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It is a whirlwind in here

Summer Ends For Kafka

(Kafka & Ottla in Zürau)

In Kafka In The Castle I fill in the missing diaries of Franz Kafka. Here, Kafka learns of the tuberculosis that will eventually kill him. He gets to have ‘time off’ from his job at The WorkersAccident Insurance Institute for the Kingdom of Bohemia in Prague, and also to escape his day-to-day life. He plans a vacation with his sister Ottla in a village some distance from Prague.

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

06 September 1917
Even though I wait for the summer to be over, I am always surprised by the abrupt transition.

One Wednesday it can be uncomfortable to walk the streets in the afternoon, but on the weekend it seems I should put the windows down at night. Now, I have these other desired passages thrust suddenly upon me, but for all my longing I am woefully unprepared.

I am back in my parent’s apartment, but it is only for another week. Then, I am going to Zureau to be with Ottla.
I have been granted three months leave from the Institute. The Director is most concerned about my state, and speaks of my invaluable contributions. He seems to mean it. Would not hear talk of my resignation.
So, I get to follow Ottla out of Prague – almost with carte blanche.

And there is nothing more to be done with Felice. I may have written her my last letter. What good is a tubercular for a husband? But – to be with Ottla.

To be out of Prague.

To get away from Prague!

[Image] https://i.redd.it/b5admh9jpag11.jpg

The Bee Prepares For Death

bumblebee

An anxious companion called to me,
As I was sitting out in the yard,
That a bee had
Settled on my leg.
 
So be it.
 
Bees will usually,
Quickly fly,
When they realise they
Are not on a flower.
 
This one did not.
 
So, I assumed that there
Was something wrong
With the bee.
 
It was not just languid from the heat
‘Cause it wasn’t that hot.
 
The longer the bee stayed,
The more concerned I became.
 
Not really knowing
The ins and outs of bees
Heading for their demise.
 
Except, that they usually fall
In Service
While heading toward,
Or away,
From their hive.
 
I thought a languid/dying bee
Might take some sort of affront,
Or take one last stand
At life,
And make a defensive move
Of stinging whatever
Was nearest it.
 
So I kicked out
My leg.
 
The bee moved through
A gentle arc,
Caused by my propulsion,
And its own feeble
Attempt at flight.
 
It landed in the taller grass
On the verge of the lawn,
And,
I suspect,
It did not
Move again.
 
D.E. BA U.E.

Stalking Deer Without A Deerstalker Hat

I thought this was a nifty title because (in some things) I am easily pleased. But I thought I had better get my facts straight about a deerstalker hat (’cause I only really had an image in mind). And I realized that that image was from Sherlock Holmes but, along the way, I found out that Holmes is never described as wearing a deerstalker hat, but that it was the device of an illustrator to his stories. So.
And, to be exact: The deerstalker is a fabric cap with a front and back peak and side earlaps which can be tied up atop the hat or worn down. The purpose of the dual peaks was to protect both the face and the back of the neck from the sun during long periods outside
We can be sure I was NOT wearing such a thing.
 
But the deer are real.
 
I had started down a hill toward a long copse of trees when I saw two fawns quite a distance before me. One bounded into a field but the other stayed on the road. It had to be an optical trick of perspective, but the fawn on the road seemed to be no taller than my knees. It followed the first fawn, but I waited because I was sure there would be a mother deer close by. And, in a couple of minutes, one wandered into view. Now, they had all given me a long once-over, but I didn’t move, so they all went their way. I eventually continued down the hill and along the road.
 
The road turned and I went with it. In a minute I saw all three across a field in the distance. The two fawns appeared to be grazing, but the mother certainly saw me. She stood stock-still and I did the same.
At a guess, we stayed this way for six or seven minutes. That is a long time to stand (for me) but I was in no rush..  The fawns were oblivious to me, but mother deerest did not take so kindly to such constant intrusion. She moved until she was out of my sight line, and then started to cough. Cough and wheeze at the same time. It was an exaggerated call, which the two offspring were ignoring. Their grub must have been good.
 
