A brief look at headlines: almost as good as reading Kafka’s The Castle again. For instance, the Minister of Justice says his ministry can’t afford to pay the bills any more. Meanwhile, a French feminist claims our biggest concern is battling folks such as Dolce & Gabanna or H&M for offering clothes suitable for practicing Muslim women. They should stick to cheap and ugly imports, I suppose. And may the Light of Ludicrous shine on us all.
In The Castle, if memory serves, a land surveyor arrives in a village at the foot of a – yes, a castle. For reasons that never, ever become clear, he cannot access those he must see up there on the hill. Kafka’s world is familiar to anyone with some acquaintance with anxiety dreams. For instance, you have an exam but you can’t find the right room. You must catch a plane but can’t find the ticket, or your passport. You can’t remember your name, or you speak it and everyone treats you like an impostor. You want to write a story but its meaning keeps eluding you. Etc.
In answer to the posted title: no, neither life nor fiction are making sense yet. In both instances, I try to behave as if I knew where I’m going. Act confident, you know. Speak as if you knew. Our planet hurtles through space with all of us onboard. A space odyssey indeed.
Allez. I have a bunch of characters sharing the same quandary i.e. whereto now and why. Personally, events in real time play out like a slow-motion version of that clip of a hare tumbling, hopping and racing his way to safety on the forward lip of an avalanche.
As pleasant a Sunday as possible to those for whom it’s Sunday at the moment (and those for whom Sunday means tomorrow, of course. We’re all hurtling at the same speed anyway. Plus, for a brief and pleasant moment, in early morning, I walked with my dog. The air was light on my shoulders, the day felt good, and I smiled. I’ll stay tuned to spontaneous smiles as much as I can. You can never experience too many of those.)