Let’s get this straight, world. I don’t write for you.
I don’t write for myself, maybe not for anyone alive right now. We’re already dead.
I write for our grandchildren, that they may have something to believe, something that might help them find the way.
We must leave them ideas that haven’t been idolized and dissected and pulled to pieces and rendered obsolete by the mechanisms of culture and its clunky thought machines.
I don’t give a fuck if you read this book. I only care that it exists and survives in some form, even if it must one day be dug from the ground where it was buried.
I am planting the seed for a tree whose fruit I will never taste.
Noesta Aqui 
Hope I’m exempted from the preemptive strike. I read the Pez and liked it!🤓
Sent from Tom
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Don’t worry, Tom, all individuals are exempted at will 🙂 I was speaking more to the world’s groupthink that decides what’s important enough for us to know and facilitates our exposure to it, leaving the rest to fight among themselves for even a longshot at being heard. Any writer who isn’t formulaic or writing to a very specific market has to grapple with finding the detachment to proceed fearlessly without worry about finding immediate success. Lately I’ve chosen to do that by realizing that my message might not even be meant for people of the present day (other than a small niche of forward thinkers like yourself), and that’s often just the way it works. I remind myself often that almost no one read Moby Dick during Melville’s lifetime.
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