So I stayed, unmoving, for another few minutes, while the mother deer made this strange (to my ears) noise another half dozen times. Whether by this prompting, or by finally having enough of a feed, the fawns languidly made their way toward her. Soon, all were hidden by the trees.
 
I was relieved to continue on my way.
(image) https//:www.oldmission.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/deer-and-fawns-1020-1.jpg

The World’s Worst Bar

bar-neon-sign-4-3284-p
The World’s Worst Bar,
Absolutely
The worst,
In the world.
 
Indeed,
The whole world.
 
Indeed,
In all of
Christendom.
Which
Is more than the world,
If you are a believer
In The Christ,
And
Accept
He goes
Beyond the world.
 
The world’s worst bar
Smells of
Formaldehyde,
(and those are the pricey drinks).
 
And
You don’t really want
To know
What those
Snacks are
In those
Suspicious
Glass jars,
Particularly
The snacks
Floating in
Some sort of
Murky fluid.
 
Tasty – maybe –
But.
 
Highballs are kinda
Too high,
And martinis
Strep your throat.
 
And the wine
Well…
You would be
looking around,
Hoping to see Jesus,
Doing His thing
With
A bucket of
Water.
 
D.E. BA U.E
03092020

Did Trump Charm Merkel?

 
I wrote the following blog three years ago, under the heading: “Trump And Merkel Walk Into A Bar In Hamburg” This just goes to show (kinda) that what goes around comes around.
 
So – now –  a former American ambassador to Germany said at the recent Republican National Convention that “… he saw President Donald Trump charm German Chancellor Angela Merkel”. When told this, Merkel’s expression indicated otherwise.
 
 
~ You are not quite the tuff bad boy I expected, Herr Donald.

~  Maybe not – but your stiff starchiness is evident, Frau Reich Chancellor.

~ One must keep you and the Tzar of all the Russias in their place.

~ Nothing is going to keep Vlad in his corner of his empire.

~ True.

~ Unless . . .

~ Speak it up, Herr Donald.

~ I dunno – you never know who is listening these days.

~ I think we’re safe – the Tzar is on his way home.

~ But “home” is the operative word, Angie.

~ Then you had best whisper into my shell-like ear.

~ All we’d need is a Twitter GIF of that!

~ Not to worry – I’ll just roll my eyes.

~ Well – Frau Angie – why don’t we form an Anchluss?

~ I think you mean an alliance, Herr Donald.

~ I’ll leave the technicalities to you.

~ And we’d already have an alliance, Der Donald, if you behaved yourself.

~ Did you just say “dear”?

~ Not in this lifetime.

~ Just checking, Angie.

~ Nor the one after.

~ The ladies like a bit of power – if you get my drift.

~ Hell would first freeze over.

~ I’m thinking you might accomplish that, Frau Reich Chancellor.

[image] https://news.immitate.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/angela-merkel-looks-confused-after-being-asked-if-trump-charmed-her-business-insider-business-insider.jpg

To The Lighthouse – A Tale Of A Keeper

 

I have been thinking of lighthouses, as I am very fond of them. I came across new information about some local ones, and even found a web site (courtesy of some lighthouse articles) which is excellent for all of North America. https://www.lighthousefriends.com/index.html

So, I will share a lighthouse story which is part of one of my novels. It is a fictitious lighthouse, but the story has roots (as so many tales do) in reality.

Excerpt from: He Lives In The City / He Drives To The Country

“Well, Blaine, the place is as sturdy as the rock it’s on. Government inspected every spring. We even sat pretty through the Great Groundhog Day Gale in 1976, the worst storm in over a hundred years.”

     Fred Gannet nudged Blaine to the huge windows. He pointed into the distance, although neither could see through the fog.

