Dead Cat, Kafka On The Shore and The White Ribbon
Even if I almost immediately stared away from it I knew the cat was dead because its innards were gushed out of its body in a dried so-burnt-it-was-white kind of way. I also knew I had to look away from it because I keep photos of cats with funny captions from Cheezburger Network on my phone. My phone has actually no cellular connection so other than its look it really has nothing to do with being the usual communication gadget most people who didn't get the chance to learn the conflict mineral issue in Congo, have. The Congo issue basically says your cellphone parts are most likely mined and produced by raped little girls.
The dead cat reminded me of Haruki Murakami's Kafka On The Shore. Although the dead cat I saw was in certain degrees supposed to be more haunting because not only is no one certain who is most likely to blame for the cat's death, people around the lying cat on the road can't also seem to be bothered to even get it away from the streets so it won't be ran over again. For the third time. Or even none, since who is to say the cat wasn't hammered to blotches by a group of Cebuano twelve-year-olds who took literally Michael Haneke's White Ribbon?
The dead cat reminded me of Haruki Murakami's Kafka On The Shore. Although the dead cat I saw was in certain degrees supposed to be more haunting because not only is no one certain who is most likely to blame for the cat's death, people around the lying cat on the road can't also seem to be bothered to even get it away from the streets so it won't be ran over again. For the third time. Or even none, since who is to say the cat wasn't hammered to blotches by a group of Cebuano twelve-year-olds who took literally Michael Haneke's White Ribbon?
