If you live, you are mine. If you think, your thoughts belong to me.

The application of reason is hopeless.

“Two things cannot!” She looked down at the table. “Bread and water cannot share the same space.”
“Yes they can. It’s called soggy bread.”
“Earth and air cannot share the same space.”
“Yes they can. It’s called a duststorm.”
She stepped closer to me. “Two people cannot share the same space.”
“That’s called sex,” I said.
“You are wrong. Water cannot be a part of bread. Earth cannot be a part of air. You cannot be a part of me.”
“I’ll prove it to you,” I said. I cupped the base of her skull in my hand and closed her hair in my fist.

He went straight to the microwave. He opened the door of the microwave and pulled out the cat and dropped it to the floor. He crushed the cat’s skull under his bootheel, ending the beast’s misery as quickly as possible. He hadn’t noticed yet that he had burned both of his hands when he had grabbed the cat. He was furious.

I'm not all here. I'm in little scattered pieces.

Acceptance of the Bundle Theory of Personhood eradicates any fear of death, for if death is occurring in every moment, then the final death is no change of state. Acceptance of the Bundle Theory of Personhood also eradicates any motivation to action, for if death is occurring in every moment, then what can ever be achieved?

What you term “success” is wholly the inducement of other people to give you things: to give you money, to give you love, to give you recognition. But what if other people do not exist?

You live in a world where you can’t see death coming, but it is coming.

If I had dreams, they would be of you.

No one cheers when the sun rises.

“Does he not care about other people because he doubts their existence, or does he doubt the existence of other people because he does not care about them?”

I am confident that I am producing works that will be read as long as there are consciousnesses, human or otherwise.

Suffering is ingenerate in human life; suffering is ingenerate in consciousness.

I do not feel loss for what I do not have, and I have nothing. Death is no cause for dole, because it is only the loss of time--potential time--time that does not belong to me now and is not and cannot be promised to me.

“No, no, I wouldn’t bother with that. If I liked you, I would simply seduce you.”
“Oh really? Just like that, huh? You think it would be so easy?”
“Well, if success were guaranteed, it wouldn’t be much fun, would it?” she said to me.

We do what we must to survive. But why? Why is survival so all-important? No, I do not have to do what I have little desire to do. I can just die.

The inquiry reveals as much about the inquirer as the response reveals about the respondent.

But so many years have burned away, and so many bad things have happened that never needed to happen, and the bad things will continue to happen.

I don’t believe in everlasting love, unless it can be known only as everlasting pain. I don’t believe in love, but I believe in women who believe in love.

Other humans might exist as conscious entities, or they might not. But the crux—the crippling, debilitating crux—is that I do not and cannot know whether other humans exist as conscious entities. They might, or they might not, but I—by dint of simply being conscious—exist in unresolvable uncertainty.

Skepticism is primary to all Western philosophy, Ancient and Modern: in Ancient times, beginning with the Greek Skeptics; in Modern times, beginning with Rene Descartes. Yet despite the fundamental nature of Skepticism to Western philosophy, the ideas and—especially—the implications of Skepticism remain alien to most humans, non-Westerners and Westerners alike.

But not to me. They strangle my mind. They are best represented by monsters.

I am unconvinced and inconvincible that other humans exist as conscious entities. That rather hampers interpersonal relations.

As technology makes perfectly simulated virtual universes a fact, the most vital human intellectual endeavor is inquiry into how a conscious mind can discern a physical universe.

The notion that one might be the only conscious mind in existence, known as the “Problem of Other Minds” in the Western philosophical tradition, known to Western psychology as “Solipsism Syndrome,” is abhorrently alien to any human who lives with other humans, as almost all humans do. Yet this same notion is so natural to any human in solitude that it is a primary concern of space agency research into how humans can live in vast, empty, extraterrestrial landscapes.

The Steppe is an exploration of the horror and glory of a human accepting that which is humanly unacceptable, yet logically undeniable.

I am here, wracked, my body rotting out from under me... All is pain...

"Do you believe in eternity?"
"No."
"Do you believe in death?"
"No."
"That's rather paradoxical."
"Isn't it, though?"

Have no fear of the solitude.

Fear the creatures.

There're always expectations. But never hopes. All is hopeless.

Whence to where?

The rats, the pigeons, the roaches, and the humans persist.

I grew up on a farm in North Dakota. By the time I was 16 years old, I had killed more wild animals than most humans will see in their lives.

