It's A Mood, The Dogs Of My Sadness Decided To Bark At Me Today.

It's a mood, the dogs of my sadness decided to bark at me today.

(Artwork by Liza Sivakova.)

-The Diaries of Franz Kafka 1910-1923-

(Bronze Sculpture by Fredrick Raddum.)

"I’m tired, can’t think of anything and want only to lay my face in your lap, feel your hand on my head and remain like that through all eternity."

-Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena-

(Artworks by Kim Young Hun.)

From A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.

I am once again, smitten by Charles's Dickens distinctive way of description and characterization. So minimalist, exact, and terse but powerful in effect and immediate in creating an impression on a reader. He shoots his words like spiteful arrows but with poetry.

((Artwork by Boris Sveshnikov.)

(Artwork by John Madison.)

"Let me pull myself out of these waters. But they heap themselves on me; they sweep me between their great shoulders; I am turned; I am tumbled; I am stretched, among these long lights, these long waves, these endless paths, with people pursuing, pursuing."

-Virginia Woolf, The Waves.-

Many moments in life are overlooked. We don't capture their essence because they are frequent, familiar and routine-esque. So they go by without meaning, without quality because we are impatient. Going to the beach by yourself, sitting on a bench in some garden, sitting by the window, music on the back as you watch everything outside moving, walking down some street with your friend, not necessarily talking, looking at your mother in the kicthen...etc. Moments like these when you let them be, let them sink and give yourself to them; they offer therapy, serenity, healing and they bring meaning all along. All you have to do is surrender and become the moment. Your day, your schedules, your work, your studies, your occupations and distractions will be done, finished, and taken care of sooner or later. Don't let them finish you, that's all.

I shall stand on my own

as your words that I cannot forget

hung on the hooks of my memory.

I shall stand, stand I shall,

and spin away your words

of salt and of injury

Into indifference, into oblivion

and be shaped and reshaped

by my own conquering voice.

I shall stand. Stand I did.

@kafkaesquebibliomaniac

(Artwork Self-portrait with Death Playing the Fiddle by Arnold Bocklîn.)