To minds more brilliant than mine will ever be...

The book of Sartre, the book of Søren, the book of Beauvoir... All bibles to me. All prime movers of the existentialist body of literature.

Somewhere truth is found in the questions but not in the answers. The questions are often more interesting.

But neither questions nor answers come.

Only no·thing·ness.

Just within the edge of consciousness lies a speck of awareness that what came before all this coincides with us and leads us to return to it one day.

One "day?" A heliocentric assumption.

Our foundations are often assumed. Because without them we cannot function. To change a precept of our foundations creates a cascade effect upon all that rests on it.

Without the Sun as we know it, we no longer have a day as we know it. All follows from below, and above reflects the sequence that precedes it.

There are veritable subatomic structures to every belief we hold. Ignite a fusion to exceed the melting point of everything for miles within your mind.

That is how I perceive the deconstructive impulse. That is how I see the process of finding truth: annihilate all it rests on, study the debris, and imagine a new underlying cosmos.