The ukhaan exists now...horror and glory.

Nothing matters. To invest time and energy into anything is only to waste time and energy.

Philosophy is everything.
Physics is everything.
Chemistry is everything.
Biology is everything.
Mathematics is everything.
Engineering is everything.

Everything is marketing.

I do not eat, I do not sleep; I do not understand how it is that I continue to exist as I do.

I do not wonder that I am not loved. To be loved, one must love. To love is too high a price to pay to be loved.

July is the worst month. Everything happens in July.

You do not care about what I think. You care about what I can make you think.

There is something I must comprehend, and yet it is incomprehensible.

I contemplate existence and am horrified.

“Man is horrific enough to man; there is no need to invent horrors.”
“I do not invent horrors; I describe them.”

When we die, our memories are all we have. We make those memories now. But too many of our nows are exactly like other nows, and there is nothing memorable about them.

Whatever was, is not now.

Life is a death sentence.

Have you ever found yourself alive, and been surprised? That happens to me, every moment.

There is no and can be no “insanity.” The idea of “insanity” is that your reality differs from a consensus reality. But if you cannot be certain—and you cannot be certain—that a consensus reality exists, because you cannot be certain that other ukhaans exist, then the existence of your reality is of primary importance and whether your reality corresponds with any other reality that may or may not exist is of no importance. My reality is reality, and this is not an esoteric, obscure, off-the-wall idea; it is derived from humanity’s most basic philosophical ponderings, our first recorded inquiries into the nature of consciousness, our first questions of what it is to be alive.

The answer is that to be alive is to be alone.

To create art means that some people will love you, and some people will hate you. But just as the desire for love is no reason to create art, the fear of hate is no reason to not create art.

There is no construction nor destruction, no creation nor depletion; there is only existence.

The great darkness said: “I am the crush of all things.”
Baatar replied: “You cannot be, for I am the crush of all things.”

The night is waiting on you.

“The universe exists within my thoughts; within my thoughts is the only place the universe exits with certainty. I can create any thought: I can create anything in the universe. I can create entire universes. I am ‘God;’ I am the only god.”

Why do people live though they know they will die?

The most visited country in the world is France. French culture, lifestyle, food, etc. is so unique—so famously French. It is a curious example of cultural tourism in a developed, industrialized country. A friend of mine once pointed out that because tourism based on the uniqueness of the culture is the largest French industry, it can be argued that the job of every French person is simply to be French. The most valuable commodity that France produces is Frenchness.

Encouraging/disturbing possibilities exist.

Life is not keen; life is not kind; life is not warm; life is not gentle. Women are.

Live for action or live for comfort.

Action will bring comfort.

Faster than time flying

Give me a fast horse, and let me ride.

Ego makes a human great; suppression of ego makes humanity great.

I remember now that ideas are all that interest me.

How do you live with destiny?

I have defeated death. I have defeated it forever. I have defeated it because I am not dead right now. For this moment, I am alive. I will always have been alive in this moment.

A Canadian Abroad

“Where are you from?”
“Canada.”
“Oh. Where is that, is that in Europe?”
“No, it’s in North America.”
“Oh, you are American!”
“No, I’m Canadian!”
“Oh. So, that is a state, as Texas?”
“No, it’s a different country.”
“Different from America?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Then why are you not different from an American?”

I have to fight anomy daily, hourly, momentarily. Till now I realize: anomy is an identity. It is a purpose. It is a path to glory, and enlightenment, and happiness.

War will continue to be fought; the poor will continue to die in war, and the rich will continue to benefit from war.

I have become obsessed—God exists! God is love. Love is a pure abstraction; it must be believed in. It is an idea only, a fancy, it can exist only in the mind. But it does exist if it is believed in! It is divine. It is God.

I’ve been charting my life. I see it running into the far distance. There is love in it, and cruelty, and vast spans of ocean water. And horses, and stars, and loneliness.

Momentous things are happening in the world. If nothing else, I am living.

I am the wind. I’m leaving my work tonight and riding into the darkness.

I have fear of my own fearlessness.

Well, I survived. I never expected this, but here I am. I’m still alive.

I know that if your life has a purpose, it has nothing to do with me. And I know that if my life has a purpose, it has nothing to do with anyone.

“Europe” as a geological continent does not exist. There is a European peninsula, and it is culturally and ethnically distinct from the rest of humanity. The Europeans are the ones who eat all the potatoes.

