And oh goodness I’ve been angry. I’ve even wished some people dead. Some people (ahem) get COVID and I think “Yes! God has struck them down with the plague! This is righteous and justified.” So maybe I can check murder off that heathen to-do list.
And I wind experiences around myself and cover myself with pleasures and glory like bandages in order to make myself perceptible to myself and to the world, as if I were an invisible body that could only become visible when something visible covered its surface. But there is no substance under the things with which I am clothed. I am hollow, and my structure of pleasures and ambitions has no foundation. I am objectified in them.