First, a history: I was writing my thoughts in a book. I got a typewriter and typing things in a book became impossible. I began typing on 4x6 notecards. I ran out of ribbon in my typewriter. I wrote on the 4x6 notecards. I bought a new ribbon and new notecards. Now again I am typing on notecards.

What have I been typing? Thoughts, impressions maybe, a log of changes to my mental state. I waited long enough and I began recording them in the same way. If I wait longer the ribbon will run out again and I’ll write again, on notecards or in my book. The same thoughts in different bodies.

That’s what it means, “Every thing changes or everything stays the same.” It might as well be “and.” Local differences add up to global identities. It’s a hoop, right? And we keep going around and we think it’s flat but it’s round like the Earth.

Paul pushed his chair away from the Writing Desk and stared at the notecard. He stood up, knocked his head on the lightbulb, swore. He pulled the notecard from his typewriter and crumpled it up with his left hand. With his right hand he reached in his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. He put one in his mouth, threw the paper in the corner, grabbed his axe, went out into the woods.