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112 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2000
'Are you familiar sir, with the author Franz Kafka?'
'Sure. Greatest black author ever lived.'
'He wasn't black sir.'
'He probably is by now.'
'No matter - as I need scarcely remind you, Kafka was of a most singular personality. Why, he'd think nothing of riding on a hound, or sticking wax lips on his eyeglasses. Seeing the world for what it was, he passed the time by whining with artful care, and an attention to detail which could oxidise completely the face of a lying optimist. He would moan, sir, to a standard unimagined by the canker poets.
No amount of fashion and falsehood could conceal man's futility from his eyes. Even before the nearest war, mankind was an experiment repeated long past its demonstrable validity. It was without comfort, use or protection; mean, tarnished, and afraid. Like all who have sung such facts, he died denied and bleeding from the lungs.
Are you with me so far?'