Of Course I Want To Be Good,

Posterity--the Forlorn Child Of Nineteenth Century Optimism--grows Ever Harder To Conceive.

The Power Of The Past Does Not Depend On Our Knowledge Of It.

A Dense Undergrowth Of Extension Cords Sustains My Upper World Of Lights, Music, And Machines Of Comfort.

Unlike The Ambiguity Of Life, The Ambiguity Of Language Does Reach A Limit.

Suspicion Is The Beginning Of Wisdom, And Of Madness.