All I truly care about is the truth, that is, the absence of all pretensions and ulterior motives, and yet I spend most of my days worrying about purely formal matters concerning my fragmented thought and my abbreviated writing. I am practically obsessed by the notion that I must secure—at each and every point in time—some kind of refuge for everything I have ever written, while simultaneously pursuing no discernible design or purpose that could possibly motivate and thus contaminate such a unifying project. An admittedly impossible dream, but still a dream that will not abandon me. It appears that I believe that the truth, whatever the truth may be substantively, is a byproduct of a method concerned solely with the avoidance of every conceivable method of seeking after the truth. For each method betrays it but the one of which I am completely innocent. Yes, this appears to be my belief. In short, I trust no one. Not even myself.

Addendum (September 18, 2017)

Ah, what a joy it is to come across this piece on one of my uncharted journeys through my writings! Amazingly, it still feels fresh, as though it was penned but a short while ago. The more I have learned about myself, and I have learned a great deal over the intervening thirty-five years, the less I have trusted my own self. Which is why I rejoice in my method of avoiding every conceivable method to this day. Amazingly, I stuck with it through so many years, as well as through thick and thin. In the end, the truth found me, as it were. I expected my liberation well in advance, and yet it came entirely by surprise early last year. Predictably, it made sense to me only in retrospect. Avoiding every conceivable method of seeking after the truth turned out to be the only method worthy of pursuing till the end. Returning to the question from the title of this piece, I have spared the world from my meddling. To put it even more bluntly, I have done nothing to it. Not a thing! Liberation in a nutshell.