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A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
Vlad
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User ID: 45023
09-23-2011 09:06 AM

Posts: 45,777



Post: #16
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
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Come doom/intimmidate mewJptdknpa
My only shit is mew a leftistAnon, I wish I was on the other side.
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11:11
Evil Silvertard
User ID: 16133
09-23-2011 09:47 AM

Posts: 17,862



Post: #17
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka

I have been saddened on my many visits to universities to see young people in their teens who do not have a thought in their head that someone else has not put there. They stand before you after only 17 or 18 years on the planet and are already mindlessly parroting the system’s propaganda.

- David Icke
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Muse
Registered User
User ID: 51277
09-23-2011 09:54 AM

Posts: 2,265



Post: #18
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
roadtoad  Wrote: (09-23-2011 08:55 AM)
'In a penal colony' has to be one of the most horrifying things I've ever read.

And how. I read it when I was a young college student..in the wee hours in a lonely library carrel with no other souls around. Horrifying is the best descriptor all right.

At least it woke me up. ;)
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11:11
Evil Silvertard
User ID: 16133
09-23-2011 10:01 AM

Posts: 17,862



Post: #19
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
"Couldn’t read it for its perversity. The human mind isn’t complicated enough"
- Albert Einstein, after returning a Kafka novel loaned to him by Thomas Mann.

I have been saddened on my many visits to universities to see young people in their teens who do not have a thought in their head that someone else has not put there. They stand before you after only 17 or 18 years on the planet and are already mindlessly parroting the system’s propaganda.

- David Icke
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LoP Guest
lop guest
User ID: 52616
09-23-2011 11:53 AM

 



Post: #20
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
My favs are Report to an Academy, Investigations of a Dog, and Description of a Struggle.

Kafka shows us what can be achieved with language like no one else.
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Johntaraz
A Hunger Artist
User ID: 53473
09-29-2011 10:15 AM

Posts: 7,224



Post: #21
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
THE GRAND INQUISITOR

By Feodor Dostoevsky

(Translation by H.P. Blavatsky)

excerpt:

..."This particular visit has, of course, nothing to do with the
promised Advent, when, according to the programme, 'after the
tribulation of those days,' He will appear 'coming in the clouds
of heaven.' For, that 'coming of the Son of Man,' as we are
informed, will take place as suddenly 'as the lightning cometh
out of the east and shineth even unto the west.' No; this once,
He desired to come unknown, and appear among His children, just
when the bones of the heretics, sentenced to be burnt alive, had
commenced crackling at the flaming stakes. Owing to His limitless
mercy, He mixes once more with mortals and in the same form in
which He was wont to appear fifteen centuries ago. He descends,
just at the very moment when before king, courtiers, knights,
cardinals, and the fairest dames of court, before the whole
population of Seville, upwards of a hundred wicked heretics are
being roasted, in a magnificent auto-da-fe ad majorem Dei
gloriam, by the order of the powerful Cardinal Grand Inquisitor.

