Josepf Kinski and Death

Josef Kinski has a human skull in his home. He acquired it a few years previously at a market outside town. In a secluded area, barely visible, an elderly couple had a stall where they sold these unconventional, exhumed items. They only had a small collection, but all of them appeared to be genuine to Josef, which the couple solemnly confirmed when Josef stood inspecting them. When he then gently touched one of them, the couple would affirm - in low voices - that the cranium which Josef's fingers rested on was over 200 years old. A former acquaintance of Josef, who was a doctor, had been tasked with taking a more expert look at it. His spontaneous evaluation was that it had a rare, and beautifully developed curve to it. Beside the comment about the physiognomy, he made the estimate that it came from a man who had probably been approximately 30 years old.

The skull, which incidentally has its place on a drawer, has - for obvious reasons - been the source of a number of thoughts regarding life and death in Josef's mind. The fact is that he usually associates it with the resurrection of Christ. The reason for this was that Josef, who through his private studies on death, is well acquainted with the theory of theologians in the 1100- and the 1200s that thirty was the age of Christ himself on resurrection day. In one of his letters to his sister Margareta, he wrote the following:

Margareta, my studies prove that if there's one thing theologians do not lack, it is imagination. With all due respect to your Christian faith, I simply want to draw your attention to the fact that one should not believe everything said by them about death. It has been found that they have had varied perceptions about it through the centuries. Besides, I suppose they still spend a considerable amount of time coming to terms with what it means to die - physically and spiritually. Anyhow, Augustinus' reflection is that life is like a road to death - cursus ad mortem - is one of few theological views I have a profound respect for.

Margareta knows her Augustinus. But she also knows the skull on her brother's drawer. For some time it has been a recurring theme in his letters; for example, he has told Margareta of what he sometimes experiences when the first rays of the morning sun hit it:

When I sit by the kitchen table and eat my breakfast, it happens that I get completely spellbound by seeing the skull's surface lit up by the light of dawn. It all becomes so moving, which makes me sense the boundlessness of our existence, but to which we are blind.

In another letter, in which he brings up a more practical aspect of possessing such an item, he communicates the special feeling of putting his fat fingers into its empty eye sockets.

I am filled with a strange feeling of confusion when I slowly put my fingers into the eye sockets. It occurs to me the only thing that will remain of any of us is the cranium and the rest of the skeleton. No wonder I sometimes sleep poorly at nights.

As an aside, I would like to point out that these excerpts of his letters - that have a vague leaning toward the slightly morbid, or at the very least severely infantile - very clearly show his lust for experimentation regarding death, which in itself is no surprise.

Josef is obviously a curious gravedigger, who has good theoretical knowledge of the subject, and furthermore, considerable experience of the occupation and all it entails in terms of corpses and such. Here, I would like to mention a few lines from his diary in which his theories on the subject of death are linked in an almost casual way with his first - hand experiences from his workplace:

By all accounts, this churchyard - my peaceful work place - will be where I myself will be buried. At the moment I don't have any plans to prepare my own funeral. Engaging myself in the practical details of it will have to wait, despite the fact that such planning would facilitate my attempts to see my own forthcoming death as a meaningful part of my existence. There is also another minor element which complicates my possibilities of planning a funeral, and that is that I have recently come across a couple of books that need to be read.

The books Josef referred to were the following three: Hoffman's The Devil's Elixirs, Rimbaud's A Season In Hell and Balzac's Contes Drolatique (Droll Stories).  I must point out here that Josef will probably never have the time to prepare his own burial. His index of necessary books to read before death currently consists of 692 titles. Furthermore, this list appears to increase by four or five each month. Returning to Josef's letter over the years, Margareta has become accustomed to these, and in her letters to her brother she usually deals with his thoughts about death in an objective way. In her replies there is no sign of the slightly nervous tone that sometimes can be found in Josef's letters. One could say that she writes in a more disciplined way and that there is more authority in her correspondence. It is possible that I have unwittingly simplified Margareta. She is certainly a composed woman, but the fact is that sometimes she seems somewhat disturbed and upset when replying to a letter in which her brother, in a close to ecstatic manner, discusses death. Here I choose to present a reply written by a noticeably annoyed Margareta:

Josef! You must stop of all of this! Have you only got death on your mind? For crying out loud, wake up and look around you! Don't you see life? Who are you really? Sometimes I get the impression that you are more dead than alive. Please, get a grip!

Faithfully, Margareta.

P.S. Regarding our on-going game of chess: I notice that you have introduced a modest version of polygamy as your most recent move has managed to transform one of your pawns into a second queen. I assume you feel excited about now having two queens. Unfortunately, I have to inform you that you'll not be able to amuse yourself with them for long. I am moving my black knight, the one you so mercifully let me keep in your latest attack, from e4 to g5. Whatever you do you will not escape my fork. Now, the only question is which of your queens you feel the least fond of.