Here are three short stories involving ole Kafka in his afterlife...
Over in the graveyard, Kafka was talking to the ghosts:
Anyway, one day I fell into the wind and they asked me: “Where did you go?”
I said: “Nowhere, I stayed right here,” said Kafka, “where the wind doesn’t blow.”
And then they said: “There’s no such thing as a hole in the wind.”
So I said: “You’ve heard of the eye of the storm, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” they said.
“Well that’s a hole in the wind. And that’s how I explain it for when I meditate,” said Kafka explaining it to them.
The gang of ghosts clapped then, most enthusiastically.
THE STRING THEORY OF A MARGARINE JAR
“Hey, Dante, can I steal your brains for a moment?”
“You can try,” said Dante just then waking up.
“What’s a margarine jar?” said Kafka.
“Well it’s...why do you want to know?”
“I want to know how many margarine jars it takes to capture a month’s worth of moonbeams.”
“That’s a hard one,” said Dante, scratching his head.
“Yeah, I’m thinking string theory.”
“More like the old heart string thing I’d say.”
“How does that one go?” said Kafka, wondering.
“You can blow it up to mean whatever you want.”
“Oh, like a religion,” said Kafka.
“Peace and love brother,” said Dante.
“I still don’t know about a margarine jar.”
“Never mind the algebra for now, come and help me fill this hole with surrender.”
A VERY BLACK MAN
“Fire up the missiles boys, we’ve found another subversive to shoot at.”
“He’s a little bit slippery sir.”
“In what way is he a little bit slippery?”
“He used his conscience to vote.”
“Use the mother bomb then, that’ll get him.”
“Yes sir, mother bomb away.”
Down in the bottom of the world where the subversives live and poetry is written with charcoal there is a cave on top of the mountain of it all that was suddenly invaded by a big storm that went: boom, with a bright flash of light.
After it had died away and the smoke had cleared a very black man started a thousand year poem with the charcoal that was all that was left of the forest outside his cave and as he stopped thinking he disappeared off the radar.
“Mission accomplished sir. Another subversive bites the dust.”
“Well done soldier, now let’s string up the Christmas lights and get to celebrating.”
Kafka put down the book he was reading and shook his head as if to clear it of something hardly believable.
Image from Pixabay
