You are evil. A diseased missionary, you want the world to hear what you say, take your words as truth, all the while infecting it with what you are, with what you are really like. That is what is actually published – to the universe. Sorry. It is that simple. Flattering yourself with scientistic wonder that we – whoever that is – are star dust while your invisible life spreads everywhere its subtle slime. Nothing but you are at the centre and the periphery of the cosmic malignity. Will you at least have the decency to stop hiding the horror of yourself? (Behind critique, behind the object, behind hyperchaos, behind immanence, behind becoming, behind difference, behind the real, behind whatever.) Will you come out into the open?
Nicola Masciandaro, "Absolute Secrecy: On the Infinity of Individuation"