Hello Kafka Enthusiasts,

I apologize if this is a silly question. However, I wanted to quickly ask the following: Have you ever noticed any connections between Kafka's Letter to His Father and The Metamorphosis? If so, I would love to hear your thoughts!

Thank you!

This is a piece of writing from my diary, it's Kafkaesque. I am not a writer, nor do I wish to be one. English isn't even my native language. I hope you enjoy this. Open to criticism.

Why am I shaking? Why am I crying? Why is my heart beating so fast? Is this love?

I never cried. I had almost forgotten that I could cry until I met her. She made me cry for all the beautiful and the ugly reasons. More ugly than beautiful though, I must say. To love someone like a child and get your heart torn apart and put out for sale in a the market leaves an impression on your heart. A wound so deep that it's synonymous with the feeling of love for you. A cut so painful that it wakes you up from your beautiful dreams. That takes you to the marketplace where your heart is up for sale. You look at it and feel pity, remorse and anger. Is it a sin to love someone with your life? The marketplace is surely not a place for naïve people. The cunning merchants crush the naïve and establish themselves here. This is no place to dream dreams poor boy. As I find myself, downtrodden, crushed by the hustle and bustle of the market, I wonder if I should wake up and blend in, or stay here, unconscious, and dream another dream.

I surely cannot be one of them. I'm not so smart as to cheat someone for my gains. I cannot be one of them. I cannot get up. I do not have any strength. I cannot sell myself, as the market is no place for broken goods. Why would someone bother to buy a broken piece with their hard earned money? I stay down and look at those shiny pieces getting sold out and wonder if I have a place in this market. Nobody is going to show any interest in buying me. I can never be one of them.

I think of getting up and running away from this hell, only to realize that it spans everything and everyone. I do not have the strength to break free or run away. I close my eyes, lay unconscious and try to dream. Suddenly I'm a bird, high up in the sky, soaring the winds. As I cut through the winds, it makes my feathers flutter. Mischievous as it is, it exists across the space and the vast skies. It speaks to me. We look at the market below us, zooming out, insignificant. We make fun of the merchants and the buyers together. We laugh at them, and how they're forever condemned to rot away in that hell. The wind, she speaks to me. She says that she goes as far as the horizon goes and I'll never be away from her. We look at the horizon, the golden-red sun like a giant ruby in the sky. I can be here forever, I think. This is my new home. That's when I feel a sharp pain in my wings. I have no strength to fly anymore. It's painful, even more when I lose momentum and the wind subsides. She's not with me anymore. The winds are no home for a bird with broken wings. I lose hope and I spiral down into the hell where I belong. Is love just a dream that we dream until we're woken up in suffering? I regain consciousness as I realize that somebody pulled a cart over my limbs. I'm not surprised, broken goods are destined to be broken again and again until they're dust, the very soil of this place. This is where she put me. This is the market. This is my home.

... I obviously love Kafka so much that I got tuberculosis 🤷

😂😂😂 Sorry I need the dark humor to get through the day, it was pretty shit.

I didn't want to say more, have a nice day 😊

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Hello fellow Kafka enthusiasts. My name is James Harvey, I wrote and play Kafka in a very funny modern-day musical adaptation of his works, now playing Off-Broadway. We've been getting some really great reviews:
Stage and Cinema Review
The Front Row Center Review

Here's a sneak peek video

And here's a link for discounted tix.

Hope you'll check us out if you're near NYC!

https://preview.redd.it/zqtbyei3i4xd1.jpg?width=3000&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=35c9d9b8ce1ed28cb5da6737ea2aecd3959375a9

It's all over the internet but I can't find the original.

"I'm doing badly, I'm doing well, whichever you prefer.” - Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

I live in Toronto at the moment. Yesterday I went to a few to continue my Kafka adventure, but unfortunately nobody has any Kafka books in their hands. I have only visited 5 bookshops, but still the same.

Kafka gives us a powerful look into the heart of humankind. He invented a new way of writing and of plotting, of structuring stories and revealing deep truths about the human psyche. He's just as crucial for us as Freud.