$\textbf{\huge{I}}$magine a gratuitous description here that would tell you nearly nothing of any significance about the Amateur, and certainly nothing at all about the articles and essays here; for example:

The writer was born in a particular place, under certain circumstances, and in a particular year. The writer lives in a place. The writer doesn’t keep a cat as a pet…[etc etc etc]

I have nothing against cats, as such, but (my lack of cats notwithstanding) I do have some persistent ideas about reality and, consequentially, some hopes and goals in mind when I start a project. Most of the time, a hope is exchanged for a resignation and a few goals multiply into many impossible tasks. Life is short and the days, shorter still.

You still with me?

Speaking of short days and deferred dreams, I’m suspicious about the existence of time (though, oddly, not space) and the persistence of morality, of language, and even of certain notions like justice or atheism. I get cranky about popular forms, turn popular propaganda inside out, and chip away at mindless repetitions with self-conscious futility. And then, there is the delicate matter of duty.

Let me say something about you now: You probably don’t want to be told what you think you know already. You want, rather, to read or hear (or do) something that is not just dumb repetition of what everyone else is writing or saying (or doing). That seems fair.

Now, assuming that’s actually true about you (with that in my mind almost constantly, that is) I’ll not waste my time just reposting all of the nonsense you could see anywhere else. I’ll dig deep to forestall my impulse to tell you what you think you know already.

It is unfortunate, isn’t it, that I am ever compelled to tell everyone precisely only those things they (think) know already (as it turns out); that I’m driven to say the obvious repeatedly until I’m absolutely sure that I know that you know that it was never obvious in the first place?