It’s as if the whole thrust of life has turned into a project by Yuri Norstein
Or Yu Suzuki. I hear the notes of the theme
Conjuring the wild ridges of Southern China,
Thinking of the first time I handled coins of yen it felt like a video game.
Whole careers go under for masterful visions
Where learning how to die over and over again from ruthless mechanics
Is a beneficial experience transcendent of the suffering wheel of entertainment;
And bless you impractical loons who wanted to remind us of
The freest pleasures modern obsessions turn into ennui.
But for the mental illness of Franz Kafka
To afflict whole generations who don’t even become famous after they die,
So it’s a civilization who can’t see any reason not to burn their manuscripts.
Or to go on laboring at a project that will be scorched by the sun,
Forgetting the airy scratch of the fiddle of purpose
Is no good if the two of us don’t dance to it right now.