the thought of the very opening sentence of this work , my masterpiece , my lifes creation , which you have just begun to read , being ripped away from the body of the work and spread-eagled on the black volcanic stone in a manner that is every bit like a goofy sacrificial victim , pinned down and then scraped and ripped and torn to teeny shreds by the pulverizing effect of a manifest mano amuses me almost as much as writing that just now did , as i contemplated tearing apart my art , before you ever experienced it , because i can sit back and watch in a crazy house mirror , writing devouring writing , devouring writing , just like a snake swallowing its own tail , or the process in which the egg proceeds the chicken , which engenders the egg , which pre-dates the chicken chapter 4 a trick of my brother did hide some unwanted papers once , only temporarily .