Some days I cannot discern the difference between the paper I am writing upon from the pen.
The reactive compulsions that animate the autonomic. Some use the word entanglement in place of opinion that are in reality suspicions disguised as valuations. I see myself perched between a death to the world as it is inhabited and a introspection that seeks invisibility in a strange transit toward an unknown continent. There is no trail of popcorn left behind to return to being enmeshed in consensus and yet there is nothing empirical to replace the right angles of consensus with and in this, perhaps there is hope. Perhaps I am in training to become an amnesiac by choice. There is no misplaced nostalgia in loss, rather it is a welcoming acknowledgement that precludes the cement of my personality as a player piano within a refuse pile. The Buddhists see our knowledge as "crazy knowledge" Self forensics is a deconstructionism without anticipations as this process lacks a substitution of acceptable parameters that mimic the semi hypnotic state of engagement.
Where does this lead? Your guess is as good as mine.
His conclusion was there is no conclusion and yet he was unaware of any methodology from a technical point of view that would produce it. If we utilize the concept of purpose as we understand it, what is it's purpose? More importantly, does it require one in relation to us? Do we have a coherent definition of purpose? One question leads to another in deconstruction.
We cannot envision consciousness without a center.
Perhaps evolution is more art than a hard science as we define it. The modality of imagination as the axis of possibilities seeking expression.