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#franz kafka
thoughtkick · 2 days ago
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When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours? And if I were to cast myself down before you and weep and tell you, what more would you know about me than you know about Hell when someone tells you it is hot and dreadful? For that reason alone we human beings ought to stand before one another as reverently, as reflectively, as lovingly, as we would before the entrance to Hell.
Franz Kafka
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dark-romantics · 2 days ago
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Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles
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franzkavkas · 2 days ago
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May 1920
Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena
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philosophybitmaps · a day ago
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“I am not well; I could have built the Pyramids with the effort it takes me to cling on to life and reason.” – Franz Kafka, Letters to Felice‎
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kiki-de-la-petite-flaque · 19 hours ago
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Dear Milena, I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: “Come with me, Milena. We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow.” Perhaps we don’t love unreasonably because we think we have time, or have to reckon with time. But what if we don't have time? Or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? Ah, if only the world were ending tomorrow. We could help each other very much.
Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena
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hauntedbymypastt · a day ago
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Franz Kafka, letters to his father
the effect you had on me was the effect you could not help having. but you should stop considering it some particular malice on my part that i succumbed to that
i cannot believe that a kindly word, a quiet taking by the hand, a friendly look, could not have got me to do anything that was wanted of me.
not every child has the endurance and fearlessness to go on searching until it comes to the kindliness that lies beneath the surface.
i felt a miserable specimen, and what's more, not only in your eyes but in the eyes of the whole world, for you were for me the measure of all things.
could enjoy what you gave, but only in humiliation, weariness, weakness, and with a sense of guilt. that was why i could be grateful to you for everything only as a beggar is, and could never show it by doing the right thing.
i repeat for the tenth time: even in other circumstances i should probably have become a shy and nervous person, but it is a long dark road from there to where i have really come.
sometimes imagine the map of the world spread out and you stretched diagonally across it. and i feel as if i could consider living in only those regions that either are not covered by you or are not within your reach.
in keeping with my sluggishness and pedantry countless worries are involved in all this, but they are not decisive; they do, like worms, complete the work on the corpse.
it is as if a person were a prisoner, and he had not only the intention to escape, which would perhaps be attainable, but also, and indeed simultaneously, the intention to rebuild the prison as a pleasure dome for himself.
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ritikajyala · 3 months ago
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I lost my best friend 3 years ago- not lost as in dead but lost as in we only text each other on our birthdays now. Movies and books don't tell you that a friendship dying is like the sinking of a ship, you try to get higher and higher and hold onto the rails and unanswered texts, the captain tries to steer it to safety and salvage pieces of two broken hearts until you're left with memories of what once was. We were friends for a decade and knew each other's diaries by heart, I still remember her phone number and the way she took her coffee. Seeing her in streets is like breathing in a scent you forgot you knew but it immediately takes you back to a summer in '07.
Movies and books also don't tell you that friendships don't just end after one fight or incident, it's like the rusting of a bridge, the slow decay of flesh and bones and secrets. It took weeks, months- until one day I woke up and I realized I hadn't thought of her in a while. And I wrote a poem that day and I titled it 'The dying of a best friend' and I put all my love for her in a tiny box with my half of the matching pendant of a dolphin we had and stored them in a corner of my heart under the heading Grief. Where else can one hide unspent love?
It's been 3 years since I lost my best friend, lost as in I still carry our secrets in a tiny box but we only text each other on our birthdays.
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire
Edit: here's the visualizer for this piece
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tenderfaery · 2 months ago
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— Franz Kafka, Diaries, 1910-1923
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metamorphesque · 3 months ago
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— Franz Kafka, Letters to Felice
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thoughtkick · 10 hours ago
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Forget everything. Open the windows. Clear the room. The wind blows through it. You see only its emptiness, you search in every corner and don't find yourself.
Franz Kafka, Diaries 1914-1923
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dark-romantics · 2 months ago
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I just wanna go to Italy and relax for a whole century
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mazovian · 6 months ago
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ceemetery · 5 months ago
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home is the first grave
@filmnoirsbian x (from @willemdafoegf 's post // catherine lacey // chen chen // silas denver melvin // aloha from hell, richard kadrey // courtney love prays to oregon // @heavensghost // st. lucy’s home for girl’s raised by wolves // x // taylor swift’s “my tears ricochet” // this post @ceemetery
buy me a coffee
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perfectquote · 5 months ago
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What if I slept a little more and forgot about all this nonsense.
Franz Kafka
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linkinmoon · 8 months ago
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Franz Kafka, The Diaries of Franz Kafka
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ritikajyala · 3 months ago
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Last night, I told my mother "I wish I was dead" in a fit of rage and winter clouded her eyes. But it wasn't white and it wasn't quiet, it resembled something like helplessness and rage. She was in pain and I knew I hurt her. I wanted to say something, anything, but how do you withdraw a declaration of war? How do you stop the bombs that already destroyed homelands? In that moment I remembered how she always told me that when she was a kid, she was too afraid to sleep with the lights on. Not because she was afraid of monsters, but because she feared her grandmother would die. Because when you're a kid, not seeing it means it doesn't exist anymore. I saw the winter in her eyes again and I knew I had switched off the light, she wasn't angry, she was afraid.
And I also remembered how she always told me I'd always be 3 years old for her, always a child, and for the first time, I heard in the voice of a three year old "I wish I was dead". My heart broke. And I wanted to hug her and hold her, tell her I was sorry, that I didn't mean it. Before I could move a hand, she left the room. The entire evening, I saw myself as she saw me, a 3 year old child. I saw the child hurt herself and cry herself to sleep every week, fight her friends with her tiny hands and two ponytails, I saw her depression and her anxiety, I saw her yell "I wish I was dead" and I knew. I knew. I wanted to shout through the walls, yell and cry and tell my mother that now I KNEW, but I didn't. I wept and wept until I heard a quiet knock and a soft familiar voice whispered, "Dinner is ready".
-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire
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crimsonkismet · 3 months ago
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𝙵𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝟾, 𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟸 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟹
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anaysa · 5 months ago
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Fernando Pessoa // Franz Kafka
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metamorphesque · 3 months ago
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— franz kafka, letters to felice‎
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thoughtkick · a month ago
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What if I slept a little more and forgot about all this nonsense.
Franz Kafka
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