Showing posts with label Kafka. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kafka. Show all posts

Monday, August 26, 2024

Kafka and the Self-Service Checkout Kiosk - a bit of fun

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Kafka and the Self-Service Checkout Kiosk

                                                                 Thanks to Rowan Pelling


                                    Those who have never suffered through Kafka

Should not employ the adjective “Kafkaesque”

The landgraf would not approve

 

When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning

from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed

in his bed into a monstrous self-service checkout kiosk.

 

Someone must have traduced Joseph K.,

for without doing anything wrong

he was arrested in the checkout line

one fine morning

 

It was late in the evening when

the supermarket supervisor arrived.

 

 

Kafka, The Metamorphosis. Trans. Stanley Corngold. New York: Norton. 1972

 

Kafka, The Trial. Trans. Willa and Edwin Muir. New York: The Modern Library. 1956

 

Kafka, The Castle. Trans. Willa and Edwin Muir. New York: Schocken. 1982

 

The hell of self-service checkouts is becoming Kafkaesque (yahoo.com)

Friday, August 26, 2022

Allusions to DOCTOR ZHIVAGO, Patrick McGoohan's THE PRISONER, Kafka, Orwell, and Mordor

 

Dear Anonymous Google Accuser:

 

Thank you for your note, the contents of which sound much like the block warden’s caution (“Your attitude is noticed, comrade.”) to Yuri in the film version of Doctor Zhivago.

 

I have re-read the column, which I wrote nine years ago, and find nothing offensive in it (although it is rather puerile), nor do you detail exactly what is offensive in it and why I should be sanctioned. You are being Kafka-esque, and I say this as someone who has read Kafka: you do not tell me what offense I have purportedly committed nor do you face me with an accuser. You do not even face me with you, for you do not give your name. You employ the passive voice in referring to an “Adult Content policy” and to “Community Guidelines,” which sounds like something from an episode of Patrick McGoohan’s The Prisoner: “The Committee won’t like this, Number Six.”

 

Google (and one could find “google” offensive, with its history mocking someone’s physical characteristics) is a private company, and so is free to publish or not publish, as is only right.  And I am free to pity Google for moral, ethical, and literary cowardice.

 

I was raised in situational poverty, barely graduated from high school, and spent 18 months in Viet-Nam. Upon returning to the USA (with life-long skin cancer which the DVA denies) I worked straight nights (double shifts on weekends) as an ambulance driver and later an LVN to put myself through university. I taught for almost forty years in public school, community college, and university as an adjunct instructor of no status whatsoever. In retirement I volunteered with our local school’s reading program until the Covid ended that, and I still volunteer with the lads at the local prison. I volunteer in community cleanup after our hurricanes (tho’ I’m getting a little old for that). I’ve worked hard all my life, paid my taxes, paid off my house at age 70, receive only half of my Social Security because of some vague law, and never gamed the system. Indeed, I would say that the system has gamed me.

 

And was all of this so that some frightened committee of anonymous inquisitors staring at an Orwellian telescreen or a Mordor-ish Palantir could find an innocuous scribble insensitive?

 

Pffffft.

 

Sincerely,

 

Lawrence Hall

 

 

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

Kafka and His Giant Insect / Which Might be a Cockroach / But Maybe Not / We Could go to Das Schloss and ask Mr. K - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Kafka and His Giant Insect
Which Might Be a Cockroach
But Maybe Not
We Could go to Das Scloss and Ask Mr. K

An insect woke up one morning and realized
He had been transformed into Gregor Samsa

From a life focused on eating hair and grease
Glue, soup, bread, paper, leather
Sewerage, butter, meat (fresh and decayed)
Makeup, cookies, sugar, toothbrush bristles
Cookies, pizza, flour, tacos, apple pie
Dead bodies, feces, and his own species

He now had to deal with the confusion
The sorrow of being Gregor Samsa

Monday, July 10, 2017

Kafka's Coffee Cup - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Kafka’s Coffee Cup

A poor petitioner spoke unto a grille;
His need was simple, coffee ‘gainst the dawn.
A voice metallic, disembodied, chill
Chanted a liturgy through the speaker ‘phone:

“And would you like some sweetener with that?
Sugar? Or chemicals, yellow or pink?
Creamer, perhaps, no gluten and no fat;
The selection is yours; what do you think?

“And, oh, yes, would you like to supersize
Your order with a little bit of nosh?
A doughnuts or bagel, some curly fries,
Or a croissant with cream cheese, by gosh!”

(The reader pauses, then speaks the last two lines slowly)

Years passed, as did this tale of Kafka’s woe:
He died while waiting for that cup of joe.