thinking about how kafka realized, at the turn of the 20th century, that life was about to be completely absorbed into opaque bureaucracies, impossible to communicate or reason with, a society of shrinkwrap licenses, legal agreements you're forced to agree to, customer service agents in the third world insulating capitalists from the people they're failing, endless legions of workers enforcing policies they know hurt people with no recourse. thinking about how policies like ceasefires and universal healthcare and legal weed and legal abortion have super high approvals and how every government is structured to ensure none of the politicians hold popular views in their platforms. thinking about how i live in kafka's nightmare world. thinking about how hard it is to pick up my meds from the pharmacy. thinking about how everyone tells me "oh sorry we can't help you here, but certainly try next door", and the poor fucking worker there has to look at me, tears streaming down my face, and tell me that someone neither of us have ever met made a rule that says she's not allowed to help me, and if i could just wait on hold, if i could just make a few more phone calls, if i could just beg the machine that doesn't speak or listen a little more, certainly someone could fulfill my reasonable request. someone but nobody in particular. nobody known. nobody who actually exists
he knew. he knew he knew he knew he knew he knew he knew he knew he knew. he KNEW
The Trial (German: Der Process, previously Der Proceß, Der Prozeß and Der Prozess) is a novel written by Franz Kafka in 1914 and 1915 and published posthumously on 26 April 1925. One of his best-known works, it tells the story of Josef K., a man arrested and prosecuted by a remote, inaccessible authority, with the nature of his crime revealed neither to him nor to the reader.
