A man who sees and cannot not see. Having had a normal childhood and adolescence the banality of life appeared, even in his dreams. He sees no way out, 
 "Living seems to me a metaphysical mistake on the part of matter, an oversight on the part of inaction." 
 However, he needs daily life-it is like a "mother" to nurture him after he has flown so high in the transcendent light of soaring poetry. Clearly he recognized that being here, in the no moment of existence, his future is his past already flown by and distorted from what it was - memory and its convoluted affirmations. From the natural order of earth he sees others protecting themselves from this fright by their participation in the banality of life's process: hopes, useless ambitions, false consolations. Life is simply using some measure of these false foils as a struggle to avoid seeing the fiery template of uselessness which surrounds them. The danger is at some point the weight of this protection will come crashing down on the frail soul. 
 Therefore keeping his self at safe distance, observing self observe, Pessoa may never be impinged upon, 
 "This denaturing of instincts is utterly instinctive in me." 
 He feels bad for not being able to feel. However there are times that he does not feel because it would not be truthful and sincere but doing the false that society expects of him! Even the writing of the book, its poetic prose and style is at times monotonous as a means of distancing, doubting, seeking confirmation within himself. A star was lost since this section might have had a sharper impact if cut shorter. These entries were found after his death and published. It is left up to us to consider whether Pessoa wanted this section to stand or be clipped. None of this subtracts from the grace of his transcendent poetic prose. 
 The book begins and continues, as Pessoa himself says, it is him minus reason and affect. Bernardo Soares, one of his seventy two heteronyms, lays out page after page of monotonous whiny voiced argument justifying his existence of isolation both from the world and himself. It disquiets forms of humanism, fulfillment, the sacristy of emotional content to life, relationships, learning, progress. He continues to prove a self obsessed narcissism. Until, the reluctance of a dawning where at the core, in its pure form and centering life's reach, to be the emancipation and freedom from life, self, any and all strictures. This is the goal-less goal. 
 His use of heteronyms, where each is the signed author of the piece and writes in their own singular style is an amazing accomplishment. It is not an act of sorcery or a playful trickery. I believe it is his only means of expressing in writing his passionate philosophical belief without committing the very faults his philosophy rails against. It is someone else doing the writing. The name Pessoa is nowhere to be found. The strangulation of circularity has been shifted. 
 Writing this in all its present moments including this one now passing I am aware of my strictures; my need to be liked, thought intelligent, be accepted, my philosophy, experiential history and its order of evolution, my prejudices and awe of this book in part conceived from its content and in part from its reputation precluding it and who sponsored such impressions. I will need to rewrite this review many times making additions, erasures, further clarifications. This need be considered only the first episode. 
 In the end Pessoa wrote a love poem to philosophic inquiry. It disbarred the adherence to any belief or system of beliefs, providing an emancipation, liberty. 
 Hated the book for its personal disruption. Loved the book for its personal disruption.