"And Where, I Ask You, Can A Man Escape To, When He Hasn't Enough Madness Left Inside Him? The Truth

"And where, I ask you, can a man escape to, when he hasn't enough madness left inside him? The truth is an endless death agony. The truth is death. You have to choose: death or lies. I've never been able to kill myself."

-Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Journey to the End of the Night-

(Artwork The Smoker by Christopher Thomson.)

The Diaries of Franz Kafka are a conduit to who he really was as a person and as an artist. They chronicle his life from 1910 to 23, they offer multiplex reflections, meditation and philosophical introspection, accounts of dreams, ideas, book reviews and an honest portrayal of his feelings, emotions and thoughts. While written and given in poetic prose and lyricism, rich in vocabulary and expression, his diaries are a simply an answer to what he understood and what he did not about himself, as a writer, a person, a brother, a friend, an artist and above all as a human being with dark recesses and complexities waiting for love and affection, and light to come by.

#ReadmoreKafka.

We could be stargazing now, altogether.

Spread on the roof, like droplets of dew and ivies,

Wrapped up in meaningful silence, but

Instead, we're apart, counting stars

By the window, teeth-clenched and

Unblinking, waiting for shooting stars

To send each other flying kisses

Which smell of longing, of affection

And of resistance against the distance.

(poem by me)

"Another December without you. The weather has changed for the worst. The sun has taken the attitude, or in fact, submitted itself to the attitude of a bashful obedient maid. The winds blow constantly, some times roughly and other times faintly but they're cold and unmerciful. The moon has been abducted, put apart in exile. The fogs hung above like ripped postcards on a broken table; they have no story to tell. The mornings wheel about without romance and the nights are set on a purpose to wreak loneliness and sorrow. It's another December without you my darling, will you come, appear and save me, won't you?"

#nighttimeprose #mywritings #poeticprose

(Artwork: A Sense of Someone by Anne Magill.)

"I have no right to call myself one who knows. I was one who seeks, and I still am, but I no longer seek in the stars or in books; I'm beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me. My story isn't pleasant, it's not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves."

-Hermann Hesse, Demian: The Story of Emil Sinclair.-

(Artwork by Eliran Kantor.)

“I’m tired and afraid to continue in this tone. This only to tell you the color of the day and my thoughts. It is heavy and hot. A day for silence, nakedness, shady rooms, abandonment. My thoughts are the color of your hair. Monday and a few days thereafter, they will be the color of your eyes.”

-Albert Camus; Letter to Maria Casarès.-

(Artwork by Joseph Lorusso.)