The world doesn't fit my ideas.
But, ultimately, my ideas arose from the world because I arose from
the world and my ideas arose from me.
They're a part of it, and the world's not fitting them is also a
part of that world.
Without which it wouldn't be the world that it is. It'd be a
There'd be no problem if I didn't have ideas.
But my brain produces them because it's a brain.
I have ideas in the same way that a bird flaps its wings.
The world isn't meant to fit mine or anyone else's ideas.
It could never fit more than one person's ideas at any given
My ideas are always changing anyway.
There's a conflict.
This conflict makes life what it is.
Whatever it is that life is.