I don't know who I am. I don't know why the blue of the sky excites me, or why long windows make me sad. Even if there were reasons for such things, with what language could I sustain them? Imagine instead that all reason has gone out of the world; imagine that someone has simply flipped a switch. There is no reason to live in this way; there is no reason to live in any way. There is nothing we need to wait for; neither is there anything really to regret, since everything is different and uniformally the same. Imagine that the word “irreducible” has been banished, along with its meaning; imagine, therefore, that introspection continues to narrow without limit. However deep it goes, it only finds more of the same; it reaches the quintessence, and then it goes beyond, without discovery. It is against only this, perhaps, that the blue of the sky and the long windows stand out. They beg questions; they express something. At some level, they show a flicker of life, as if, somewhere, someone had intended them and wanted them to be this way.