October 2008
6 posts
Franz Kafka is Dead
He died in a tree from which he wouldn’t come down. “Come down!” they cried to him. “Come down! Come down!” Silence filled the night, and the night filled the silence, while they waited for Kafka to speak. “I can’t,” he finally said, with a note of wistfulness. “Why?” they cried. Stars spilled across the black sky. “Because then you’ll stop asking for me.” The people whispered and nodded among...
intentional
When I was a boy, I saw downtown a large camera standing in front of the William Pitt Hotel or pointed at Kaufmann’s Department Store. Usually around midnight, but the people still going by. The camera set slow enough that cars and people left no trace. The crowds in Rome and Tokyo and Manhattan did not last. But the empty streets of Perugia, my two bowls of bean soup on Kos, and Pimpaporn...
