“Many of you may believe that I know or understand the things I say and write to you. This is only partly and strangely true.

Though there are exceptions, I generally discover them just as if someone else had secretly composed them with my own hands while I was not paying attention. I find them appearing inside me; thrown up like holy flotsam on the shores of my awareness as if by some stygian tide.

And thus, I am like you — fascinated, curious, filled with wonder and the desire to see. In some way, this desire inspires my future self to speak backward in time toward me, from places of momentary or deep insight.

I am often just as surprised as you are to discover what he writes — and far more concerned — for clearly, I must somehow become the living embodiment of these hints?”

— an anonymous informant