#franz kafka's the castle

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

我會把我的臉藏在你裡面，你也會把你的臉藏在我裡面，再也不會有人看到我們了。 I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us anymore. ˗ˋˏ ♡ღ ˎˊ˗ ◠‿◠

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"I can't think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there's no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more."

─ Franz Kafka, Franz Kafka's The Castle.

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幸福

而這樣的地方 最簡單的存在， 不是誰的城堡 更不是誰的墳， 是手中的鏡子 我看透的自己。

Happiness

And such a place is the simplest existence, not anyone's castle nor anyone's grave, but the mirror in my hand where I saw through myself.

Lan~*

Untitled, 2020 - by Ziqian Liu (1990), Chinese

[shisasan]

Franz Kafka, The Castle Originally published: 1926

[wordpress-blaze-176197706]

The Ridge- REPUBLISHED

Into the Wilderness: Part 6

Our rented SUV was one of the last in the parent caravan. We drove along winding paved roads until we turned off onto dirt pathways, passing white clapboard houses nestled among the hills, weathered with moss, a lone horse, a few sheep hugging dilapidated barns. Then, we turned off those dirt roads onto pitted tracks created by other four wheelers. We navigated slowly up the mountain, wheels edging steep declines. We bumped over rocks, tree branches scraping our doors. We passed an overflowing stream.

Finally, the line slowed and stopped. In what seemed like practiced unison, SUVs turned slightly off the tracks. The forest was damp and thick, the soil emitting steam as the sun warmed it. The Blue Ridge Mountains in Georgia are actually a temperate rainforest and that becomes obvious the moment you crack open your car door. The moisture and heat- it was now late August- envelope you.

All around us was green. If our teens were camped in these woods, seeing them through the trees was nearly impossible. Chuck and I got out of our SUV and followed the other parents walking toward an incline about a half mile down the path. A sense of human presence started to emerge. An abandoned steel tent frame gleamed in a clearing- not from our campers; they have strict rules to leave the forest as they find it. In the distance, smoke from a campfire wafted through the green light. We walked toward it.

All around us, teens and parents had begun to re-unite. Rustling undergrowth, excited screams: the teens rushed to meet their parents.

Far down on the path, was a spot of red. As we walked, it formed into a shape, then a figure. It was unloading food supplies from the back of an SUV. The figured stopped and faced our direction.

Squinting, Chuck asked, "Is that Catina?" We couldn't tell. We walked closer. And as we did the figure began to sprint toward us. And then we knew. This was our girl.

We ran. She ran, clouds of dirt rising around her like Pigpen from Charlie Brown. We came together, grabbing hold and squeezing in an enormous hug.

The first thing I noticed was how bad she smelled. And how smelling so bad, she still smelled good. Every mother knows the scent of her child. It's there from the first moment your child is in your arms and you bury your nose in the soft spot where the neck meets the shoulder.

That was the smell I noticed, along with sweat and body odor. Deoderant attracts mosquitos and flies so the teens avoid it.

Next, I noticed her clear eyes. And her dimpled smile. She was happy, not just to see us, but happy. Her body showed it. She had a confidence she had never carried before.

She had firmed up from the hiking and healthy eating. The teens do not eat processed foods and can only have limited amounts of honey as a rare treat. She was covered in bug bites, red welts dotting her arms, ankles and calves. She wore a long-sleeved red windbreaker and splotched khakis, an orange vest with fluorescent tape and a mismatched pair of crocs, one blue, one orange (see our photo in the About page), without socks.

Chuck and I wore "I heart Catina Wipper" T-shirts. In her last letter home, Catina had asked Chuck to adopt her, and we wanted to surprise her with his answer. Just two days before, we had found a small printing shop in Clayton, Georgia that could make our T-shirts in a day. The T-shirt was hidden beneath our buttoned shirts and we opened them in a big "ta da."

We were together again. After eight long weeks of separation.

We walked to the clearing where they had set up camp. In the center was a big tarp with a campfire. The teens learn how to start a fire using self-made bow drills. Designated campers tend the fire to keep it continually burning. No fire means eating peanut butter in big spoonfuls from the jar or handfuls of GORP.

Each teen was assigned a pack of necessities weighing about 40 pounds: sleeping bag, school and therapy notebooks, water bottles, food supplies, bowl and spoon, a change of clothes, bags for collecting waste, a toothbrush. The packs were piled in a mound about 20 feet from the center tarp. A constructed bathing area and latrine were at opposite ends of the camp, both lined with tarps for privacy. Above the camp, on a ridge, the teens had set up their tents. Each day, they choose a favorite spot for sleeping. This one had a view of nearby mountains, blue and hazy in the distance like a smudged charcoal drawing.

The teens had settled down with their parents, excited to tell them about living in the wilderness. They were all so proud. They had lived outside for weeks tending to their own needs. While different issues had brought them together, the underlying issue was often the same: anxiety, depression, low self-esteem. But now they had discovered they could thrive- through storms, heat waves, bug bites, pesky critters, slips and falls.

Catina took our hands and led us up a hill above the camp to a rocky nook shaded by trees. Chuck and I unfolded our chairs, portable, legless contraptions that suspend a body in a reclining position. These "chairs" are provided only to teens who have reached a certain level in their progress- an incentive to work hard. Visiting parents are warned not to give our chairs away, or to let our kids sit in them.

