city

Kafka Hauls Ass Out Of Vienna, A City He Had A Deep Hate For

In my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I fill in **missing** diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. It is estimated Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote. I am as accurate as I can be in my timeline. On these July days in 1917, in reality, he travelled to Vienna. He filled in no diary entries, but I have him express opinions he mentioned elsewhere.

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17 July 1917

Vienna – a city which I hate. The forced gaiety of the people is as cloying to me as the rich desserts which gag my mouth. They live on the borderline with death, and their sweat reeks of terror. It drips onto their ghastly cakes as they peer across the table to see what their companions have. “Shit in; shit out,” as my father would say.

18 July 1917

I took a night train from Vienna. Not only was it the quickest conveyance available, but I did not have to look at the wretched city in the dark. It’s not a place of dreams, but of nightmares. But, perhaps it was foolish to flee, since my destination is a nightmare.

07/15/2024 0

The Police Pulled Over The Dump Truck Of Delights

It was not a day like any other day, so I suppose it did not start like any other day. I don’t know.

However the day started, it did not end well. It did not go well. It ceased being well half way through.

Half way through the day that did not end well, on the street that leads to the Causeway that crosses the Bay that leads to the street that takes you into the heart of the city, the police pulled over the dump truck of delights.

One police car with flashing lights approached the dump truck of delights and pulled it to the side of the road and parked behind it with its lights still flashing and . . .

Well, that was it.

The dump truck, painted a utilitarian grey with a rusty dump covered in a tied-down tarpaulin, was stopped. Halted. Pulled to the side of the road by the black-and-white police car with its flashing blue-and-red-and-white lights flashing dully off the dull dump truck.

Far enough!

End of line!

Turn off the engine!

Chock the wheels!

And that was that. In sight of the city proper. So near and yet so far. Over the Causeway was the forbidden land. Do Not Enter!

For the Dump Truck of Delights would rouse the populace and inflame the imagination and loosen too too many tethers.

There were unicorns, of course, in the Dump Truck of Delights.

And Spheres with moons and stars whizzing around them.

And rabbit holes to disappear into.

And cotton candy, floating floating floating like clouds.

And real clouds coloured like cotton candy.

And the Tree of Knowledge weighted down with fruit.

And angels and seraphim with trumpets and harps and chubby cherubim with big brass drums.

And the joys of the flesh and the hopes of the soul.

And the biggest, the widest, the firmest beds where anyone, anywhere, ever eased off into sleep.

There were warming winds.

There were cooling breezes.

The food and drink were – well – beyond description.

So – of course – the police were instructed to stop the Dump Truck of Delights, and keep such pleasure and peace from the people. To make sure it would not cross the Causeway and disrupt the commerce of the city.

Besides – the driver had no permit to transport unicorns.

DE BA UEL

07/28/2022 0

Franz Kafka Did Not Like Vienna, And Visits It With Hate

In my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I fill in **missing** diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. It is estimated Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote. I am as accurate as I can be in my timeline. On these July days in 1917, in reality, he travelled to Vienna. He filled in no diary entries, but I have him express opinions he mentioned elsewhere.

15 July 1917

What pretence have I not endured?

17 July 1917

18 July 1917

07/13/2022 0

After A God Awful Crash, The Lemonade Stopped Flowing

Two or three days ago, I heard incessant chanting coming from children two houses down the hill.

Other than it was obvious repetition, I could not figure out that the words were. It took a day and a half for me to decipher the sing-song serenade:: “Get your ice cold lemonade here!” And they beefed up ‘here’ – they said ‘her-are”. Maybe that is what confused me.

This morning, for the first time, I actually saw some folk buying their lemonade. One fellow even crossed the street for it.

But then, in the early afternoon, a God-Awful crash came through my open window. The chanting stopped in mid sentence. And I experienced what I had actually never experienced before.

Dead silence.

It was so silent, it made an impression. There seemed to be neither bird nor wind in the trees nor cars passing. The silence stretched for long seconds. And then, a yell of anguish.

“What happened?

“How did that happen?”

“What happened?”

And I did not know what happened (nor do I) but my guess is that whatever glass bowl or container. (which I assume was reasonably large). ended up on the sidewalk. In many pieces, and awash in lemonade.

Within two minutes, two mothers were out there with brooms and rags. One of them went out into the street and yelled “No, it didn’t reach here.”

For about ten minutes there was sweeping and mopping and children picking up pieces and putting them (I assume) into some garbage container.

The mothers returned to their houses.

There has been no chanting since.

07/15/2021 0

Going Through Checkpoint Charlie Where East Meets West (Berlin)

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[Checkpoint Charlie]

30 May

I first visited Europe years before the Euro was the accepted coin of the realm. In fact, there were many coins of many realms, and all that money caused a fuss.

I kept a daily diary of this trip, and plan to make it a part of any memoirs I might write. So I’ve hauled it out and will make some blogs from it. But they will be greatly abridged.

