There are too many books.
Write the architecture of persuasion. Create the beast or transform time. Sell the world an idea. All is internal. Look someone in the eye and have them commit to buying a machine. When a writer is driven to madness, he’s onto something. Clarity has no limit. I want to shit on 4,000 years of literature right now. Literature without purpose is garbage. Persuade the world.
Narratives evolve in time. Witness a thought as it crosses time. The world buys into collective narratives, fragments into bits and pieces. One witnesses a dream. One salvages language to relate. Starved into Eternity. Gut the insides of the beast. Let the essence bleed out. I want to break literature in half. I want to free the world of time. To freely travel in between worlds, it is the writer’s responsibility to illustrate Being.