✖ ✖ ✖ ✖

kafkaesque: having a nightmarishly complex, bizarre, or illogical quality.

landpneumonia:

Kai’s more often than not painted oblivious, subtle nuances communicated through careless tones going unnoticed. He’s haphazard at best, erratic and quick to shift, and there aren’t a lot of people who find themselves compatible with that passed a certain extent. “Socks are awful. They are like prisons for your feet — oppression, I say.” Normally he’s not this negative. He’s just in a mood today, and is calling it appropriate to talk about each and every thing that has ever bothered him about the world.

Though somber and following his own path of indifference, he takes it upon
himself to slip into the iron cage of what one would call bliss, happiness, if
you will. The junkie’s words usually drip tones of noxious mockery and scorn
which are perceptible to all but halfwits. As opulent as his life is, he finds himself
caring for naught but he. There are no men like him, as he would like to think, so
to see another with abhorrence for half the world, he finds it within himself to at the
very least befriend this person. A laugh leaves parted lips, genuine and surging with
amusement. “Right, because tyranny begins with socks, which caused every single
world war.”