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hair is washed. i am lovable and capable of loving again
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every time it rains i think of that raymond carver poem. poetry is like prayer to me methinks. or an incantation
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it has become fashionable to go "he's just like me fr" about franz kafka. here, then, is your checklist for being just like franz kafka: - jewish, but weird about it (load-bearing) - central european - effectively stateless - natural talent for melancholy that both defines and transcends the goth aesthetic - has jokes (most would-be kafkas do not) - absurdly paranoid - sex machine - riven with guilt about being a sex machine - hypochrondriac - genuinely afflicted with horrible diseases - impoverished - starving to death - gender if all of these apply to you, congratulations: you are in fact just like franz kafka. you should probably see a doctor about it. if some but not most of these apply to you, what you consider being "just like [franz kafka] fr" is, more likely, early warning signs of an artistic syndrome known as "boneless Lord Byron", and should not be encouraged
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Sappho, from If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho; tr. by Anne Carson
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margaret atwood / louise glück
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- September 22, 1917
- The diaries of Franz Kafka, 1914-1923
[ID: September 22. Nothing. End ID]
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can we like, have adaptations made by people who care about the thing they're adapting
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