Sorry Kafka

I think this Kafka book--the trial--is probably not very special at all. Haphazard symbols thrown together as in dreams. I was thinking it's silly for me to bother trying to find meaning in it. Of course some think dreams have great meaning. I don't really think so. Occasionally though I do pretend.

One can make a huge amount of meaning out of tea leaves. One can make a huge amount of meaning out of Kafka's The Trial. One can make a huge amount of meaning out of the movie The Unbearable Lightness of Being. In truth it's a total crap movie; some high brow sex and anti-communism to ensure the funding to make it during the Reagen era.

Kundera was appalled. As a result of this movie, that had not really much of anything to do with his (rather subpar) book, he refused to ever allow any adaptation of anything he created ever again.

Still, it's perfectly valid to find worthwhile meanings in it. Same with Kafka's The Trial, which I suspect I'm giving much more attention than it deserves. Kafka said he only actually wrote three stories that were worth bothering. I don't remember if The Trial was one of them. I remember one was The Hunger Artist. Which I did like, but just for being so strange.

So what the hell I'll look at Kafka's tea leaves some more. It's completely inferior to say Flaubert, but strangely more interesting.

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I love that James Bond movie where they're at the top of the (I think) Golden gate bridge and the bad guy loses his grip and as he's about to fall, starts laughing.

I find someone online who seems a really good person. I try to have an intelligent conversation with the person. I dare to give a nuanced political view of Cuba and the witchhunt begins.
I've seen it so many times before that I just find myself humming this:



I spent a week at a hospital for the truly too far gone (not as a patient). I talked for many hours to a manic-depressive who had a jacket with the name 'Gitler' written on it with masking tape. He was flying high, having a ball, going on about those wonderful nazis, etc. Very annoying to talk to as he was basically doing what I described above every 30 seconds or so. But then he came on back to reality one day and oh my is he better off elsewhere.

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Although I say I don't believe in dreams, it's comical of me to say that. Because at times I've really loved to believe that the songs I made up in my sleep came from other worlds that really exist. For that matter while awake I've managed just a tiny bit to write music that I liked to think that of.... Although I find it really really hard at times to hold on to that "faith".

I love this song in that respect:

It's a song screaming there's no god while it's overflowing with mysticism itself. The singer might as well be standing on a mountain top screaming right at a huge god looming over him. It seems to me a perfect example of Logic butting it's head hard against Mysticism/Creativity/some other thing?.

Milan Kundera is comically obsessed with being misunderstood. He will not allow interviews unless they are by writing and he can dictate exactly what is included. Which is ridiculous.

It is not possible to do what he is doing and not be misunderstood. For that matter, it is not possible to write this little blog and (assuming anyone were reading) not be misunderstood. It's refreshing to for once not worry about such things; not let such things slow me down or distract me.

On the one hand this stuff here reduces human experience to something very cold and dead and I could logically speaking call myself an atheist. On the other I wrote over 40 songs last year and have so much mysticism in me it can get dangerous.

To breathe is to be misunderstood. I'd be shocked if I ever wasn't.