In the Book of Strange and Unproductive Thinking everything had to happen quickly, on the spot, according to the principle. Since my thoughts are developing and therefore changing at fast speed I would have written something down and truly think about it later, otherwise I would never write anything down. It now came to my mind that, in comparing Shakespeare and the Buddha, I wrote something about Buddhas and Negative Buddhas. The Buddha teaches us, gives us a deep impression of the Nirvana. Shakespeare (in his plays, not the sonnets), or Kafka, or Beckett give us a deep impression of the Samsara. They´re Negative Buddhas. Buddhas are the hell of writers, their prose is perfect (as can be seen for instance in the anthology of Words of Zen masters edited by Thomas Cleary or in the works of Huang-po). They´re not wasteful of words, which is something that I like. Only a perfect mind cannot be wasteful of words. Little is known about Shakespeare, yet what is known about Kafka and Beckett is that they were the noblest of human beings, holy men. A women who knew Kafka said about him, after having known him for a while, that this seemingly neurotic and dysfunctional man was the only man out of all man who thought as a man should think and who felt as a man should think. <3 Due to their high and rightly guided sensibility and sensitivity Kafka and Beckett, maybe also Shakespeare, experienced the Samsara in a profound way but offered a solution in the way the lived their life. They were reaching out their hands because they understood that existence does not reach out any hand. This is what makes the human. This is then Nirvana. Therfore they´re Buddhas as well. Beckett never spoke about his works, late in life he resumed that the intention of his works was to give an answer to the question about existence, and he was under the impression that the illustrations he provided where only superficial, with Comment c´est probably the most successful try in this fashion. According to Beckett, at the core of existence, there is nothing. Kafka gave me some irritation because in his vision existence is not devoid of meaning, not even absurd but preposterous and counterproductive. It is not rational but traumatic poetry. Dr Cornel West said Kafka is the poet of the existential catastrophy. That sounds good. I have to read Dr Cornel West. I also understood early that the meaning of writing is to illustrate what is existence. When I think of the core of existence, I see trombones, trumpets blowing inaudible yet incredibly loud. Ubi bene, ibi patria.