Most people regard getting their way as a matter of simple justice.
All anger feels like righteous anger; sorrow does not care whether it is righteous or not.
Thought maps existence; fantasy colors it.
Reclusive? The inner city will secure your privacy better than any desert cave.
Deconstruction: peering suspiciously at the text, I wait for it to make a slip and betray itself.
Habit keeps my life going, with occasional pushes from desire.