Even through a subpar phone camera lens, Prague nights really grip you. BW, J-dog and I took a walk 'round the center as it was getting dark, which is usually about 4 p.m.(or, er, 16:00) these days, and drank in its dark beauty. The people-watching is better in the shadows, too; it's not so hectic and the bodies darting around seem to be more of an enigma. Are they late to a first date? Did they just finish yoga? Or shoplift? Or polish off a pint? Do they want to make it home before "Velky Bratr" (Big Brother) starts?
I love this prose by Franz Kafka, son of Prague and reported insomniac. It's called "At Night."
Deeply lost in the night.
Just as one sometimes lowers one’s head to reflect, thus to be utterly lost in the night.
All around people are asleep.
Its just play-acting, an innocent self- deception, that they sleep in houses, in safe beds, under a safe roof, stretched out or curled up on mattresses, in sheets, under blankets; in reality they have flocked together as they had once upon a time and again later in a deserted region, a camp in the open, a countless number of men, an army, a people, under a cold sky on cold earth, collapsed where once they had stood, forehead pressed on the arm, face to the ground, breathing quietly.
And you are watching, are one of the watchmen, you find the next one by brandishing a burning stick from the brushwood pile beside you.
Why are you watching?
Someone must watch, it is said.
Someone must be there.
I love this prose by Franz Kafka, son of Prague and reported insomniac. It's called "At Night."
Deeply lost in the night.
Just as one sometimes lowers one’s head to reflect, thus to be utterly lost in the night.
All around people are asleep.
Its just play-acting, an innocent self- deception, that they sleep in houses, in safe beds, under a safe roof, stretched out or curled up on mattresses, in sheets, under blankets; in reality they have flocked together as they had once upon a time and again later in a deserted region, a camp in the open, a countless number of men, an army, a people, under a cold sky on cold earth, collapsed where once they had stood, forehead pressed on the arm, face to the ground, breathing quietly.
And you are watching, are one of the watchmen, you find the next one by brandishing a burning stick from the brushwood pile beside you.
Why are you watching?
Someone must watch, it is said.
Someone must be there.
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| In the dusk, Prague Castle glows |
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| Trams snake through murky streets |
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| Czech glass glitters in a storefront window |
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| Windows wink when a room lights up on Old Town Square |
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| Cartier looks quite Film Noir with a black-and-white filter |