We checked in. How were we each feeling? Excited, happy, complete. Catina told us about her days- what time they rise, packing up, unpacking, hiking off trails, setting up camp, cooking meals, cleaning up. She had never camped a single day in her life before wilderness, and now she loved being in the deep woods, sitting quietly with a book or journal, or staring endlessly at the beauty of it all.

We talked about a lot of things. Her letters. Her inventories. Her memories. Her new-found love of reading. Her regret. Our regret. An awful, violent incident she had hidden from us and blamed herself for because it had happened at a party she shouldn't have been at. What had led her here, to this place, this moment.

When we returned to the camp, dinner prep was underway, a counselor watching as they cubed raw chicken and cut up vegetables, sauteed in a big skillet over the open flame. They made pasta with chicken and vegetables, simple and good. Catina added sriracha, gobbled it down and wiped her bowl clean with leaves from the ground. When I couldn't finish my serving, she was happy to eat more.

Joy. I had never seen her so in her body, so present to herself. She was just Catina. The Catina that is Catina. Not the Catina that anyone else wanted her to be.

As the sun began to set, we hiked up the hill to the ridge where they had lined their tents. I captured a fallen branch as a walking stick to help heave myself up the mountain and across the uneven terrain.

Catina had chosen to place her tent last, at the far end of the ridge. She tied it between trees, a sharp inverted V high off the ground so she could see the sky and feel the night wind. We crawled underneath, removed our hiking boots and handed them to the counselors. We loosened our clothes and laid on top of our sleeping bags, arms and legs interlinked, staring at the moon through the branches. We repeatedly whispered, "I love you." There was not much more to say.

We lay on this ridge of mountain. The ridge seemed endless, stretching across the Appalachian shelf. It had risen millions of years ago, rock crashing together, thrusting upward, a massive tectonic shift continuing to reshape the landscape even today. And here we were now, on this ridge, together. We too had collided, fault lines rippling through our lives. We had forged new selves out of this, our own seismic event. Here on this ancient ridge, we knew we had come far.

Source: The Ridge- REPUBLISHED

[mournfulroses]

Franz Kafka, from an excerpt featured in "Kafka: The Tremendous World I Have Inside my Head,"

[insatiablexi]

[wordx]

“I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there’s no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.”

— Franz Kafka, The Castle

[hereith]

I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time.

Franz Kafka / The Castle

[bnmxfld]

I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time.

Franz Kafka / The Castle

[philosophybits]

One must fight to get to the top, especially if one starts at the bottom.

Franz Kafka, The Castle

[purpetua]

It makes me genuinely irritated when people say "Oh, Kafka would hate his fans and his audience cuz he wanted to stay unknown 🥺" as if he wasn't an incredibly complex person whom we will never understand unless he rises from the dead and tells us himself

[amtskind]

kafka's literary works in the kafka series

die verwandlung / the metamorphosis

der prozess / the trial

das urteil / the judgement

das schloss / the castle

in der strafkolonie / in the penal colony

[tilbageidanmark]

Teenager Franz Kafka!

[uniicornkush]

my introduction

ʚɞ 𝗁iii 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝗂𝗆 𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗈𝗋 ʚɞ 𝖽𝗇𝗂 𝗂𝖿 𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝟢𝗆𝗈𝗉𝗁𝗈𝖻𝗂𝖼,𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗇,𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 𝗌𝟥𝗑 𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗌,𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗑 𝗌𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒ʚɞ 𝗁𝗍𝗍𝗉𝗌://𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗋.𝖾𝖾/𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗌𝗈𝗎l

ʚɞ 𝗆𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌: 𝗌𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝖥𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗓 𝖪𝖺𝖿𝗄𝖺, 𝖲𝗒𝗅𝗏𝗂𝖺 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗆𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗏𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺, 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾, 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗆𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗅

ʚɞ 𝖿𝖺𝗏 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼: 𝗆𝗂𝖽𝗐𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝗆𝗈, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗆𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗅, 𝖽𝗌𝖻𝗆, 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝗉, 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖾, 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝖾, 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄, 𝖾𝗆𝗈, ʚɞ 𝖿𝖺𝗏 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖾𝗌: 𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗈, 𝗉𝖺𝗅𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝗈, 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗈, 𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅, 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝗂𝗋𝗀𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌, 𝗓𝗈𝗆𝖻𝗂𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽,grandmas boy,

ʚɞ 𝖿𝖺𝗏 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌: 𝗌𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗇𝖾, 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖻𝗈𝗐, 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗅 𝟦, 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖽

ʚɞ 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗂𝖾𝗌: 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌, 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗌, 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼, 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝖽, 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌,painkillers.

ʚɞ 𝖿𝖺𝗏 𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌: 𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋, 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗓, 𝗅𝗂𝗅 𝗉𝖾𝖾𝗉, 𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗑 𝗀, 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗎𝖿𝗃𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗌, 𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁, 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒…, 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗅 𝗋𝖺𝗒, 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗅𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗉𝗎𝗍𝖾, 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗎𝗅𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍, 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗄𝗂, 𝗌𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗒, 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾, 𝗏𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿

ʚɞ 𝖽𝗆𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇!!!

[shisasan]

Franz Kafka, The Castle Originally published: 1926

[auntieblues]

“Many a book is like a key to unknown chambers within the castle of one’s own self.” ― Franz Kafka

original auntieblues

[n-oturbab-y]

Oh… so no one was gonna tell me Kafka died thinking he was a failure? The man who has made so many impactful changes on how I think and perceive my relationships with other people through his literary works died thinking he wasn’t enough? Oh okay. Oh okay.

[yvehattan]

Franz Kafka propaganda as the days grow cold and unforgiving.