Missing

Based on the work of the same name by Franz Kafka "Missing"

Missing, or How Market Relations Kill Humanistic Conscience

If everything is built on buying and selling, sooner or later the person, too, becomes a commodity on a market of personalities. Essence, spirit, faith begin to disappear...
"The cook's children teach themselves to waltz, but the social elevator won't lift these 'Vasyas'" (25/17, Sound Letter🎸)

When teenagers write "there are no relations except market relations" on a fence, they echo K. Marx's words that "being determines consciousness."
And in "Missing," one of the lost says: "If people keep treating you like a dog, eventually you begin to think that you really are a dog" (p. 257📚).

A human being can get used to anything, said Viktor Frankl, who survived Auschwitz, before adding: "do not ask me at what cost."

What society accepts becomes normal for each individual member of that society, and

"If we are spat in the face for years, we too will get used to it.
Outrage will fade, after all there are glasses before our eyes,
And in the pocket there is a handkerchief to wipe away the spit.
Saliva is beneficial to the skin - it will be scientifically proven,
And the name 'spit' will be replaced with a fashionable and sonorous one.
Everything becomes normal by this principle.

And perhaps it has to be so: a person needs to know that they are not alone in their view, that there is at least some path beneath their feet. ⛳
But the missing man wonders how the others can so carelessly reconcile themselves to their present condition, without recognizing the need to choose a future, reading almost nothing except perhaps dog-eared detective novels worn to shreds (p. 174📚).
Yes, it is simple enough: reading can rob the "opium" of its power—the opium of the people. 💫
Freud spoke of sleep and illusion, and of the protective mechanisms that serve self-preservation. And who really wants to know more? As Ecclesiastes says: "For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow." 💯
And so we walk through pitch darkness with confidence, because we can hear other people trudging beside us (E. Fromm, Man for Himself).
From birth to death, from Monday to Monday, life becomes programmed and reproduced in strict order.
How, amid this routine of everyday life, can a person avoid forgetting that they are a human being—an unrepeatable individual, someone who has been given this one and only life? ☯️

There is no neat motto waiting for us at the bottom except perhaps "in vino veritas". You look at all of this and taste bitterness, yet somehow it can feel strangely pleasant—like the sting of frost:

Life glows slightly askew like a cigarette, smoke eats the eyes and hence tears,
But in the heart it's still quiet and easy, after all, others won't go far either."

Like goods on a counter, everyone is equal; the fish rots from the head—just do not look too far ahead. 🏁

Protests Won't Help✏️

"In closed offices, the threads of fates are spun. The dissatisfied spin their sentences - it was so, is so, and will be so.🚩
And full heads hide in 'golden sand.'
Curious heads are thrown into the nearest grove. Raging heads are treated with a bullet to the temple, traced by IP, filled with cranberries up to the belt."

"And hatred is yeast for the number of zeros. Protests are so nutritious. Come on, pour, such slops to the brim, then try to drink it yourself.
This is a revolution - for dads' and moms' wallets.
Everyone says: 'We are together,' no one knows in what way.
Antosha Chekhonte hammers you on the forehead.
If you don't want to, you won't understand, even if you're Wasserman... (25/17, Sound Letter🎸)
For some, Nikita Mikhalkov, for others, Lucio Fulci.
Someone graduated from Yale, someone drinks ale, and
Kafka in one paragraph masterfully describes people's lives:⤵️

"Numerous balconies around were strewn with people, in the light of lamps whole families were situated here - depending on the size of the balcony - either around a small table, or in a row of chairs, or simply standing or just peeking out from the balcony door. Men sat sprawled, their feet propped on the balcony railing, and read huge newspapers dangling almost to the floor; others played cards - seemed silent, but with all the more frenzy banging trumps on the table; women, almost all with needlework on their laps, occasionally broke away from their sewing to cast a glance at the surroundings or down at the street; one - already not young, sickly-looking blonde on the neighboring balcony - yawned every now and then, each time rolling her eyes and covering her mouth with the linen she was darning; even on the narrowest balconies children managed to start running around, causing displeasure from parents. In many apartments gramophones were playing, from there came singing or orchestral music, which, however, no one particularly listened to - only occasionally the Head of the family gave a sign, and one of the household hurried into the room to put on a new record. In some windows, love couples stood frozen motionless, one was just standing in the window opposite: a man greedily embraced a girl, kneading her breast." 📚

〰️This is how market relations kill humanistic conscience! 〰️

〰️This is where a person goes missing without a trace!〰️

The protagonist desperately wants to escape. The people who saved him from prison want to turn him into their servant... the door is locked... the key cannot be found...
And the compass was smashed in a fight...
Now he is standing on that same balcony when, on the neighboring balcony, he suddenly notices a "student." He begins talking with him—a herald, an alter ego, an I-position. 🔎⭕

• "Do you have another place?" - the student inquired with interest.
• "No," Karl replied, "but it doesn't matter to me, I just want to get away from here."
• "Listen," asked the student, "so it doesn't matter to you?" - Both were silent for a bit. - "Why don't you want to stay with them then?"
• "If all servants, choosing their masters, were so scrupulous," said the student and seemed to smile. - "Take me, for example: during the day I work as a salesman, an errand boy, receiving a miserable salary. So take an example from me."
• "How?" - Karl was amazed. - "During the day you are a salesman, and at night you study?"
• "Well, yes," the student answered. "Otherwise it doesn't work out. I've tried everything already, And believe me, this way of existence is still the most prosperous. Once I was just a student, so to speak, both day and night, then I almost died of hunger, slept almost in a doghouse, and dressed so that it was shameful to go to lectures. But that's all over."
• "But when do you sleep?" - Karl asked, growing more and more surprised.
• "When do I sleep?" - he echoed. "When I finish my studies, then I'll sleep it off. In the meantime, I drink black coffee." 📚

Don't Waste Time!

Don't waste time!
I commit to writing,✔️
I commit to reading, ✔️
I commit to living as before, but now also accepting others into my life - respecting them✔️

Before time turns back,
Before the burden is blown away like a lock of hair -
It's time to grow, and gather fruits and sow again! ✔️