I'm big into war, and I am a whore.
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To forget yourself is to see everything else. "God," Adolf Hitler, aliens, art, astrology, Bell's theorem, club kids, commercialism, drug culture and history, English and grammar, evolution, forensic science, gender roles, gore, graphic design, journalism, law, life vs. death, marketing, music, nature, photography, quantum mechanics vs. existentialism, reality vs. time, religion, sadomasochism, Scientology, souls, suicide, survivalism, technology...
When it was over, all I could think about was how this entire notion of oneself, what we are, is just this logical structure, a place to momentarily house all the abstractions. It was a time to become conscious, to give form and coherence to the mystery, and I had been a part of that. It was a gift. Life was raging all around me and every moment was magical. I loved all the people, dealing with all the contradictory impulses - that's what I loved the most, connecting with the people. Looking back, that's all that really mattered.
I saw the days of the year stretching ahead like a series of bright, white boxes, and separating one box from another was sleep, like a black shade. Only for me, the long perspective of shades that set off one box from the next day had suddenly snapped up, and I could see day after day after day glaring ahead of me like a white, broad, infinitely desolate avenue.