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.