Out of coffee forever

These are three short ones for a coffee break...

Image by DarkWorkX from Pixabay

INVITATION TO THE MOON

The girls were pushing it: “I got it,” and “you found me, now make me moan.”

Kafka had a personal invitation to monetize the moon and used it every midnight twice a month for the girls to dance to, until crying, they went home to burst, because the moon overhead was enough to make you twist until it all sank back into the ground again. Yes, the girls were pushing it, but who can blame them?

And then the dormouse of Kafka’s heart came from somewhere and said: “I have worn many coats to Paris over the years: lover, traveller, tourist, heart-broken; but perhaps the best disguise was the one where I was invisible and played music where many passers-by didn’t recognise me and threw me coins: some busker playing the blues and crying his heart out.”

“Did you use onions?” asked the moon.

“There was no need,” replied Kafka.

TURNING IN THE GRAVE

Kafka was walking backwards again and drinking cheap wine, pulled from an urn that didn’t have a taste for life and so was making do. He kept his head down, for whenever he would look up all he would see were faces eating themselves, trapped in their circles of doom. It was all Scotch mist in the rat runs.

“Better to live on a tropical island alone than exist like that,” he thought to himself; but then, if he could see it then it meant he also was caught down among the dead men; but how can one fly with wings unused? Maybe Dante would know…

Image by Gerhard Gellinger from Pixabay

Over in the next dark-side where the winds always blew from the back of beyond, Dante was wishing for a radio when a full-on question came for him:

‘Hey, Dante, it’s me, Kafka. I need to know: how do you fly with wings of lead?’

Dante thought about this unusual message for a long time. Eventually he spoke:

“It’s all a game you know…”

“Is that why there are so many women fainting around here?” said Kafka, butting in.

“Be quiet, I’m trying to think,” said Dante, and then carried on with what he was saying:

“It’s all a game, and to play the game well you need to know the rules that sooner or later have to be broken to proceed further, where there are no rules but those you choose. When you beat this drum enough you will usually find that things fall into place; but first you have to stop complaining, for that is what keeps you here.”

Aghast at this and after a brief infusion of doubt with the anomaly control button, Kafka ran amok in the snake juice and was not to be approached for anything until later when it was all over.

“Are you finished?” asked Dante.

“For now,” replied Kafka.

“It’s just your mind you know, tell it what to do before you run out of gas, and say it like you mean it, so it won’t get confused,” said Dante wondering if he should call up Nietzsche to get another view on things.

“Is it only in dreams then that I get what I want?” said Kafka, submitting shadows all around until everything went quite dark.

Image by Arijit Chakraborty from Pixabay

“Where did you learn to die like that?” asked Dante from the darkness.

“In the grave of course,” replied Kafka and rolled over in the pain relief and said not one word more in his snoring freshly bargained up from below.

NO COFFEE

“I can’t remember our song anymore; does it mean I’m over you?

But it’s still raining and the waiting is absurd, and the winds blow where I’ve been, to say this much has been known, don’t go back there to chase what couldn’t be found; the salt of that wound is a soldier who was shipped out to raise onions far away where another life called; but when the pain gets to be too much then it must be rode like the crazy horse it is until it’s broken, and then get off, and move on.

I’ve created a path, under the moon in the dark clouds, past the burning fire to escape this place, but it’s so hard to take the first step.

Image by Andreas Zedler from Pixabay

So I say to the pain: come when you will and do what you feel because that’s what you are, and that’s what you do; and I’ll never ask you for any other way to be but what you give.

And if I call out in the pain because I’m fixed in some rain of us, don’t make any excuse, just come for me, or let me be where I can’t be found.

When I call you like this why don’t you answer me?” moaned Kafka, complaining for all he was worth.

“Shush, I’m receiving a transmission…” said Dante.

Image by Noupload from Pixabay

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