My chat with Kafka

So I may have neglected to mention this, but while I was in Prague I had this insatiable desire to find out what made Frantz Kafka tick.

Because, you know, he was a writer. And I am a writer.

And writers are forever trying to make sense of life, the universe and everything.

And so I went to visit Kafka’s Revolving Head to try to get to the bottom of, um, everything.

At first he was a little standoffish. But I said “Dude! Tell me about life the universe and everything. One writer to another.”

And I sensed he was warming up to the challenge.

He told me, “I am in chains. Don’t touch my chains!” And I assured him that I had no desire to touch his…um…chains. I just wanted to get to the bottom of things, one writer to another.

And then he told me: “I speak differently from what I think, I think differently from the way I ought to think, and so it all proceeds into deepest darkness.”

And I thought: Woah, that’s heavy. So I asked him “Dude, what else?”

And he told me “I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.”

And I told him, “Dude, I know the feeling. I once tried to tell my kids about life, the universe and everything and they changed their identities and entered the Witness Protection Program.”

To which he replied, and I quote, “A First Sign of the Beginning of Understanding is the Wish to Die.”

Which sort of took me aback, because I really wasn’t ready to cash it all in while standing in front of an aluminum, rotating, revolving head that claims to be the embodiment of Frantz Kafka.

So I told him, quite reasonably, “Dude, lighten up. The Donald is on his way out. We can hope for the best.”

To which he responded with “There is an infinite amount of hope in the universe … but not for us.”

And that’s when I finally got it.

Kafka was the original Incel. And it’s been ticking him off ever since.

So I said, “Dude, where there’s life there’s hope.”

To which he said, “Ron, you know I’m dead, right?”

And right there he had me.

“The meaning of life is that it stops,” he said.

But by then I had already stopped listening to this revolving aluminum head that never got to party down.

I mean, it was like trying to have a chat with Woody Allen. What’s the point?

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