Man is the only being this being knows of in which the whole cannot contain its pieces. It is illogical.

Genuine coexistence lives only as a whole. It’s not utilitarian. It does not weigh parts against parts; it weighs parts against the whole, which can only ever be interpreted one way, only have one outcome.

Space is something we cannot share.

The very notion of life is a destructive farce that keeps us from it. It is a separation from life, hence the end of it, which has nothing to do with death because that is just another farce based on the false premise of life.

Ultimately, when you choose to take it, is it because it does not exist in the first place? Or further still, to defraud it, to confront it head on in order to challenge it, to eliminate it, to renounce the illusion, and perhaps even denounce it? Is there pride in this space? Even when you dismantle it, or when everything falls apart, a few random stone are always left standing.

Is it a passive or active task? Is the dismantling inevitable? Do we reach out for the stones and pull them out one by one? – With or without a purpose? – With how much awareness? – Or does it simply fall apart? If the foundation is unsound, it must inevitably crumble. That is logic, but must it be so? Must it be logical? And is the foundation only unsound if you dismantle it? A first stone must be removed.

I don’t know, man. If it’s unsound, it’s unsound. But who the fuck cares? If it holds up your illusion, then it stands. What’s the difference? That’s what keeps us from real consciousness.

Accepting instinct works only if we fail to consider that all animals use their set of particular characteristics to ensure their survival. They do not use tools, but exploit every advantage they own. If our consciousness does not work to this end, to ensure our survival – coexistence – then it is not consciousness at all. It is absent, nonexistent, yet another false illusion.

You cannot eschew the standing stones, the ruins, which being what’s left of your ethos, you quickly swallow so that when they take you for a witch and put you to the test of drowning, you sink swiftly to the bottom, proving your innocence, and your wisdom because there is no death to fear.

Or perhaps pride is the key. Perhaps our fragmentedness threatens our wholeness too much for us to bear. Why should we care?

The point is that we NEED to be a part of something anyway, so here it is. Here it has always been.

Ye of little faith, who have been confused by false idols! It’s not that we’ve become a part of a machine; it’s that we’re a part of the wrong machine. Why did we build it? Because we could? Yes, and one can also choose to end it. Why? Because she could.

In all the uncertainty, we gravitate toward certainty, but that certainty is a noun, not a verb. There is always a verb. There can be no sentence without a verb. It’s our very foundation – life. It IS the glue, nothing else. And we do not have it; it has us.