THE KAFKA CHRONICLES (a tale of degredation, horror & love.)

You can’t be angry! They don’t want your passion! Your truth! All they want is your identification number.“4X73277XPYQ?” “Yes?” “Shut up!” And so you wander in alienation desert under a cold alienating moon. You bastards! I only wanted to be one of the crowd, happily dumbing-down to mindless piffle. Happily making war on people who do not share my ethnocentricity. (I.E. Little brown gits.) Happily screwing my Mother’s corpse in the name of…….Comedy!!! But it was not to be. And so I wander on the banks of bitterness river. And so I totter on the edge of twisted abyss. And so I limp through ‘You ***-king bastards!’ car-park. And there in the portakabin is the man himself! King Cockroach in person. KAFKA!

 Cah! It’s all your fault, I shout at him. You made alienation cool! You gave cockroaches a good image! You put the good into guilt! You flap eared twat! Kafka puts down The Sun and looks up. (Jewish accent.)“Listen already. You think I don’t know that? On my mother’s life. Why didn’t I stick to the Insurance? Oh, what a schlemiel I was. Curses on me!” And he takes out the Torah and starts beating himself over the head with it. Yes! That’s it! Go on! Make up for all those Morrisey fans! I feel exultant. Justified. Like an X-factor judge who has passed an I.Q. test! Kafka has now beaten himself down into a small pile of dust. It forms into a small whirlwind and spins across the car park. I run after trying to grab it so I can strangle it. Get rid of my rage, it but it slips through my fingers. Crap!!! Why can I never get hold of my bitterness and resentment and just kill it? Dead! But I can’t. It is too real. And so I wander through reality dream, (REALITY DREAM) convinced of the realness of stuff.





Like this six foot white rabbit standing next to me, surfing the net, wearing a pyramid shaped hat with the phrase, ‘WAKE UP’ stencilled on it! Or this group of FHM babes strutting in stilettos on a giant erect cock made of condensed diamonds! Or this Government Dream Warning Poster, which very cleverly says, WARNING! YOU ARE DREAMING! But I know I’m not because I have my pain and it’s…mine!!! I put a lot of effort into getting it. I can’t just give it up now! That’s insane! Give up my passion? My passion for collecting Victorian hat stands? Are you mad? They wouldn’t listen to me before. Well they will now. They will when they see I have the complete collection! Including the ‘RAJ’ hat stand. The ‘GENERAL CUSTER’ hat stand. And AND! The ‘WINSTON CHURCHILL’S ARSE!!!!’ hat stand. That one’s a complete rarity. To me years to track of of those down. But now I see a thick black line on the floor. On one side, printed along it are the words, REALITY DREAM. And on the other, REALITY NIGHTMARE! I step over. The atmosphere changes. It’s suddenly much more Art’s Council Lobby. I see a group of Goths starring in incomprehension at a cuddly toy. It makes no sense to them. It’s meaningless. A Night ….. No it isn’t! It’s not a nightmare!!! I think quickly. It’s cool to be a Goth. Dress in black. Listen to the Cure, and enjoy it! Inhabit a section of society revered for its complete pointlessness. That’s the meaning of cool! But then I see Hannibal Lecter, Michael Meyers and Freddy Kruger, dissecting Bambi with rusty knives. Aaaaaaarrrggghhhh! It’s not true! I am living the dream, NOT the nightmare!!! Simon Cowell is not the Anti-Christ!!! My bitterness need for self-aggrandisement and self-blindness, DO! make sense! They do!!! Ask Ben Elton! I mean, he wrote that Queen musical, ‘WE WILL FROCK YOU!’ Ask David Cameron, I mean, he was buggered at Eaton, by Boris Johnson! So it is justified. True. Right! My birthright, raison d’etre, and lumpy gravy, and I will not let go of it!!!! But then there before is…..THE HORROR PIT! (Blaring horror chord!) I peer over the edge. A vision of utter horror greets my eyes, so horrible as to be almost quite a bit horrible! I see, a group of happy people dancing freely in a circle, and around them a force field of pure love, ah. Outside of which, like in Forbidden Planet, is the twisted bitterness and denial monster, which tornadoes round and round in rage, crashing into the force field, but always bouncing off, for it is made of love. AAARRRGGHHH! This is the ultimate horror. To be like those dancing fools. Free at last from all your self-defeating and self-deluding shit! To dance and feel love. LOVE. AAARRGGHH! I wake up in cold sweat and of course instantly forget my nightmare, my dream, everything. All I remember is, YOU CAN’T BE ANGRY! THEY WON’T LET YOU! YOU BASTARDS!!!!!!!!!!!