You know that Ada Limón poem where she’s like “i can’t help it i love the way men love”? my dad recently confessed to me that he became a shoemaker because they buried my grandma shoeless

oh…………………………………

i love studying. i love writing. i love reading. i love learning languages. i love doing mathematics. i love wandering over some particular sum and trying to come up with formulas to solve it. i love physics. i love biology. i love chemistry. i love history. i love literature. i love learning.

not to achieve the perfect grades ever. but it just amazes me that there's so much to know and learn and write and read about in the universe. my curiosity wouldn't get enough of it.

gothic horror rlly is just. aw fuck look at what youve done. the house has inherited your inter-generational trauma and in response has transformed itself into a metaphorical device to track the decay of the family. we're never gonna pay off that mortgage now

" It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young, dear reader. "

- Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights

Artis Library, Amsterdam, the Netherlands (19th century library)

listening to music i listened to when i was 14 makes me realise im still the same person but taller & with a rare esoteric wisdom that can only be gained through suffering

100 small acts of love by The New York Times 💌

“There are two types of people you will meet in your life. One will run a finger down the index of who you are and jump straight to the parts of you that peak their interest. The other will take his or her time reading through every one of your chapters and maybe unfold corners of you that inspired them most. You will meet these two people; it is a given. It is the third that you’ll never see coming. That one person who not only finishes your sentences, but keeps the book.”

— Unknown

What a comfort to know that there are coming of age stories in all of us, that there’s music, and emotion, and maybe it means something and maybe it doesn’t. What a comfort to know there’s so much time and, in the end, so little to worry about. It will all work out. We’re right on time.

Alfred Broge - Morning Light (1919)

I'm sorry, I still don't see why we can't have more Anne with an E. What's the reason? Why can't I have it? Who is responsible?

okechukwu nzelu here again now

kofi

― Ovid, Metamorphoses

Franz Kafka- Short Stories

Literature is the most extraordinary gift. It's timeless, precious, informative… At least, it can be-- Once you figure out how to unwrap the damn thing!

Franz Kafka is a writer that I don't understand. Simply put. He uses language in a way that amazes my senses, curdles my brain, expands my heart, and threshes my ways of thinking. Still, I do not understand him. However, because of this, I do experience his writing most intensely. So, in a way, I feel like Franz Kafka is like a literary impressionist. Things aren't always clear upon first glance, but with patience, an open mind, and softer observations, they become more beautiful for being so.

Since it's my first time reading Kafka, I bought The Metamorphosis and Other Stories published by Schocken Books (translated by Willa and Edwin Muir). My favorite group of writings Kafka did are listed under the "Meditation" and "The Country Doctor" sections. I love how they are like glimpses into his mind and the world he perceives with it. There's one story in particular, "Children on a Country Road", that's about a group of boys running through the countryside that makes me feel so happy and nostalgic. I absolutely love it… but, again, I must confess, I had to read these stories multiple times to comprehend on a basic level what they were about. As was the case with the larger stories like "The Metamorphosis" and "In the Penal Colony", which were fascinating but emotionally and mentally challenging.

Working to understand something, digging tirelessly to unearth the root, is quite satisfying for me. I like the "click." That moment of understanding when all the details fall perfectly into place, and it feels as if the information takes on a deeper resonance. Reading Kafka has challenged this way of thinking.

Like a fox digging excitedly at the burrow while the rabbit watches from above… Now I see that sometimes the deeper you stoop to claw at an idea, the more room you make for it to leap over your head. We all think we're clever until we're walking home exhausted and unsatisfied.

So, look up. Look at things in their entirety, vague and frustrating as it is, and appreciate them when you can. Then say to yourself, contentedly and not resentfully, "I don't understand, but…"

It's beautiful anyway. It's important anyway. It's affecting anyway. It's lovely anyway. It's taught me something anyway.

So, what do I think of Kafka? I think he has broken my heart, tormented my mind, and kindled my soul. I think he's an extraordinary writer with a unique vision that is difficult to process. I think he had a lot to say as a young man, as a young writer, who didn't like how the world could be equal parts cruel and beautiful… and I think he didn't understand either: himself, his passion, or his impact. But, to say that indefinitely would be out of turn. So, I'll say this instead:

I think Franz Kafka is…

And I'll let that be that.

Mr Rochester: Jane be my wife

Jane Eyre: You got wives at home