Archive for the ‘Spain’ Tag

Kafka Is Dorothy

Kafka’s is the art of comic exasperation deploying absurd even paranoid pseudo logic, labyrinthine insurance company and regulatory double-thought and dead-end speak, at one point probably convincing Derrida and the rest of deconstructionists, to become plumbers.


Of course, calling officials, their projects and indirectly the Government itself the Arrangement, says a lot about Kafka’s own state of mind. (Personally, I think the Deranged is more like it!), but he still created world literature out of the texts that as an insurance lawyer and later a Workman’s Compensation Board verifier, engulfed him. He imitated the structures of treacherously simplistic but circular language so prevalent in his daily work. Additionally, the endless incompetence and deliberate deception on the part of both the authorities and the public constantly placed him smack in the middle of one contention or another. This triggered his Walter Mitty-like imagination out of self-defence, his day-dreaming both escape and a distancing from recurrent nightmares, off-setting them and other health problems while preserving his sanity.


The crows maintain that a single crow could destroy heaven. This is beyond a doubt, but doesn’t prove anything against heaven, since heaven means, precisely, the impossibility of crows!’ is a famous example of a statement of breath-taking incongruity. It only makes one laugh, and even saying the absence of crows wouldn’t make it much clearer, only a dyslexic atheist perhaps debating the impossibility… of dogs instead of gods, but in the case at hand there could merely be a problem of translation. Anyway, the whole thing a bit like saying a statement by a person doesn’t make sense, because the man is mute. Also a non sequitur, what?


Yes, Kafka was a great tragicomic figure, one for whom in the end even a fire hydrant represented some sort of totalitarian threat. His humour all part of that self-defence, as was exaggeration. For I visited the castle in Prague; it’s an innocent enough structure, housing contemporary government offices, but as it’s located on a hill overlooking the Moldau, in his dreamy eyes exercising an authority far beyond its real scope. Yes, the Prague Castle is as innocent as one on a medieval Spanish hill top, in particular those high coastal fortifications and watch towers in Andalusia, constructed to keep exactly who (?) out, as the invaders were and had been… the Moors themselves!? Part of a paranoiac ‘arrangement’, in other words, the Moors ultimately getting defeated in the interior of the Iberian peninsula, as was to be expected, and by the Christian Kings, not by wily Barbary Coast pirates or some other imaginary naval force. So that these castles were not what they were cracked up to be, more part of someone’s fantasy, as in the case of Kafka.


Shades of combatting windmills then, and Don Quijote. Taken in mostly by the symbolism of the Prague Castle, Kafka did set out to unmask that menacing old fool behind the curtain, much like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, at the end of the day both lodging victory. For Kafka is not only Don Quijote, Kafka is Dorothy, but a much better writer than she!

Download Anthony Steyning’s splendid, new E-novel: A Kiss by the Clowns




-On bullfighting: so much gore for an ear and a piece of tail

– Papi, the matador Dominguin asked Hemingway, pass me those Qtips…..

No Bull

Some call it tauromagía, the festival of essential rituals, the one of fancy, puny mice toying with ferocious cats and with a little bit of help, killing them: man taming beast then demolishing him.

Sure it’s rigged, but then constant domination always is, except made to look beautiful. Plus what Rainer Maria Rilke saw here in Ronda at the outset of the last century more than the ochre world’s oldest arena, namely the breathlessly beautiful surrounding Sierra, rolling away from the Roman aqueduct and the region’s deepest chasm. But not September’s Corrida Goyesca, the 18th century dress-up bullfight named after the realist Spanish painter Goya, because they started this particular spectacle, honouring Hemingway’s pal the incredibly stylistic matador Antonio Ordoñez, long after the poet passed here. And presumably what he did hear every late Sunday afternoon, the local brass & reeds band striking up insisting on the death of the bull, the way Salvation Army bands insist on killing sin.

So now it’s hot here and less than two months from September. And bands already rehearsing with one big difference, we can kill a beast but not so easily… that even more wicked one within.

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