"He comes silently and unannounced; yet all--how strange--yea,
all recognize Him, at once! The population rushes towards Him as
if propelled by some irresistible force; it surrounds, throngs,
and presses around, it follows Him.... Silently, and with a smile
of boundless compassion upon His lips, He crosses the dense
crowd, and moves softly on. The Sun of Love burns in His heart,
and warm rays of Light, Wisdom and Power beam forth from His
eyes, and pour down their waves upon the swarming multitudes of
the rabble assembled around, making their hearts vibrate with
returning love. He extends His hands over their heads, blesses
them, and from mere contact with Him, aye, even with His
garments, a healing power goes forth. An old man, blind from his
birth, cries, 'Lord, heal me, that I may see Thee!' and the
scales falling off the closed eyes, the blind man beholds Him...
The crowd weeps for joy, and kisses the ground upon which He
treads. Children strew flowers along His path and sing to Him,
'Hosanna!' It is He, it is Himself, they say to each other, it
must be He, it can be none other but He! He pauses at the portal
of the old cathedral, just as a wee white coffin is carried in,
with tears and great lamentations. The lid is off, and in the
coffin lies the body of a fair-child, seven years old, the only
child of an eminent citizen of the city. The little corpse lies
buried in flowers. 'He will raise the child to life!' confidently
shouts the crowd to the weeping mother. The officiating priest
who had come to meet the funeral procession, looks perplexed, and
frowns. A loud cry is suddenly heard, and the bereaved mother
prostrates herself at His feet. 'If it be Thou, then bring back
my child to life!' she cries beseechingly. The procession halts,
and the little coffin is gently lowered at his feet. Divine
compassion beams forth from His eyes, and as He looks at the
child, His lips are heard to whisper once more, 'Talitha Cumi' -
and 'straightway the damsel arose.' The child rises in her
coffin. Her little hands still hold the nosegay of white roses
which after death was placed in them, and, looking round with
large astonished eyes she smiles sweetly .... The crowd is
violently excited. A terrible commotion rages among them, the
populace shouts and loudly weeps, when suddenly, before the
cathedral door, appears the Cardinal Grand Inquisitor himself....
He is tall, gaunt-looking old man of nearly four-score years and
ten, with a stern, withered face, and deeply sunken eyes, from
the cavity of which glitter two fiery sparks. He has laid aside
his gorgeous cardinal's robes in which he had appeared before the
people at the auto da-fe of the enemies of the Romish Church, and
is now clad in his old, rough, monkish cassock. His sullen
assistants and slaves of the 'holy guard' are following at a
distance. He pauses before the crowd and observes. He has seen
all. He has witnessed the placing of the little coffin at His
feet, the calling back to life. And now, his dark, grim face has
grown still darker; his bushy grey eyebrows nearly meet, and his
sunken eye flashes with sinister light. Slowly raising his
finger, he commands his minions to arrest Him....

"Such is his power over the well-disciplined, submissive and now
trembling people, that the thick crowds immediately give way, and
scattering before the guard, amid dead silence and without one
breath of protest, allow them to lay their sacrilegious hands
upon the stranger and lead Him away.... That same populace, like
one man, now bows its head to the ground before the old
Inquisitor, who blesses it and slowly moves onward. The guards
conduct their prisoner to the ancient building of the Holy
Tribunal; pushing Him into a narrow, gloomy, vaulted prison-cell,
they lock Him in and retire....
http://www.archive.org/stream/thegrandin...nqus10.txt

"The unexamined life is not worth living."--Socrates"
There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn't true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true."
— Søren Kierkegaard
The Conspiracy Library
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Johntaraz
A Hunger Artist
User ID: 58399
11-09-2011 11:24 AM

Posts: 7,224



Post: #22
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
Michael Bakunin --

"I am a passionate seeker after Truth and a not less
passionate enemy of the malignant fictions used by the
"Party of Order", the official representatives of all
turpitudes, religious, metaphysical, political, judicial,
economic, and social, present and past, to brutalise and
enslave the world; I am a fanatical lover of Liberty;
considering it as the only medium in which can develop
intelligence, dignity, and the happiness of man; not official
"Liberty", licensed, measured and regulated by the State, a
falsehood representing the privileges of a few resting on the
slavery of everybody else; not the individual liberty, selfish,
mean, and fictitious advanced by the school of Rousseau
and all other schools of bourgeois Liberalism, which
considers the rights of the individual as limited by the rights
of the State, and therefore necessarily results in the
reduction of the rights of the individual to zero.
No, I mean the only liberty which is truly worthy of the
name, the liberty which consists in the full development of
all the material, intellectual and moral powers which are to
be found as faculties latent in everybody, the liberty which
recognises no other restrictions than those which are traced
for us by the laws of our own nature; so that properly
speaking there are no restrictions, since these laws are not
imposed on us by some outside legislator, beside us or
above us; they are immanent in us, inherent, constituting
the very basis of our being, material as well as intellectual
and moral; instead, therefore, of finding them a limit, we
must consider them as the real conditions and effective
reason for our liberty.
24
I mean that liberty of each individual which, far from
halting as at a boundary before the liberty of others, finds
there its confirmation and its extension to infinity; the
illimitable liberty of each through the liberty of all, liberty
by solidarity, liberty in equality; liberty triumphing over
brute force and the principle of authority which was never
anything but the idealised expression of that force, liberty
which, after having overthrown all heavenly and earthly
idols, will found and organise a new world, that of human
solidarity, on the ruins of all Churches and all States.
I am a convinced upholder of economic and social equality,
because I know that, without that equality, liberty, justice,
human dignity, morality, and the well-being of individuals
as well as the prosperity of nations will never be anything
else than so many lies..."
http://www.anarchyisorder.org/CD%234/Lay...0state.pdf

A great treatise on what I consider the state of nature of the human, what true freedom must consist of.

