Kafka's world is one in which irrationality, injustice, cruelty, and despair abound. The life he presents resembles a nightmare; it is a world in which all the laws of human thinking, feeling, and acting are suspended, in which cause and effect are reversed. Because a man is accused of a crime, the nature of which he does not even suspect, he begins to feel guilty. Of what? He is never told by the officers of the court who process his trial, although he spends a whole year trying to find out.
The narrator of The Trial (1925) makes it clear through his opening sentence that Josef K, the hero, is innocent. "Someone must have slandered Josef K, for without having committed any crime he was arrested one morning." At the end of the year the bewildered victim admits his guilt (for form's sake? as a result of brainwashing? we are not told) and half leads, is half led by, his executioners to an open place, where he is executed "like a dog" and dies, not really convinced of his guilt.
The narrator of The Trial (1925) makes it clear through his opening sentence that Josef K, the hero, is innocent. "Someone must have slandered Josef K, for without having committed any crime he was arrested one morning." At the end of the year the bewildered victim admits his guilt (for form's sake? as a result of brainwashing? we are not told) and half leads, is half led by, his executioners to an open place, where he is executed "like a dog" and dies, not really convinced of his guilt.
Unknown Message.
Kafka's world is one in which irrationality, injustice, cruelty, and despair abound. The life he presents resembles a nightmare; it is a world in which all the laws of human thinking, feeling, and acting are suspended, in which cause and effect are reversed.…
This media is not supported in your browser
VIEW IN TELEGRAM
I am waiting for you to reach out to me,
with Novo Amor’s voice resting gently in my ears, as if it knows the shape of my solitude by heart.
The weather hangs heavy and dim, wrapping my little bubble of existence in shades of grey.
Everything feels muted here—
time slows, thoughts echo, and even hope exhales quietly.
It’s strange how loneliness can feel this loud.
I wait, not knowing whether this longing has an address,
not knowing to whom my heart truly belongs.
Perhaps I am only drifting,
held together by songs, rain-soaked skies,
and the fragile wish that someone, somewhere,
is waiting for me too.
with Novo Amor’s voice resting gently in my ears, as if it knows the shape of my solitude by heart.
The weather hangs heavy and dim, wrapping my little bubble of existence in shades of grey.
Everything feels muted here—
time slows, thoughts echo, and even hope exhales quietly.
It’s strange how loneliness can feel this loud.
I wait, not knowing whether this longing has an address,
not knowing to whom my heart truly belongs.
Perhaps I am only drifting,
held together by songs, rain-soaked skies,
and the fragile wish that someone, somewhere,
is waiting for me too.
When Autumn Sits Beside Me
Autumn arrives without apology,
draping the streets in amber and rust,
teaching the trees how to let go
without making a sound.
I sit by the window with a cup of coffee,
its warmth steady against my palms,
as though it understands
how fragile mornings can be.
The sky is wrapped in grey,
rain threatening but never fully falling.
Each sip carries comfort and ache at once,
bitterness softened by warmth.
Time slows in this season,
or maybe I do.
The wind brings back old thoughts,
things I never say out loud.
Leaves fall like unspoken confessions,
and silence stays longer than expected.
Autumn doesn’t promise healing—
it simply stays with me,
and somehow, that is enough.
Autumn arrives without apology,
draping the streets in amber and rust,
teaching the trees how to let go
without making a sound.
I sit by the window with a cup of coffee,
its warmth steady against my palms,
as though it understands
how fragile mornings can be.
The sky is wrapped in grey,
rain threatening but never fully falling.
Each sip carries comfort and ache at once,
bitterness softened by warmth.
Time slows in this season,
or maybe I do.
The wind brings back old thoughts,
things I never say out loud.
Leaves fall like unspoken confessions,
and silence stays longer than expected.
Autumn doesn’t promise healing—
it simply stays with me,
and somehow, that is enough.
This media is not supported in your browser
VIEW IN TELEGRAM
Blackbird — The Beatles.
Let me take your name as my last name, Ba. I will always be your son, and you’re my one and only.
"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."
— Sylvia Plath
— Sylvia Plath
Unknown Message.
Photo
Martyr! is basically about this guy named Cyrus Shams, who’s an Iranian-American poet struggling with addiction, grief, and figuring out who he really is.
He’s still dealing with the death of his mother, and then he finds out about an Iranian woman who died when a passenger plane was shot down in 1988. He becomes really obsessed with finding out who she was and what happened to her. As he tries to learn more about her, he also starts facing his own past, his family, his identity, and all the things he’s been running away from.
It’s pretty emotional and philosophical, but it also has some dark humour. There are also queer themes and relationships in it. So I’d say it’s less about romance and more about grief, identity, addiction, death, and trying to find meaning in life.
He’s still dealing with the death of his mother, and then he finds out about an Iranian woman who died when a passenger plane was shot down in 1988. He becomes really obsessed with finding out who she was and what happened to her. As he tries to learn more about her, he also starts facing his own past, his family, his identity, and all the things he’s been running away from.
It’s pretty emotional and philosophical, but it also has some dark humour. There are also queer themes and relationships in it. So I’d say it’s less about romance and more about grief, identity, addiction, death, and trying to find meaning in life.