When I was little, I lived in an apartment on the outskirts of the city. There was a playground, and behind it — a fence. Behind the fence — another fence. And between them — old military equipment, covered in rust and oblivion.

Philosophy doesn't come from books. It comes from the reality you see every day. From the space between fences. From how light falls on concrete in the morning. From a cat sitting on a slab, looking directly at truth — and yawning.

In the 90s, everything changed. The fences remained, but the world beyond them became different. We searched for meaning where there was none. And found it where we weren't looking.

To sit beside emptiness and collect its edges. That is the method.