kafka is 'emo'

below are excerpts from a biography of kafka by ronald hayman

[Kafka] decided to write a frank letter to [his fiancee's father], and show it to [his fiancee] before sending it. It would explain how, for about ten years, he had been increasingly aware of lacking the sense of well-being most people had. Her father might like to recommend a doctor who would examine him and report on his findings.

One Saturday evening [Kafka's sister] came home from the shop to find [Kafka] sitting on the sofa, staring blankly in front of him. Aware he had been eating very little, she asked whether he was going to have supper, but he did not answer, and they just stared at each other.

On Christmas Day 1915, looking back at his diary, [Kafka] realized that over the past three or four years he could have made thousands of entries all more or less identical with the last one, all complaining ineffectually. But, at thirty-two, he could no longer believe, as he had ten years earlier, that it was within his powers to solve the problems that made life so difficult for him.

below is what kafka wrote about suddenly coughing up blood all the time, suicide, and feelings

"What happened was that the brain could no longer stand the troubles and pains being loaded on to it. It said: 'I'm giving up. But if there's anyone else interested in continuing the whole thing, he can take over some of my burden, and things can go on for a while.' The lung volunteered, probably not having much to lose anyway. I wasn't informed about these negotiations between brain and lung, and they may have been ghastly."

"The suicide is the prisoner who sees a gallows erected in the prison yard, mistakenly believes it is for him, breaks out of his cell during the night, goes down and hangs himself."

"I've a growing incapacity for thinking, observation, consolidation of certainties, remembering, speaking, and empathy. I'm turning into stone. In the office I'm becoming increasingly inept. If I can't immerse myself in some work, I'm lost."

the biography reminds me of this biography of richard yates in terms of tone and that the biographers view things existentially, i feel; excerpts of kafka's writing in this biography remind me of the book of disquiet by fernando pessoa