Zora Kastner
Bio
I'm a fine and tattoo artist from Berlin, residing in Montreal. I mostly paint & draw all day long, but in my free-time I play violin & cello, and sometimes I love to indulge in writing and woodworking too. Visit me on immortelle.ink
Stories (10/0)
Relative
An owl. That it wasn’t a parrot in the middle of Princeton was to be expected, but it could have been a crow. Or a starling. Or at least a fly-away budgie from one of the retired ladies over at Riverwalk. But no, it was a freaking barn owl. It couldn’t be any worse than that, really. And the reason for that wasn’t that the bird had zero capability of imitating human speech but rather that it was one of the most simpleminded species of the avifauna altogether. Huge eyes, small brain. There was no way they would get anything useful out of it.
By Zora Kastner2 years ago in Humans
Instinct
I always said it and I will repeat it again: my sense of direction is ridiculously bad, almost nonexistent. Send me out of a bar alone and I will surely go into the opposite direction of where the metro is that I came from just three hours ago. Even with navigation turned on I take wrong turns while driving. It’s almost a tradition now to not find my way home on the first try. It’s like I want to get lost and it has always been this way. Just like that one time I went on one of many walks with my dog as a kid and decided to go deeper into the forest than usual. It was bound to happen and it happened. I got lost in the woods…
By Zora Kastner2 years ago in Petlife
A single one just doesn’t cut it
I have this problem (according to other people at least): I find pretty much everything interesting! That might not sound like a problem at first but maybe you will arrive at the same conclusion when I tell you a bit about me and the scissors in my life. There are four of them. Five if I count the kitchen scissors that I mostly use to cut open spice pouches (which is really not that thrilling) and six if I count the gardening shears that are mostly unused, because we sadly don’t have a garden (yet), so I will leave these scissors in the drawer for the moment.
By Zora Kastner3 years ago in Humans
To do what they couldn’t.
My grandmother loved to draw. I have two of her almost faded drawings hanging on my wall. Well, one is hanging, the other one is leaning on a side-table. But the particulars are not important. Important is that she loved drawing but she couldn’t. It was East-Berlin, the wall was tearing the country apart and no one had the time to frolic around with a bunch of crayons. So she exchanged the pencils for some scissors and became a proper haircutter for the community, because painting is a “breadless art” she would say, and so the dream withered along with her hair.
By Zora Kastner3 years ago in Journal
Wired that way
His name was Hermann. It was an old-fashioned German name and he disliked it deeply. The fact that he would have preferred another one was extraordinary though, for Hermann was an accumulation of zeros and ones, wrapped in a pile of conductors, processing units and all kinds of circuits inside chunky plastic. There even was a power cable somewhere on his lower back. The whole thing was topped off with a silicone face and two hands, and even though quite sophisticated, their sole purpose was to hold cards and make all kinds of poker-faces, for Hermann was intended to be an artificial poker-player and nothing more than that.
By Zora Kastner3 years ago in Futurism
In the Eye of the Beholder
In a small corner of her apartment in East Hampton Martha had given birth to a masterpiece. The colours were vivid, the composition flawless, the light so believable, it was almost like magic. Martha couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten something, so lost was she in the process of creating this little wonder of tender brushstrokes and smudges. She knew, this was the piece that would open the doors into worldwide art recognition for her. Undying praise from a community so competitive, not even the hardiest stockbroker would stay sane for long. Martha's hands sweated excitement just from thinking about the coming evening. She remembered every mark she had put on the canvas in the last few weeks - or was it months? - it was like breathing life into empty space. Space that was now filled for all eternity.
By Zora Kastner3 years ago in Humans
Spoilt for choice
Hal was an analyst. Seeing other people going about their day without thinking of the long-term consequences of their actions made him feel superior in every way. What utter nonsense it was to make life-altering decisions with your gut and to take risks that might lead to chaos. Being rash and shortsighted were the biggest flaws of humanity in his opinion, since the impact of even the most unimportant seeming choices could some day leave you alone in a world without purpose.
By Zora Kastner3 years ago in Humans
