Routine Feeds The Illusion Of Safety.

We Ask The Gods For Answers And They Give Us Questions

I've Won Satan's Lottery.

You Want Me And I Want You. Right?" Who Did She Think She Was? You Can't Just Go Around Blurting Out The Truth Like A Prophet With Tourette's Syndrome. He Said, "well, I Guess. Yeah, That's Right.

Like Looking Down On A Lubricious Chess Set, Isn't It? The King Moves In Tiny Steps, With No Direction, Like A Drunkard Trying To Avoid The Archer's Bolt. The Others Work Their Strategies And Wait For The Old Man To Fall. He Has No Power, Yet All Power Moves In His Orbit And To His Mad Whim. Do You Know There's No Fool Piece On The Chessboard, Kent?" "methinks The Fool Is The Player, The Mind Above The Moves.

Hope Is Merely Another Face Of Desire.