Search

kafkaestblog

It is a whirlwind in here

Open Search
Category

1917

Kafka Has A Dream And Then Ponders His Life

In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.
*********************************

15 January 1917

Dreamed that I never dream.

“That can’t be true,” said AB, dropping the papers she held. “Everybody dreams.”

 “It never happens to me,” I insisted. “And what’s more, I don’t really believe that anyone else dreams, either.”

“Of course people dream,” said AB, dropping bunches and pots of flowers on the floor. “I dream all the time. I’m full of dreams every night.”

“Even tonight?” I asked, excited, because I had some power, some type of knowledge, although I didn’t know what it was. “Tonight,” she repeated. “Especially tonight,” she said, dropping bowls of snow on the floor. “It is right now, right here.” Her voice was also full of excitement. “I am dreaming about you.”

“Me?” I said. “You can’t be dreaming about me. I’m right here – I’m not in your dream.”

“Not only are you in my dream,” she said, dropping automobiles and tram cars on the floor, “but you’re talking in your usual obstinate way. You’re cross, and you’re silly, and you’re shaking your hands at me.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” I said, wringing my hands and starting to yell.

“You’ve taken your absurd thoughts,” she said, dropping pieces of Prague on the floor, “and you’re forcing me to be part of them.”

“Even if it’s true – all true,” I said, trying to sweep Prague into the river, “it still isn’t me. You’re the one having the dream.”

AB snatched the broom out of my hand, and dropped it to the floor. “Then try to wake me,” she said.

16 January 1917

I have the feeling, that what I really am doing at the office, is committing suicide. And doing a good job.

0

Is Kafka Correct About The Dead?

In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

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

17 June 1917

            I am told that you can’t lose people, that “…they will always be with you in memory.” Max is heavy with this type of comment – as if the hand of sentimentality brushed off his coat before he set out on each day. Both the intelligent and the slow of wit seem to be struck dumb by this nonsense. Emotion, I suppose  – hope, I suppose – has no place for reason among its folds. But, if you can not touch, or have expectation of being touched, then the people and places are as gone as yesterday. There is no way to travel back, and the future beckons with only an empty gesture and a hollow laugh. Bowing low at the open doorway to usher you in, but the room is empty. And will remain ever so. When they are no longer there to hold their hand out to you – well, then they are no longer there.

0

Since Kafka Writes So Many Letters, Does He Become A Bore?

   In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

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

10 June 1917

           I find I am writing the same letters. Saying the same things. Even using the same words. Perhaps to prove that they are the same thoughts. Over and over like a child hawking his newspapers on the street. Yet, he has more success, for I can not sell. I can not even give away.

0

Does Kafka (Who Endlessly Seeks The Truth) Want To Hear The Truth?

   In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

This particular entry from the life I created for Kafka is one of my favourites.

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

08 June 1917

           A Gypsie confronted me today, and I was in the mood for a bit of sport. Her age was difficult to tell – certainly a decade older than me. In her swirl of shawls and dangling jewellery, heavy make-up on her face, she could almost have been in disguise. She peered at me with an intense sigh, attempting – I am sure – to penetrate my own disguise. “You are a Jew,” she said. “And you a Gypsie,” I replied. She seemed pleased with my response, for her professional smile became real. “You state the obvious,” she said. “As becomes a Doktor of Laws,” I replied. “But to your eyes, do you not state the obvious?”  “Are you going to banter with a poor old Gypsie woman, instead of barter? That would make you suspiciously like one of us.” She said this with a growl in her throat. “The Gypsie and the Jew,” I said, feeling the challenge which I so miss. “Perhaps an opera – but I think it’s been done to death.” 

     “They will try to do us all unto death,” she said harshly, and turned away. I had the fear she was going to leave me without another word, but what she did was to spit fulsomely onto the street. “They can’t kill us all,” I said, but I knew she heard the doubt in my voice. She slowly faced me again. “So. Even a Doktor of Laws can have hope. That is refreshing – but foolish.” She took my hand and felt my palm roughly with her thumb, although all the while her eyes never left my face. “You are going to travel.”  “Travel is a vague word. One can go on many types of voyage.”  “And reach many destinations,” she added, still holding my hand. “If you take away my vagueness, you take away my trade.”  “Then let me pay you for your services right now.”

