Thursday, 16 September 2010

and then this Kafka story...

An Imperial Message
by Franz Kafka
Translation by Ian Johnston

The Emperor—so they say—has sent a message, directly from his death bed, to you alone, his pathetic subject, a tiny shadow which has taken refuge at the furthest distance from the imperial sun. He ordered the herald to kneel down beside his bed and whispered the message in his ear. He thought it was so important that he had the herald speak it back to him. He confirmed the accuracy of verbal message by nodding his head. And in front of the entire crowd of those witnessing his death—all the obstructing walls have been broken down, and all the great ones of his empire are standing in a circle on the broad and high soaring flights of stairs—in front of all of them he dispatched his herald. The messenger started off at once, a powerful, tireless man. Sticking one arm out and then another, he makes his way through the crowd. If he runs into resistance, he points to his breast where there is a sign of the sun. So he moves forwards easily, unlike anyone else. But the crowd is so huge; its dwelling places are infinite. If there were an open field, how he would fly along, and soon you would hear the marvellous pounding of his fist on your door. But instead of that, how futile are all his efforts. He is still forcing his way through the private rooms of the innermost palace. Never will he win his way through. And if he did manage that, nothing would have been achieved. He would have to fight his way down the steps, and, if he managed to do that, nothing would have been achieved. He would have to stride through the courtyards, and after the courtyards through the second palace encircling the first, and, then again, through stairs and courtyards, and then, once again, a palace, and so on for thousands of years. And if he finally burst through the outermost door—but that can never, never happen—the royal capital city, the centre of the world, is still there in front of him, piled high and full of sediment. No one pushes his way through here, certainly not someone with a message from a dead man. But you sit at your window and dream of that message when evening comes.

just as I was feeling better I receive this email...

Dear Nina,

What is your purpose for this lifetime? Are you on the right path? Are you making the right decisions? Did you know that the placement of the Moon in your birth chart indicates karmic tendencies that you carry over from your past lives, and that the Sun in your chart reveals your life purpose and the lessons you need to learn? Let your complete Destiny Reading show you how to keep in harmony with your life's purpose. Order through this email and you'll save 20%! Try a free sample reading before you purchase, for a preview of this powerful reading.

pointless. what should I do. blablahblah. eating in bed.

reading about artcollectors made me depressed. left me empty.
i got to think about my own work - realizing its pointless. I've said it before. many times. it's old news. but I also felt that most of the images of art in this little berlin art magazine also was fucking pointless.

I looked up at my Berlin ceiling and sighed. There must be something else I could do. Something more valuable. I got up and smoked a cigarette while I toasted some bread. Comfort eating. WHat the hell if I end up fat. Nobody cares about me anyway. I sat down and smoked and hoped I would remember my thoughts about this art magazine situation. I lay down in bed with my old laptop and started typing.

What else could I do? I typed. Arial. 12p.

What else? Or if I would start by looking critically at my own work. What was it all about? Really. Was there anything of importance in them. Because I like that sentence or question. What is important. or. What is important?

I recalled something I said out loud back in the kitchen by the table while smoking.
I did not start making art because I thought I would sell stuff. I was never interested in selling or buying things. If that would have been the case I would have studied finance. I would have started my own business. A company.

Yes, someone in this magazine said: When bankers meet they talk about art. And when artists meet they talk about money.

If you dont have it you talk about it. As with dreams. If you dont have it you dream about it. And talk about it. What you would do if you had it.

if Im hungry I think about what I'd like to eat. If I dont have money I think about what I would buy if I had some. If I dont have a man in my life I make up fantazies about them. I dont have a dog - so I envy people who have one.

thoughts sorted. Feeling better. more important.