In my young mind, Moscow was so far away. Now, can it be, I’ve already lived there?

There’s another world out there.
Another world to live in.
Another life.
It must be sought. It lies beyond comfort and electric light and canned humor and convenient love and machines and exercise and sofas and pretzels and home and family and smiles.

Ants will die and ants will be heroic and ants will continue to work. But they're still just ants. I want ants who do not just desire to be good ants, but who dare to be more than just ants. I want to find greatness.

Pleasure is for the weak and foolish.

You live with the knowledge of your own death. You are living in the face of annihilation.

So I’ve been thinking I should really get into heroin. Think about it: the most intense pleasure a human can ever experience. It’s actually rather depressing to think about. No matter whatever else one does, it could never bring as much pleasure – and pure, real, honest, sensual, unambiguous pleasure at that – as a hit of heroin. Sure, maybe you’ve had sex with the most highly trained and talented prostitutes in the world; okay, maybe you’ve piloted an advanced jet beyond the reaches of the earth’s atmosphere and into the nascent fringes of space; why not? maybe you’ve held your newborn son for the first time – but have you ever tried heroin? Nothing can compare. How could anything compare with every pleasure receptor in your brain orgasming at once?

I was telling all this to ------ a while ago and she started crying and begging me not to get into heroin, and made me promise that I wouldn’t.

But, see, I know that she only reacted that way because she loves me, and love is such a selfish thing. It’s not so much that she’s concerned for my welfare, but that she’s worried that if I were removed from her life that it would make her sad. And that’s lame. She just can’t find happiness in the fact that I could experience as much pleasure as is humanly possible, far more so than is ever attainable in humdrum day-to-day existence. The most difficult thing to procure in pursuit of one’s dreams is never the money nor the time, but the support of one’s loved ones. Sure, maybe I’ll pay a little for it, but wouldn’t *the most intense pleasure a human being can experience* be worth a little discomfort and pain? And besides, I don’t think that for a person like myself it is such a big sacrifice, since personally I’ve never been real big on showering and neurotically compulsive bowel control anyway. And could any human pain be less bearable than the crushing pain of daily mundanity?

To be anchored to no one thing in particular must then make you relevant to all, aye? So you do not define (confine?) yourself by years, geography, knowledge, wealth, prestige -- but you have only been able to do so now that you have more than enough of each, enough so that you can now decide how much or little is important. But where were you before you had control of assets sufficient to free you from their associated ambitions and influences?--were you as certain of the core of yourself then? And, the more important corollary: where will you be when you face the total loss of your confidence-endowing wealth and power, such as when death approaches--will your identity still be as firm within yourself? Can you say for certain whether the bolsters of your identity originate mainly from within yourself, or do they support you from the outside world from which you so wish to distinguish yourself?

If only time would heal, as it is reputed to do. But even as the years pass by, the wounded flesh still hangs in ragged strips from my bones, and my heart still refuses to beat.

To the sea, to the highway, to the wild, to the world, to life. I couldn’t say for what other reason I could have been on this train, on this night...

I desire. . .

to be forgotten! To deny my existence to the rest of this humanity; they are not worthy of me.

I never expected to be this old.

Shouting into the wind, “You cannot end me! Only I can end me!”

“Oh Juliana, Juliana, let down your long hair, that I may climb up and suffer your dandruff.”

Hypocrisy lets us know we're thinking in new directions.

I am king. I, you, all are king.

There exist phenomena within the universe that language is hard-pressed to describe.

Is it a greater feat to harness the godly energy within the mortal human and attack the world, or to consume the soul’s impetus and aspire to a quiet fate?

The event in itself is neutral. Significance can only be attributed to it by an observer.

Happiness is only one of many values that an individual might use to judge the quality or success of one’s own life. I think I have discovered that my top value is intensity.

Nothing means anything.

and the universe will end, everything will be gone

My soul is deep. And, further, it is deepening. As I continue to educate myself, in a direction of my individual design, I am making myself more unique from others. I am isolating from humanity.

The greatest glory of a human life can be an achievement, it can be a creation, it can be an ideal, and it can be an adventure.

Life is death.

Is matter really limited? Or time limitless?

You can conquer the world by denying it.

Do not classify me by what I think of this one idea. It is no more important than any of the other ideas thought up, and to be thought up, by man.

Onward.