You know, the more I learn and think and write about stuff, it’s not like I’m building knowledge at all. It’s more like I’m dismantling uselessness, things that I won’t need any more. It’s like taking apart some kind of wooden scaffolding that you’ve been relying on for support and shit. And now, you’re just left with whatever was there all along… the truth. Whatever you want to call it. And all the writing and the notes I leave are kind of like the marks I leave as I pass through. The record of my dismantling. By the time I’m done, I won’t be anything…

[ It’s like I’m kicking down the Berlin Wall, and everybody’s cheering and smashing, and the city is finally going to be united again. And it all ties into a kind of pet theory/hunch that I have, wherein you don’t ever learn anything - you just remember it, what you’ve known all along. A gradual remembering, and things that you think you are learning, are just triggers embedded in things to help you get these flashes of remembering. I think they (the mystics) call it anamnesis. ]