Behind Every Glorious Facade There Is Always

Mathematics Never Reveals Man To The Degree, Never Expresses Him In The Way, That Any Other Field Of Human Endeavour Does: The Extent Of The Negation Of Man's Corporeal Self That Mathematics Achieves Cannot Be Compared With Anything. Whoever Is Interested In This Subject I Refer To My Articles. Here I Will Say Only That The World Injected Its Patterns Into Human Language At The Very Inception Of That Language; Mathematics Sleeps In Every Utterance, And Can Only Be Discovered, Never Invented.

Practically All Sf Is Trash.

Nothing, My Dear And Clever Colleague, Is Not Your Run-of-the-mill Nothing, The Result Of Idleness And Inactivity, But Dynamic, Aggressive Nothingness, That Is To Say, Perfect, Unique, Ubiquitous, In Other Words Nonexistence, Ultimate And Supreme.

Every Stink That Fights The Ventilator Thinks It Is Don Quixote.

I Felt Myself Being Invaded Through And Through, I Crumbled, Disintegrated, And Only Emptiness Remained.