Kafka on the Shore

As my muscles relax, so do I. I’m safe inside this container that is me. With a little click, the outlines of this being – me – fit right inside and are locked neatly away. Just the way I like it. I’m where I belong.

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing direction. You change direction, but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do

phallocentric

The library is quiet enough most of the time, but on a day like this when it’s closed it’s like the land that time forgot. Or more like a place that’s holding its breath, hoping time won’t stumble upon it.

“Things change every day, Mr Nakata. With each new dawn it’s not the same world as the day before. And you’re not the same person you were, either. You see what I’m saying?”

“I never ask the impossible. That’s a colossal waste of time, don’t you agree?”

most choices we make in life are equally outrageous.” Johnnie Walker lightly touched his silk hat, as if making sure it was still in place.

“That’s right. A reciprocal metaphor. Things outside you are projections of what’s inside you, and what’s inside you is a projection of what’s outside. So when you step into the labyrinth outside you, at the same time you’re stepping into the labyrinth inside. Most definitely a risky business.”

At your age I was filled with illusions of escaping reality, but you’re standing right up to the real world and confronting it head-on. That’s a big difference.”