Kafka-Gogol Letter of Month II –

What will I make of you,
wonder what you will make of me -

(No Kafka-Gogol Letter of Month I –)


Kafka-Gogol Letter of Month II –


Washing my hands in the morning, they were not the same anymore this morning. One bright white Caucasian, it felt very soft and taken care of very aristocratic, the other very dark, not Negro , but nearly so perhaps North African, much more hardened and scratched than the other, I can only assume from many years of toil in the field, or pulling camel ropes in the desert.


I did not want to torment my brain any more than I had to, it was a new day, had to find my usual route to the usual work to pay the usual cell phone and broadband bills. My neck started to fill stiff as started to walk away from door, by the time I was close to the local bank can swear it was ready to fall off from my neck. I began to think what if it were to fall off - which hand should I use to pick my head. What if it begins to role along in the twisted, cobblestoned European city.


I had to recall before it did fall, to get some loan from the bank. My salary now would pay for the cell phone, the broadband but not Starbucks coffee. Need to brush my Latin again, The original Greek tells not of a camel, but a rope (kamilos). When it was translated into Latin, kamilos was confused with kamelos (camel). Now in to Arabic – it reads, from my now so remote Persian having to read the phonemes into Arabic. Ar-Riba, Usury!, Interest!, wish I had my wall mirror to see the movement of my lips and tongue as I say out aloud Ar-Riba!. To all them rope to pass thorough them, eye of the needle, to stitch back my head to my neck.



Finally passing the Lottery stand of the town, feeling cheated as did not win 100 Million, again, given after much loyalty and support week after week, getting it. There are words, inflections that can change when talking, it is sort of a cheat, trick, bamboozle, as emphasis and accents roll along with the listener. But – “syntax must stay! - syntax must stay!” – I keep charging my charisma as practice my monologue, with pertinent arm movements, “to hell with semantics. We are not that sort of laborers - syntax must stay!”.