“A lot of people don’t realize what’s really going on. They view life as a bunch of, unconnected incidents and things. They don’t realize that there’s this, like, lattice of coincidence that lays on top of everything. I’ll give you an example, show you what I mean. Suppose you’re thinking about a plate of shrimp. Suddenly somebody’ll say, like, “plate” or “shrimp” or “plate of shrimp,” out of the blue, no explanation. No point in lookin’ for one, either. It’s all part of the cosmic unconsciousness.”
— Miller’s take on the cosmic unconsciousness in Repo Man
How else can one write but of those things which one doesn’t know, or knows badly? It is precisely there that we imagine having something to say. We write only at the frontiers of our knowledge, at the border which separates our knowledge from our ignorance and transforms the one into the other.
If you descend on a city using a parachute, land on a roof, enter the building through a door on that roof, go into a room, open another door to a closet, enter it, and find that there is no floor in the closet and you are suddenly once again falling in the vast sky toward the city, you are in a strange loop. The same notion can perhaps be applied to mental phenomena, when thoughts within thoughts lead to the original thoughts. Perhaps that process has something to do with self-awareness—and what it is to be a person.