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30 May

Around ten o’clock I set out for Checkpoint Charlie. I say that I set out for Checkpoint Charlie, but i would be less than truthful if I stated I got there easily. In fact, I threw my destiny into the hands of Fate to get there at all. For the first time I did what I understand is a favourite pass time of tourists, I executed a complete circle and returned to the Hostel. At least I wasn’t lost.

I set out again, knowing I was to go past a particular building, and also go through a large field. Surprisingly enough, after a ten minute walk, I unexpectedly came to Checkpoint Charlie. And there were the people from the group I was travelling with, who shuffled me into their midst and thus near the front of the line.

Going past the British soldiers was a matter of seconds. You gave your name and the time you expected to return and that was it. Then told you were not allowed to take any photos, you headed to the East German barrier. Here they took your passport; you filled in forms; you had to exchange some of your money for East German money (which you had to spend in the East); got little slips of paper stuck into your passport; walked to a further barrier where you again showed your passport, and then the next thing you were doing was walking in East Berlin.

We had been told to walk along the street until we came to Unter den Linden and then stay on it. We could go down side street, but always return to Unter den Linden. And that is what we did – more or less.

What I had expected of East Berlin was a dark, grey, dirty city, with haggard, suspicious-looking people in 1950’s clothing slinking along the streets with large bundles in their hands. I actually saw little difference in the people, or the place, than what I had seen in West Berlin.

Yes, it was more run-down looking, and there were more ruined buildings, and even buildings that were war-scarred, but it was clean and neat, and the people were like anyone else, though there were far fewer on the streets.

[More to come another day]

05/30/2019 0

Coffee To Go – No Strings Attached

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I was standing in line in a coffee shop, waiting to place my order. I was third in line, the end in sight.

A voice came in my ear.

“Thanks, Man. It was kind of you.”

I turned, cautious and obviously puzzled. A clean-shaven and well dressed middle-aged man was not exactly in line behind me, but more to my shoulder.

“I appreciate the help.”

I didn’t feel overly anxious in the midst of a well-peopled coffee shop, but I was glad he didn’t look unhinged. I was wondering what obvious response to make: “Pardon me?” “I think you’re mistaken.” “Can I help you?” But then he spoke quickly.

“You helped me out back there.” He pointed to the street. “Up on the corner. You gave me money.”

I had had no such encounter, and was concerned that any sort of response might elicit offence. Plus, his stability now came into question.

“Wasn’t that you?”

“Sorry. You are mistaken.”

“Looks like you.”

“Then he’s a lucky fellow, whoever he is.”

This did get a laugh. Then, though I might have been expecting many things, I did not anticipate what he did next. He took out a gift card for the Coffee Shop we were standing in.

“Hey, can you give me $5 for this. A lady gave it to me earlier. It’s real.” We both moved forward as the line moved. “I don’t need coffee, but I need strings for my guitar. That’s how I make money on the street.”

As soon as he said this, I remembered someone playing a guitar across the street I had been on. There was no way I could tell if this fellow was him – but what are the odds?

“I can’t play without strings.”

I did not know at the time, nor do I know now, if this was a well-honed and practised routine to get some money. But it was only $5, I’d soon know if the card was real, and if it was a fraud I figured he’s earned $5.

So I gave him the $5.

“Thanks, Man. I swear it’s real. I play along here all the time. I can’t risk my reputation.”

A couple of minutes later I made my purchase. I used the card for part of it.

It was real.

(image)http://champ.d.umn.edu/sites/champ.d.umn.edu/files/styles/hero_interior_710x326/public/umd_interior_home/northern_shores_coffee_shop.png?itok=SorWnqf6

02/24/2017 0

A Badger Takes A Languid Stroll Through A Graveyard

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It was a sweltering day, which August sometimes keeps in reserve. There was no mad walk in the noonday sun for me. I waited until some semblance of evening appeared before I went outside.

It was to be a brief walk, twenty minutes or so. Through a graveyard, along city streets, crossing the “Bridge To Nowhere” (a pedestrian bridge over four lanes of traffic) to watch the broad river. Then back.

As I walked through the historic graveyard (more than two centuries of the dead) I saw an animal deep among the grave stones. Larger than a cat, smaller than a dog. I went to investigate.

I was reasonably close when I realized it was a badger. Not a beast to toy with. They can be vicious, so I was careful to keep my distance. Feet and toes in sandals might be too inviting. The badger kept a close eye on me as we approached each other.

I reached the point where I had decided to go no further. When I stopped, the animal made a quick run and disappeared under a gravestone. It was a long stone, flat to the ground, covering the length of the grave. On closer inspection I noted burrow holes at either end of the stone. Entrance and escape when necessary.

I had the desire to investigate further, but good sense and the heat of the day dissuaded me. I listened a moment for any rustle underground. Any gnawing on bones. However, I wanted my own fingers and toes intact. I left, pondering what its burrow might consist of.

(image)https://s3.amazonaws.com/gs-waymarking-images/c00591ee-0251-4bf2-a8fa-271ba4f2898d.jpg

09/25/2016 0