What happens when you don't go to what's inside you, but it comes out when you least expect it?
Franz Kafka's "K" found this out in his novel The Trial [New York, Alfred A. Knopf, 1992, p. 1] Here's how Kafka's insides came out:
"Someone must have been telling lies about Joseph K., for without having done anything wrong he was arrested one fine morning...At once there was a knock at the door and a man entered whom he had never seen before in the house. He was slim and yet well knit, he wore a closely fitting black suit furnished with all sorts of pleats, pockets, buckles, and buttons, as well as a belt, like a tourist's outfit, and in consequence looked eminently practical, though one could not quite tell what purpose it served. 'What are you?' asked K., half raising himself in bed.What a perfect discussion, in highly symbolic terms of course, of meeting up with your subconscious as though it were a person calling on you. Knocking at the door. Mirroring your own appearance. Not having a clue as to what it is. Joseph K spends the rest of the novel trying to get a handle on himself until he dies trying.
Kafka gave Max Brod clear instructions to destroy all his stuff upon his death. What a gift to us that Max couldn't do it. I would be a poorer man today with Kafka's work on my bookshelf.
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Writing is for me an entrepreneurial activity. For my entrepreneurship blog, to go www.hatman2.blogspot.com and for entrepreneurial real estate go to www.yourstopforrealestate.com/blog