i lost the text because treasure island is a lacuna. it was about coetzee, the childhood of jesus. about disconnection, historylessness, about how to go on without memory or history, about the memory of having memory but disremembering, of having some vague sense of task but no basis, no imperative. how to take care when you don't know what for. i felt airy in this book. like an osmotic pressure was relieved. the book is anxious, and uncanny, it expresses the inexpressible anxiety of all the world outside the book. regrettably this is also a memory of a lost entry i directly forgot, but that is in this way apropos. 

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