He knew not what it meant.  He only remembered back to the journal.  The words on the knife.  The answers under his palms.  His journal said that he grew untrustworthy of the terminal, as evidenced by his less detailed and cryptic journal entries.  The chair existing in physical space was his way of reminding him of truth.  Admittedly, it was rather stupid to make notes for himself in deliberately difficult ways of understanding, especially considering the gravity of the situation.  After shrugging off that bizarre realization, he turned to check under the other armrest.  He felt more engravings.

     Angelus

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