The design and implementation outlined by Bakunin, not so much. Too much structure and rules abolishes the freedom so well defined at the begining.

"The unexamined life is not worth living."--Socrates"
There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn't true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true."
— Søren Kierkegaard
The Conspiracy Library
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LoP Guest
lop guest
User ID: 61458
11-09-2011 12:06 PM

 



Post: #23
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
Johntaraz  Wrote: (09-23-2011 09:03 AM)
roadtoad  Wrote: (09-23-2011 08:55 AM)
'In a penal colony' has to be one of the most horrifying things I've ever read.

Yea, its a nightmare.

snipet:... “But it’s clear,” said the Officer.” “It’s very elaborate,” said the Traveller evasively, “but I can’t decipher it.” “Yes,” said the Officer, smiling and putting the folder back again, “it’s not calligraphy for school children. One has to read it a long time. You, too, would finally understand it clearly. Of course, it has to be a script that isn’t simple. You see, it’s not supposed to kill right away, but on average over a period of twelve hours. The turning point is set for the sixth hour. There must also be many, many embellishments surrounding the basic script. The essential script moves around the body only in a narrow belt. The rest of the body is reserved for decoration. Can you now appreciate the work of the Harrow and of the whole apparatus? Just look at it!” He jumped up the ladder, turned a wheel, and called down, “Watch out—move to the side!” Everything started moving. If the wheel had not squeaked, it would have been marvellous."
http://records.viu.ca/~johnstoi/kafka/in...colony.htm

the Alphas episode not sure, picked the idea up right here clearly.
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Johntaraz
A Hunger Artist
User ID: 58399
11-12-2011 07:26 AM

Posts: 7,224



Post: #24
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
In some mysterious way, the graciousness of a higher power perhaps, reading this story in my youth -- prepared me for the death of my sister, as painful and confusing as it was.

Death should be as fully understood and appreciated as any other aspect of life. It is as inevitable as it is powerful in our minds, whether we acknowledge it or not.

The Death of Ivan Ilych -- Leo Tolstoy

A brief portion of a review, insightful to the work:

"On the surface, "Ivan Ilych" is a simple story: A conventional family man and a successful judge, who is a member in good standing in high society, suddenly develops a mysterious illness that causes him agonizing pain and eventually kills him. Structurally, the story privileges Ivan's death over his life. It begins with his funeral, thus introducing him as a character who has already died, and only then chronicles his life from childhood to the onset of his illness. The story increases in speed and intensity after Ivan becomes sick: The chapters shorten and the time period depicted in each decreases dramatically from a few weeks to, in the final chapter, just a few hours. In structuring the story in this way, Tolstoy suggests that Ivan is not really alive until he begins to die."

Read more: Ivan Ilych - world, body, funeral, life, time, human http://www.deathreference.com/Ho-Ka/Ivan...z1dSu449MW

____________________________

Excerpt from Chapter 10 of The Death of Ivan Ilych:
Latterly during the loneliness in which he found himself as he lay facing the back of the sofa, a loneliness in the midst of a populous town and surrounded by numerous acquaintances and relations but that yet could not have been more complete anywhere - - either at the bottom of the sea or under the earth -- during that terrible loneliness Ivan ilych had lived only in memories of the past. Pictures of his past rose before him one after another. they always began with what was nearest in time and then went back to what was most remote -- to his childhood -- and rested there. If he thought of the stewed prunes that had been offered him that day, his mind went back to the raw shrivelled French plums of his childhood, their peculiar flavour and the flow of saliva when he sucked their stones, and along with the memory of that taste came a whole series of memories of those days: his nurse, his brother, and their toys. "No, I mustn't think of that....It is too painful," Ivan Ilych said to himself, and brought himself back to the present -- to the button on the back of the sofa and the creases in its morocco. "Morocco is expensive, but it does not wear well: there had been a quarrel about it. It was a different kind of quarrel and a different kind of morocco that time when we tore father's portfolio and were punished, and mamma brought us some tarts...." And again his thoughts dwelt on his childhood, and again it was painful and he tried to banish them and fix his mind on something else.

