I think, I believe, some of the most perfect fables I’ve ever read are from Kafka. One of them, brief and complete as a new and fine silver ring, is about a mouse running across convergent walls; as a sort of big and heavy trap bigger than the existence and substance of every being on the world. Just running without meaning because life is just like that…
It sounds threatening. I don’t want to ruin it telling with my words the argument of so beautiful text, I’ll just say that the revelation in it sounds like the things we secretly know are an intimate truth.
Qhapaq 