I SLEPT WITH KAFKA’S GHOST
Sketch - Blue Curves by Shula. (C) World of 0w1, 2021.
I did not seek love,
but it came looking for me
at the end of the catwalk,
it sought me out
with poetic style.
He caught my eye,
like metal to a magnet and
he said to me, ‘start with
what is right, rather than
what is acceptable.’
And so, I started with you.
‘By believing passionately
in something that still
does not exist, we create it.’
That is so true, for I believed
in us at that moment and truly
we did not exist before then.
And yet I did not know that I needed anyone in my life,
for I did not feel incomplete, until I met you.
But I tried to be coy with you, aloof when you played around
with me at the photoshoot; I was truly caught in your net.
We did not so much as make love, as find it already shaped in one another’s curves.
The Divine Line is always curved, like the curves of the universe. My curves corresponded with yours. Puzzle pieces joining and completing the image in one another’s souls.
“Tell all the truth, but tell it slant...” SOURCE: Emily Dickinson
Outside of our hearts, we were both tainted ‘celebrities’; less ‘cause celebres’ and more a ‘cause infamie’. No matter what our public persona, privately our cause was intimacy.
Soul mates, soul states.
But…celebrity is, as celebrity does; in the public eye where no intimacy dwells. For it is a vacuous life, for the vacuous celeb. They don’t have to contribute anything to society, merely turn up in front of a camera and share the shimmer of their superficiality.
This fascination with celebrity reveals the truth behind a culture without depth of character, nor ‘joie de vivre’. They smile the smile of a mannequin and when they speak, it is someone else’s words.
Dummy words!
When celebrity became an industry, there was little purpose or meaning offered by the dominant culture and it added no substance to humanity.
Celebrity is another word for vacuous…
‘Love is a drama of contradictions.’ You said.
From my pampered life as a successful model, to a relationship with Jack; who never pointed out how pampered I actually was; for such is love without judgment. This is when fame met notoriety and sweetness collided with toxicity. This fashionista, fell into the arms of a political dissident.
I know. Worse things have happened to a model...
In the dark night of our souls, I slept with Kafka’s ghost. As one of us was passing through the dark night of the senses, going yet deeper and darker into the cloud of unknowing, we could lose our bearings and the guiding light is lost in our malaise.
Then all was lost and yet not lost.
However...
If we have lived wisely, loved singularly, our lodestar can be followed through the obscurity of darkness or the confusion of a sky veiled with doubts and then we give birth to hope. We called this hope, Nic Ticorax!
A Ghost speaks in the twilight, the world of the two-lights...
‘Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.’
I slept with Kafka’s Ghost… and we gave birth to a Night Owl.
Jack, the ‘toxic poet’ who did not bend, didn’t dilute the truth of his words with the political correctness of our masters; in truth his broken lines acted like a corrosive on the chains that held us, the locks holding our imagination in place, atrophied by persistent restrictions and edicts, that benefited only the political class.
The gate locks to their pretentious homes, ironically held the crests of political mottos like, “Bristol Awake”, whilst our fellow citizens all slept due to the numbing effect of propaganda; which is their means of denying us a life of Resistance to our slave masters.
Propaganda is an anaesthetic that disavows consciousness; for we cannot be conscious if we are under its thrall; whether filtered through political or religious channels.
This is why it is impossible
to broadcast your claims
to consciousness, if
when you move along the corridors
of your prison, we can hear your
chains rattling in time with
each step of claimed ‘freedom’
that you take.
The thing about prisons is,
that neither the inmates nor
their gaolers are free
and no amount of screaming
can awaken anyone.
I slept with Kafka’s Ghost, and we gave birth to a Night Owl, who will set the prisoners free; for his words will be that of the Liberator. The hands that hanged down are now lifted up.
Shula
