Tag Archives: kafka

German jazz: THE CLAP HUNT

The clap hunt
In this city you wrote
A poem denoting your fears
Reflecting the tears you let
Over being a man.
Kaspar your name, if I may
Be so frank –
Pol Patt when you were pink.
And like me, I think,
Addressing yourself in safe surroundings.
The sounds of your writing
Moved me to tears,
And now they are
Here, making this page as unreadable
As Kafka’s first draft
Of his letter to his old man.
Your rhythm is
Quite clear, but your questions far greater
And many lengths more dear.
Precedent of many thinkers
From plenty other cities and eras.
Negligent of Third Reich liking,
Or at least endangering
To the insecure little brats.
Indeed, self-reflection was
Like a vice to how those
Medieval rat bastards do.

[“Zis painting depicts
My fear as I
Torture zis shit Jew, here.”]

No, none of that
For ol’ Goebbels and Hitler,
Iconoclasts of the highest class
Out to mash your stash of poetic
Trash – confessional,
Metrosexual romantic crap.

German expressionism, may I add?

We thank you, Klabund,
For your questions,
Rejections from human life.
We thank you for degenerating
The generates to death.
Do us part, Alfred,
Take us away one more time.
My face lights
Up, my brain warms up
When you rhyme…

Praguian poe: I’M SORRY, PRAHA

I’m sorry, Praha

Tower bells
Towering just above
The snow white snow.
Prague depicted
Like a picture show.
Picturesque it glows
With pastel colored
And bronze statues
Black as coal.
Maria rubbed to gold.
Across the bridge
The wind lies down
In Kafka town –
Ironically the only place
To pee freely.
West of the river,
Shivering, unzipped,
Eclipsed, bedazzled,
And stripped.
Hot wine turned to
Yellow snow.
Urine section,
Let ‘er rip!
Let go in this city –
This wondrous
Chitty-bang chitty,
If the Republic
Dark and gritty.
Beware, Chitty,
Of the storm underway.
Be ready for some heavy beating.
Be prepared,
But believe in better days.
Only hope will teach you,
Strengthen you to cope with
The inevitable evil approaching.
The withdrawal effect
Of capital dope.
Please have faith
In your indestructible beauty,
No matter how many poets
And politicians piss on you.
I’m sorry…

Praguian poe: @ THE CAFÉ LOUVRE.CZ

@ the café Louvre.cz

Here I am, Kafka,
At your disposal.
Now what may be
Your indecent proposal?
Let it not have anything
To do with bohemian beauty
Next to me.
Not up for that challenge,
Gladly bound to Dutch love.
And love the last matter
On your mind, if I am right.
Still, their presence gifted
From above…

Back to business,
You and I –
My fellow mad man,
What have you got planned tonight?
I will run by your homes
Where my admiration was born.
But what do I do now,
In this place you adorned?
Cappuccino & cabbage,
Your voice crisp & clear,
Resounding in the smoky salon,
This café you held dear.
Is this what you think of
When I ask you for your thoughts?
I should have known, of course,
How cabbage gets you lost.
Caramelized and well,
Like a true immortalized self.
I dwell in your spirit
In spite of this moment.
And then I lose myself in the end.
Please read the note I left you:


Should you return here
Before you change into a pest
Write me back, please,
Leave a note.
I would love to hear from you.
Your true self.
A feeling arises
You wished the same for your
Philosophers & professors
Decorated this place.
And you paved the way for
Insects with fantasy.
Ants will be
my readers…

– From a dear friend, IG Karfield”

Moment of Sanity, Part III: The Human

Moment of Sanity, Part I: The Genius
Moment of Sanity, Part II: The Mad Man
Moment of Sanity, Part III: The Human

Art and the human. The human. The human in me is living through the faces of cultural Europe. Let’s make one thing clear: I am not human. Nor am I the ultimate icon of denial for Post-modernist thinkers that is the humble medium of the universal truths of human emotion, human’s true eye on reality. But, yah, no-one said I was, so I’m not quite sure how I came to emphasize that here.

I am merely a writer from another dimension with the desire to share his soul, and how it is thrown back by the force of the human beings denying its existence in the face of their reality. It brings me to life…A life I don’t need, as it is one in which art is facing total annihilation.

Ah, humanness: Gaia forbid that you ever be left uncaptured by the brush holding, pen licking, clay sticking, stage tricking, string plucking, dicks ****** freaks and geeks on this earth that we call artists. Mozart, Kafka and Brecht. I am walking in their footsteps…And I’m sad I came too late.

The traces of great men with great minds in times of terrible trouble. And it occurred to me that none of these traces will be captured in a glass box, plaster casted to outlast the shit storm we are currently concocting.

It occurred to me that these traces needed to be refreshed…

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