Then again together with that chain of memories another series passed through his mind -- of how his illness had progressed and grown worse. There also the further back he looked the more life there had been. There had been more of what was good in life and more of life itself. The two merged together. "Just as the pain went on getting worse and worse, so my life grew worse and worse," he thought. "There is one bright spot there at the back, at the beginning of life, and afterwards all becomes blacker and blacker and proceeds more and more rapidly -- in inverse ration to the square of the distance from death," thought Ivan Ilych. And the example of a stone falling downwards with increasing velocity entered his mind. Life, a series of increasing sufferings, flies further and further towards its end -- the most terrible suffering. "I am flying...." He shuddered, shifted himself, and tried to resist, but was already aware that resistance was impossible, and again with eyes weary of gazing but unable to cease seeing what was before them, he stared at the back of the sofa and waited -- awaiting that dreadful fall and shock and destruction..."

Can be found here by chapter:
http://www.online-literature.com/tolstoy...n-ilych/1/

"The unexamined life is not worth living."--Socrates"
There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn't true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true."
— Søren Kierkegaard
The Conspiracy Library
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roadtoad
Registered User
User ID: 62232
11-12-2011 07:40 AM

Posts: 3,991



Post: #25
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
Kafka was one of only two classical writers who wrote in a language other than his first language.
Kafka was, I think, a Czech, and he wrote in German.
The other was Joseph Conrad. Who was Polish, and wrote in English.

I love HATERS, they prove what I'm doing is RIGHT!
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Johntaraz
A Hunger Artist
User ID: 58399
11-12-2011 07:46 AM

Posts: 7,224



Post: #26
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
roadtoad  Wrote: (11-12-2011 07:40 AM)
Kafka was one of only two classical writers who wrote in a language other than his first language.
Kafka was, I think, a Czech, and he wrote in German.
The other was Joseph Conrad. Who was Polish, and wrote in English.

It implies to me that Kafka had a deep understanding and intellectual comparison of two thought systems and cultures. Evident in the depth of meaning and symbolism woven in his profound insights into the human condition.

"The unexamined life is not worth living."--Socrates"
There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn't true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true."
— Søren Kierkegaard
The Conspiracy Library
Quote this message in a reply
Johntaraz
A Hunger Artist
User ID: 66408
12-12-2011 10:35 AM

Posts: 7,224



Post: #27
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
Tao Te Ching
by Lao-tzu
J. Legge, Translator
(Sacred Books of the East, Vol 39) [1891]


38
(Those who) possessed in highest degree the attributes (of the
Tao) did not (seek) to show them, and therefore they possessed them
(in fullest measure). (Those who) possessed in a lower degree those
attributes (sought how) not to lose them, and therefore they did not
possess them (in fullest measure).

(Those who) possessed in the highest degree those attributes did
nothing (with a purpose), and had no need to do anything. (Those who)
possessed them in a lower degree were (always) doing, and had need to
be so doing.

(Those who) possessed the highest benevolence were (always seeking)
to carry it out, and had no need to be doing so. (Those who)
possessed the highest righteousness were (always seeking) to carry it
out, and had need to be so doing.

(Those who) possessed the highest (sense of) propriety were (always
seeking) to show it, and when men did not respond to it, they bared
the arm and marched up to them.

Thus it was that when the Tao was lost, its attributes appeared;
when its attributes were lost, benevolence appeared; when benevolence
was lost, righteousness appeared; and when righteousness was lost, the
proprieties appeared.

Now propriety is the attenuated form of leal-heartedness and good
faith, and is also the commencement of disorder; swift apprehension is
(only) a flower of the Tao, and is the beginning of stupidity.

Thus it is that the Great man abides by what is solid, and eschews
what is flimsy; dwells with the fruit and not with the flower. It is
thus that he puts away the one and makes choice of the other.
http://www.sacred-texts.com/tao/taote.htm

________________________

Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse

In the shade of the house, in the sunshine of the riverbank near the
boats, in the shade of the Sal-wood forest, in the shade of the fig tree
is where Siddhartha grew up, the handsome son of the Brahman, the young
falcon, together with his friend Govinda, son of a Brahman. The sun
tanned his light shoulders by the banks of the river when bathing,
performing the sacred ablutions, the sacred offerings. In the mango
grove, shade poured into his black eyes, when playing as a boy, when
his mother sang, when the sacred offerings were made, when his father,
the scholar, taught him, when the wise men talked. For a long time,
Siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men,
practising debate with Govinda, practising with Govinda the art of
reflection, the service of meditation. He already knew how to speak the
Om silently, the word of words, to speak it silently into himself while
inhaling, to speak it silently out of himself while exhaling, with all
the concentration of his soul, the forehead surrounded by the glow of
the clear-thinking spirit. He already knew to feel Atman in the depths
of his being, indestructible, one with the universe...

