"Suffered much in my thoughts." (Franz Kafka. From a diary entry written c. November 1919.)
"Dreams flooded over me; I lay weary and hopeless in my bed." (Franz Kafka. The Blue Octavo Notebooks, 1917-1919.)
"I'll shut myself off from everyone to the point of insensibility. Make an enemy of everyone, speak no one." (Franz Kafka. Diaries.)
"I've spent all my life resisting the desire to end it." (Franz Kafka.)
"How many days have again gone silently by?" (Franz Kafka. Diaries.)
"I feel so lost among these entirely strange people." (Franz Kafka. Diaries.)
"The relief of giving in to destruction." (Franz Kafka. Diaries, 190-1923.)
A few years ago, I came across an YouTube video about Kafkaesque. I discovered Franz Kafka. And then I discovered his diaries. Since then, I have been wondering how do I stop relating to his excerpts. When I started reading his diaries, I found a part of me wandering in between those parts. A part of me I have been searching. A part of me I have been looking. A part of me that was sick of life. That was tired of existing. And when I read Kafka's words. I realised my desire to meet the end of my existence. I realised an innate need in me to just stop. The word "Kafkaesque" deeply resonates in me now. Even if you wish to escape with causing absolutely no harm to anyone, there will a labyrinthine like sprial staircase waiting for you to cross. When you stare at it angirly while people whisper "calm down", your body starts to feel the hopelessness, the annoyance towards of absolute absurdity in life, bottomless pit of nothing but failures and disappointment. Every day, every night, the words from the copy of the Metamorphosis appears infront of your eyes, "Why don’t I keep sleeping for a little while longer and forget all this foolishness."
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