TAKE HIS BODY AS A RELIC

MOVING BLOGS

gonna just dip my toe into some fairly toxic discourse

Oh shit this blew up Um I wanna address that he has plenty of space other than this window

“Critics have found that many of the Yiddish proverbs draw similarities with Kafka’s narratives, including, “What will become of the sheep if the wolf is judge?” and, “The hat is fine but the head is too small” (Furman). Through the Yiddish language, Kafka discovered how he could use words to fill his writings with the irony, paradoxes, and symbolism that characterized Jewish literary culture and the plays that he loved. With the motivation to create, and the influence of what he considered to be authentic Judaism, he wrote, eventually developing a style that was so distinctive the term Kafkaesque was coined to describe it. Despite the abundant evidence to support the influence that Jewish culture had on Kafka, several literary scholars have questioned the role that it takes in his writing due to the “virtual absence of direct allusions” (Scott 7). Unfortunately, such statements arise from a lack of understanding of Jewish culture, and more importantly Jewish literary devices. These critics fail to recognize the multifaceted nature of the literary technique that Kafka employs. It is for this reason that much of Kafka’s work is shrouded in debate and mystery.”

Today, Joaquín Salvador Lavado Tejón, better known as Quino, has unfortunately passed away after a long sucessful life as one of Argentina’s most beloved artists. He was the writer of Mafalda, the little girl who questioned society (and soup) and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, even in some of Argentina’s most violent and divisive times. The comics of Mafalda remain relevant even today and it’s no exageration that they have raised entire generations of Argentines with their hilarious but thoughtful takes on society, politics, and life in general.

“When Daddy comes in, he carries you to bed. Is there anything you feel like you could eat, Pokey? Anything at all? All you can imagine putting in your mouth is a cold plum, one with really tight skin on the outside but gum-shocking sweetness inside. And he and your mother discuss where he might find some this late in the season. Mother says hell I don’t know. Further north, I’d guess. The next morning, you wake up in your bed and sit up. Mother says, Pete, I think she’s up. He hollers in, You ready for breakfast, Pokey. Then he comes in grinning, still in his work clothes from the night before. He’s holding a farm bushel. The plums he empties onto the bed river toward you through folds in the quilt. If you stacked them up, they’d fill the deepest bin at the Piggly Wiggly. Damned if I didn’t get the urge to drive to Arkansas last night, he says. Your mother stands behind him saying he’s pure USDA crazy. Fort Smith, Arkansas. Found a roadside stand out there with a feller selling plums. And I says, Buddy, I got a little girl sick back in Texas. She’s got a hanker for plums and ain’t nothing else gonna do. It’s when you sink your teeth into the plum that you make a promise. The skin is still warm from riding in the sun in Daddy’s truck, and the nectar runs down your chin. And you snap out of it. Or are snapped out of it. Never again will you lay a hand against yourself, not so long as there are plums to eat and somebody-anybody-who gives enough of a damn to haul them to you. So long as you bear the least nibblet of love for any other creature in this dark world, though in love portions are never stingy. There are no smidgens or pinches, only rolling abundance. That’s how you acquire the resolution for survival that the coming years are about to demand. You don’t earn it. It’s given.”

Some context: Texas and Arkansas share a corner border. Now, Texas is FECKING HUGE and there are many, many parts of Texas that cannot visit Arkansas overnight, but there are parts where it’s no trouble at all.