Kafka offered the most perfect contemplation after some overheated working session over the weekend. It reminded me slightly of David Lynch's Elephant Man, where a perfectly conscious mind resides in an impaired physical form. I would have expected the ending to pertain at least to some form of reminiscence toward Samsa after his death. Instead, Gregor's sister's physical transformation, where true in existence or not, was the sole subject on spot after all that has happened. Elephant Man has a different take on reaction towards physical deformation. It focuses on inevitable act of patronizing, and in turns, suggesting that the only source of integrity an individual can only come from free will, and the strength of oneself to act on one's circumstances.
Didn't get to finish the deadline over Thanksgiving. Strolling around Soho, neither did italian dessert at east village, trying out a $500 scarf, nor picking up gaggets at MoMA design store was enough to set my mind off and to turn a page over. Scotch put on a temporary shield over my disappointment, but sunrise at Avenue U brought it back with a new face. I sank deeply into my bed when I got home, over compensating the few floor sleeping nights, and digested this thanksgiving such that nothing is left but a vague keyframe in my mind.
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