("Daddy" Kafka)
Okay, I had to take down the secondary post. It was too vile, also.
Now, I have no time to write a third.
So, here:
The Wish to Be a Red Indian
If one were only an Indian, instantly alert, and on a racing horse, leaning against the wind, kept on quivering jerkily over the quivering ground, until one shed one's spurs, for there needed no spurs, threw away the reins, for there needed no reins, and hardly saw that the land before one was smoothly shorn heath when horse's neck and head would already be gone.
- Kafka
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