     This transaction would make her loose my hand, which is what I wanted most of all. She had frightened me, for her eyes and face were full of truth. I know the truth. I know it when it presents itself, stark and unobscured. I search out truth endlessly, yet still can flee at its approach. As in her eyes. But she gripped me more fiercely, and pulled my hand up. “The coin, Herr Doktor.” Her voice was now soft. “The coin can wait.” She at last lowered her eyes and looked closely at my palm. She rubbed the lines and whorls of my skin. She touched her finger to her lips, and spread the moisture along my hand. “Your lifeline, Herr Doktor,” she took a quick look in my eyes, “of Laws. You deceive with the youth upon your face. Is that not so?”  “If your eyes stop at the mask, then no, the years have not etched themselves deeply.”  “Not on your face, Herr Doktor of Laws.” Her grip was intense. “But on your palm…” She hissed. “You will soon embark upon that final voyage.”

     She released my hand, rubbed her fingers across her sleeve. “But you will not go in haste. There will be many stops along the way.” Suddenly her face was full of the most beautiful smile, and her laughter was genuine. “I see you do not complain of vagueness now.” She held out her hand. “The coin, Herr Doktor of Laws. This time I have truly earned it.” I dug deeply into my pocket, and feared that I may have overpaid her. But, perhaps, that is not possible.

0

If Kafka Were To Die, What Would He Think?

   In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

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

  

07 June 1917

I wonder what my final thought will be – just before I die. I was moments away from death this afternoon, as I stepped unheeding onto the tram tracks. The motorman’s frantic bell made me leap. Had I been too slow, my last thoughts would have concerned where and when to take my vacation. Not very glorious last thoughts to possess.

     But, had I the time granted to me, what would I chose to think about? Perhaps F. Perhaps the writing – I’d like to finish the novel. Would I torture myself thinking about father? Would I accept that my past – now that it was ending – was finally settled. Or would I instead – and this is what I really expect – be wondering what I was going to miss tomorrow?

0

If Kafka Had Not Retreated From Love

  In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

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

05 June 1917

           Had I not retreated, I would have given up myself. This is what is expected from love. My thoughts and emotions would be continually extracted. I have no way to replenish them, so I would eventually be hollowed out. And I would collapse.

0

Kafka In Love (From “Kafka In The Castle”)

   In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

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

 04 June 1917

          Sometimes – with F – a kiss could make me feel l was becoming part of her. 

         And she into me. 

         I retreated.

.

0

Kafka Hopes To Prove His Worth On A Farm (from “Kafka In The Castle”)

In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

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

27 May 1917

          I shall visit Ottla. She asks that I come. She has been gone six weeks to the day. I could go next Saturday morning and stay two nights. I doubt the Director would mind. I could be back by noon, and work into the evening. Perhaps bring him eggs, or other farm produce. It would be appreciated with the shortages. She wrote that she could put me to work, if I’m worried about getting in the way. I know that she’ll really let me do what I want, but I actually would enjoy some chores. Some wood chopped, some earth hoed. More than the vapour which is the only result of thought. I’m sure she could find something for which I’m competent. I should do no worse than the other dumb animals.

0

Will Kafka Slip/Slide His Way Through May?

In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

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

22 May 1917

          There was even some snow. 

         They spoke of it at the office. Further down the river some snow and thunder together. 

               Hysteria traced the words of one man, who claimed he had good information – which he could not reveal – that the enemy has a great machine which can control the weather. That is how they are going to win the war. Freeze us in May, and destroy all our crops. 

                “And where are these giant weather engines?” somebody asked. 

                “In France,” was his reply, but he said it with such hesitancy that I knew it was a guess. 

                 “No machine could cause us trouble from that far away,” said another, and there was laughter before work resumed. 

                  Laughter without a touch of mirth.

DE

0

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