’t be disturbed.” But the voice was louder, more horrible, close in the corridor. “Doktor Kafka – for the love of God.” My secretary wanted me to stay inside, hoped the man would just move along the corridor until the police were summoned.

But – I was curious; the man had my name, and his voice was … terrified.

I opened the door and stood in front of it. “I’m Kafka,” I said. The man lunged at me, and went to his knees. “Doktor Kafka?” he said. “Yes, I’m Kafka.” He reached out, grabbing for my hand. “Jesus, Jesus, for the love of Jesus – they say that you’ll help me.”

He was a heavy man, and looked as if he had the strength to pull off doors, yet the tears burst from his eyes. “I can get no work. I fell from a bridge, and my back is twisted and in pain.” He slumped against the wall, looking at my eyes. “I have a family, Doktor Kafka. A baby not a year old.” “You were working on this bridge?” I asked. “Yes.” His voice slid down his throat. “I was helping repair the surface.” “Then you deserve your insurance. Why can’t you get it?”

He straightened up, and tried to stand. “I have to fill in papers; the doctor can see no wounds; the foreman said I drank; because my brother is a thief, I am not to be trusted.” I held out my hand, and he slowly stood. “I’m telling you the truth, Doktor Kafka.”

“If that is so,” I said, “you’ll get the money due you.” “I’m so tired,” he said.

I gave instructions to those standing around – no other work was to be done until this man’s case was decided. I took him to my office, where he sat.

He sat – practically without a word – for five hours. I summoned a prominent doctor to look at him. The doctor prodded, and the man screamed. Officials from his village were telephoned. I helped him with the details on the forms. His truth was in his pain. He left our stony building with money in his hand, and his worth restored.

The people who assisted me had smiles on their faces.

A man had needed their help.

08/11/2019 0

Kafka And His Friend, Max Brod, Share A Laugh In Heaven

kafka-brod

(Max Brod + Franz Kafka w/ hat)

I kinda do wonder if Franz is whispering into Brod’s ear (wherever they may have ended up) “I told you to burn them.”

To which Brod would accurately reply, “You knew I wouldn’t. If you wanted it done, you would have done it yourself.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Franz Kafka archive reclaimed by Israel national library | Books | The Guardian

Israel’s national library has unveiled a missing batch of Franz Kafka’s papers, ending more than a decade of legal wrangling between Israel and Germany over the author’s legacy.

(more) https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/aug/07/israel-national-library-unveils-reclaimed-franz-kafka-archive

08/07/2019 0

Circles Are The Answer ~ Space & Universe & Beyond

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“Circles are the answer.

“Just look at any circle and you’ll see what I mean. Of course, no one else is to know about the circles. They must be very stupid if they can’t see something so obvious.

“Yet, you get hints, don’t you – all the time out there. And in your own life – the way things happen so you never get anywhere. Never change.

“The earth, of course, and the sun – well, that’s something you can see. Either way you look at it, the one goes around the other in a big circle that takes in the whole sky. And the earth and the sun and the moon are round – all circles in their own right. So you have circles which are going around in circles, if you get my meaning.

“And if you look further – reach out into the universe as far as you can go – they tell us that everything is going around everything else. Smaller circles and elongated circles which take in such large distances that numbers become forgotten.

“Now, this means that everything, eventually, comes back upon itself. The beginning is really the end. That’s what most people would think – and that’s where they make their mistake.

“You see, things don’t start by beginning – they start by ending. It’s the end which comes first in a circle, so, instead of going back to where it started, it comes back to its end.

“That explains it.”

[Image] https: //i2.wp.com/everwideningcircles.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/1-milkyway-galaxy.jpg?resize=1600%2C901&ssl=1

08/04/2019 0

kafkaestblog

It is a whirlwind in here

Author

Dale Estey