     “Waves forty feet smashed up against us. We clocked winds at one hundred and thirty-seven miles an hour. We had the warning, so we got most of this battened down. Turned over my van, but I had it far from the cliff. Smashed out a window in the living room. I had a bitch of a time getting plywood over it. Lost power and phone of course, but everything here can run on emergency generator. And part of the roof lifted, but it didn’t do that much damage.” He jabbed his finger at the rain spattered windows. “This is a baby compared to that whore.” 

     He gave a whoop of a laugh, and took off his cap. 

     “Old George Crenshaw, he’s the keep on Goat Island, a mile square drop of nothing about eight miles further out to sea. Well, he took the brunt of that bitch, and we were all sure he was a goner. For hours after it passed, there was no boats could get through the waves, or helicopters through the wind. Even the radios were gone, and no one had talked to the old bugger for twelve hours. 

     “We kept trying and trying, and finally I heard his call letters, but real faint like. I turn my juice ’til the needle’s in the red, and I’m yelling, to find out how he is. You know the first thing any of us hear that old son of a bitch say?”    

     The large man’s body was actually shaking with laughter, something Blaine had rarely seen in anyone. 

     “Old George’s thin voice comes out of the radio, like a fart out of a ghost, and he says: `Well, boys, that was quite a breeze’.” 

     Blaine started to laugh as hard as the other man, who was now wiping his eyes with the cap he had in his hands. 

     “His place was a wreck. He had no heat, no power, there was three feet of water in his bedroom, and they even found a crack at the base of the tower. That crazy old guy had hand-cranked the generator on and off for ten hours to keep some light going. Jeez, Blaine, they don’t make them like that anymore.”

(Image) https://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large-5/lighthouse-in-the-storm-simple-beauty.jpg

With Vengeance Does The Fog Descend

 


 
With vengeance
Does the fog
Descend
 
Or ascend,
It is hard to tell
 
However,
Vengeance is mine
Sayeth the fog.
 
For this fog is filled
With lightning
And rain
And thunder.
 
The fog has a
Bizarre
Pink tinge
That bodes
(Under the circumstance)
Ill. 
 
And foghorns
Of those ships
Lost
&
Lost
 
And not wanting to
Be lost
At sea.
 
When it is fog
Such as this,
The foghorns
Have a wail
Of desperation
 
“Don’t let us get lost,
“Get lost,
“Lost,
“In the cold
“Dark
“&
“Invisible
“Sea”
 
The foghorns
Moan
&
Wail.
 
The ships
Take on the
Shape of Ghosts.
 
Lost Ghosts.
 
~ D.E BA U.E
 

This is A Test – Isn’t it?

0311-sunmo-almanacluddites-1519153-640x360-1

It is a test for me, to see if I can return to the previous method of presenting a blog.

I doubt I am a true Luddite, as – well – I am on a computer and plan to offer my words to the world. Not that every writing Luddite didn’t try to present their words to the world, they just did not have the intention of immediate success. Nor possess an expectation that they could do so within ten minutes. It is very possible they did not even dream of such things.

But – perhaps – I can return to the method that has served me so well, and continue along my merry Luddite-but-not-so-Luddite way.

‘Tis a consummation/Devoutly to be wish‘d.

[Image}https://cbsnews2.cbsistatic.com/hub/i/r/2018/03/11/7f9376cd-e0ba-402b-a819-19ca550673cd/thumbnail/1200×630/ee0c2fae169ed79e810c715ac4ca5efa/0311-sunmo-almanacluddites-1519153-640×360.jpg

 

Into Every House


Into every house 
Must 
A door open
And then,
Behind you,
Will
It shut.

Come & go
As you please.
It will be
The same
Before
&
Aft

Unless

U R one
of those
Folk

Who can enter
A
Revolving Door
Behind
Someone
&
Still
Come out
First.

~ D.E. BA U.E

(image) https://i.pinimg.com/736x/21/d2/36/21d2369c121e3cffc74e37f7c8ee4496--oak-doors-entry-doors.jpg

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