Franz Kafka, lucky bastard

I say bastard only for the phrase, though Kafka did womanize quite a bit… but it was the early 20th century, perhaps he can be forgiven for his time. He is, or was, very lucky though. Like many of us he was unimpressed and uninspired by the life offered to him. He worked at an insurance company doing claims adjustment, but at a relatively young age was pensioned off. Why? Because he had tuburculosis and at the time that was a terminal diagnosis.

He died at the relatively young age of 40. I could do that, five more years. He died very obscure, and came to fame many years after his death. He also considered himself physically and mentally repellent to others. Can anyone else relate? This guy would be suicidal in the modern world, I’m convinced, that is if he wasn’t already dying. Apparently people that knew him considered him handsome and intelligent…. so he had a warped self perception

I’ve been told that I’m okay to look at, never really gave it much thought either way. I’m tall, for a guy that forgives a lot of physical flaws. I’ve got the physicality that if my personality had been suited for it I could have played a physically challenging sport. Similarly, my mental acuity is something others have observed. It’s been a challenge for me, I know I can do a few things really well because I’ve practiced….. but isn’t intellect supposed to amount to some sort of recognition or demand from the market? I’m very much not in demand.

I keep envying Kafka, morbid, with a genuinely negative approach, and life was kind enough to give him an exit. Even what finally took him is an exit I’d envy. His throat hurt so much he couldn’t eat, and at the time they didn’t have liquid nutrients. Right up to the end he was writing out his stories and leaving behind a legacy that any intellectual would be incredibly lucky to have.

He also wanted to enlist in the first world war, but his illness prevented it. Same page club over here. Man would it be easier to be as fed up as I am with humanity if I was a veteran. I’m the first man in my family for a hundred years not to enlist…… and all the oppertunities lost to get an early exit, front line tends to shorten lifespans. Ah, regret, at least in that Kafka and I are equal. It’s five years out, maybe my throat will manage to entirely fail by then? A guy can hope. Then maybe in 40 years someone will come along that finds my writing interesting.