Does anyone else feel like Kafka’s writing resembles a very specific kind of dream? 💤

I’ve been trying to read Kafka for years. And while his prose is difficult—dense, disjointed, almost impenetrable—it somehow feels familiar. Not in content, but in sensation. Like a recurring dream we’ve all had: You're trying to get somewhere in the dream, but never arrive. You're trying to write something, but the words keep coming out wrong. You're running, but your legs are made of rubber. You wake up with the same feeling every time: You tried, but nothing changed. You moved, but went nowhere. That’s exactly what The Trial and Amerika feel like to me. A kind of nightmare of futility. Kafka’s logic isn’t linear—but it is coherent in its own warped, surreal way. Almost like the internal logic of dreams: scattered, yet strangely consistent. (The Metamorphosis is different—it hits closer to real life. Too close, even.) I’ve read the major works, heard all the lectures, studied the interpretations. But I still feel like Kafka evades me. Maybe that’s the point? Curious to hear—how do you experience Kafka? Does he feel like a dream to you too? — #Entertainment #Books #Kafka #LiteratureThoughts #DreamLogic #Existentialism #TheTrial #Amerika #ModernistLiterature