There is a door
What’s that - says the first voice
Me - says the second
How is it possible to tell - first
Trust me - second
What if when you say ‘me’ it does not really mean you - first
Let me in - second
No - first
Don’t play games - second
You’re the one playing games, be specific, there are lots of me’s - first
It is me, not you - second
Of course, that old line - first
Oh for goodness sake - second
Just go, it is not you - first
There is bread - second
Don’t come the provider of bread with me - first
And there is cheese - second
Ok, tell me more about the cheese - first
Let me in and you can see for yourself - second
Just a ruse then, piss off - first
No really, there is cheese - second
Tell me about the cheese - first
Let me in - second
Tell me about the cheese - first
All will be revealed if you let me in - second
Tell me about the cheese - first
Just open up - second
Tell me about the cheese - first
Ok, it’s vintage cheddar, aged in the mines for 5 years - second
More, and? - first
No - second
Go on, and? - first
That is all - second
Don’t fob me off - first
No, that's it - second
What? - first
...
Speak, speak - first
...
Are you there? - first
...
Speak - first
…
Come back, come back! - first
…
The wind rises in the trees, there is no other sound.
There is another door.
Before the Law stands a door keeper - Kafka, The Trial
...before the Law stands a door-keeper on guard. To this door-keeper there comes a man from the country and begs for admittance to the Law. But the door-keeper says that he cannot admit the man at the moment. The man, on reflection, asks if he will be allowed then, to enter later. "It is possible," answers the door-keeper, "but not at this moment." Since the door leading into the Law stands open as usual and the door-keeper steps to one side, the man bends down to peer through the entrance. When the door-keeper sees that he laughs and says: "If you are so strongly tempted, try to get in without my permission. But note that I am powerful. And I am only the lowest door-keeper. From hall to hall, keepers stand at every door, one more powerful than the other. Even the third of these has an aspect that even I cannot bear to look at." These are difficulties which the man from the country has not expected to meet, the Law, he thinks, should be accessible to every man and at all times, and when he looks more closely at the door-keeper in his furred robe, with his huge pointed nose and long thin, Tartar beard, he decides that he had better wait until he gets permission to enter. The door-keeper gives him a stool and lets him sit down at the side of the door. There he sits waiting for days and years. He makes many attempts to be allowed in, and wearies the door-keeper with his importunity. The door-keeper often engages him in brief conversation, asking him about his home and about other matters, but the questions are put quite impersonally, as great men put questions, and always conclude with the statement that the man cannot be allowed to enter yet. The man, who has equipped himself with many things for his journey, parts with all he has, however valuable, in the hope of bribing the door-keeper. The door-keeper accepts it all, saying, however, as he takes each gift: "I take this only to keep you from feeling you have left something undone." During all these long years the man watches the door-keeper almost incessantly. He forgets about the other door-keepers, and this one seems to him the only barrier between himself and the Law. In the first years he curses his evil fate aloud; later, as he grows old, he only mutters to himself. He grows childish, and since in his prolonged watch he has learned to know even the fleas in his fur collar, he begs the very fleas to help him and to persuade the door-keeper to change his mind. Finally his eyes grow dim and he does not know whether the world is really darkening around him or whether his eyes are only deceiving him. But in the darkness he can now perceive a radiance that streams immortally from the door of the Law. Now his life is drawing to a close. Before he dies, all that he has experienced during the whole time of his sojourn condenses in his mind into one question, which he has never yet put to the door-keeper. He beckons he door-keeper, since he can no longer raise his stiffening body. The door-keeper has to bend far down to hear him, for the difference in size between them has increased very much to the man's disadvantage. "What do you want to know now?" asks the door-keeper; "you are insatiable." "Everyone strives to attain the Law," answers the man, "how does it come about, then, that in all these years no one has come seeking admittance but me?" The door-keeper perceives that the man is at the end of his strength and his hearing is failing, so he bellows in his ear: "No one but you could gain admittance through this door, since this door was intended only for you. I am now going to shut it."
I think what that parable suggests is that he should have just gone through the door without asking, which could be expressed as 'just fucking do it'.
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