But he, Siddhartha, was not a source of joy for himself, he found no
delight in himself. Walking the rosy paths of the fig tree garden,
sitting in the bluish shade of the grove of contemplation, washing his
limbs daily in the bath of repentance, sacrificing in the dim shade of
the mango forest, his gestures of perfect decency, everyone's love and
joy, he still lacked all joy in his heart. Dreams and restless thoughts
came into his mind, flowing from the water of the river, sparkling from
the stars of the night, melting from the beams of the sun, dreams came
to him and a restlessness of the soul, fuming from the sacrifices,
breathing forth from the verses of the Rig-Veda, being infused into him,
drop by drop, from the teachings of the old Brahmans.
http://www.gutenberg.org/catalog/world/r...6&pageno=2

"The unexamined life is not worth living."--Socrates"
There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn't true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true."
— Søren Kierkegaard
The Conspiracy Library
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LoP Guest
lop guest
User ID: 67142
12-12-2011 01:30 PM

 



Post: #28
beermug RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
JT

what you wrote was pretty impressive by itself; as to the first, on a quick browse, (my add is more manifest at times) looks to be profound and it reminds me of a Rilke poem a bit i read some time back, about a caged tiger.

will have to get back to read it all when i'm able to better process them.

thankx and thanx for your writeup.

"As the earth spins on it axis and the sun's position moves out over the Pacific, most of the readers will be asleep. Some late night reader or early riser may stumble upon this message burried deep within the walls of text. I value such.
Why did Johntaraz post these two pieces of literature?
They are influential in the formation of his philosophy and understanding of the world. He relates to them, they relate to him.
It is simple to highlight text and paste it into wordpad, word, or other word processor. What if one day these words are innaccessable except for some data on a hard drive buried in a cave?
There is nothing more powerful than the human spirit. If you say God, then I ask what animates and moves the human spirit? Are we Gods? Perhaps not, but since we feel the stirrings in our spirit we can only experience and know it within ourselves.
How low we have lowered our standards that we could allow an innocent man to be executed by the state today. Is there no collective sense of responsibility? Why do we feel hurt by injustice? If it does not effect us?"
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Johntaraz
A Hunger Artist
User ID: 66408
12-13-2011 07:08 AM

Posts: 7,224



Post: #29
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
LoP Guest  Wrote: (12-12-2011 01:30 PM)
JT

what you wrote was pretty impressive by itself; as to the first, on a quick browse, (my add is more manifest at times) looks to be profound and it reminds me of a Rilke poem a bit i read some time back, about a caged tiger.

will have to get back to read it all when i'm able to better process them.

thankx and thanx for your writeup.

"As the earth spins on it axis and the sun's position moves out over the Pacific, most of the readers will be asleep. Some late night reader or early riser may stumble upon this message burried deep within the walls of text. I value such.
Why did Johntaraz post these two pieces of literature?
They are influential in the formation of his philosophy and understanding of the world. He relates to them, they relate to him.
It is simple to highlight text and paste it into wordpad, word, or other word processor. What if one day these words are innaccessable except for some data on a hard drive buried in a cave?
There is nothing more powerful than the human spirit. If you say God, then I ask what animates and moves the human spirit? Are we Gods? Perhaps not, but since we feel the stirrings in our spirit we can only experience and know it within ourselves.
How low we have lowered our standards that we could allow an innocent man to be executed by the state today. Is there no collective sense of responsibility? Why do we feel hurt by injustice? If it does not effect us?"
[Image: 26C1_4EE6DD4D.jpg]

Thanks for your kind words.

"The unexamined life is not worth living."--Socrates"
There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn't true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true."
— Søren Kierkegaard
The Conspiracy Library
Quote this message in a reply
Full Circle
I love Watermelon
User ID: 67635
12-13-2011 07:31 AM

Posts: 22,489



Post: #30
RE: A Hunger Artist -- Franz Kafka
I have a beautiful painting that was given to me by a woman that lived on the block that I worked and serviced. To me, it captures peace, and praise. And gratitude.

How can we NOT be grateful for what we have? Each day is a blessing of Life.

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