Get Too Conceptual, Too Cute And Remote,

There Is No Real Direction Here, Neither Lines Of Power Nor Cooperation. Decisions Are Never Really Made – At Best They Manage To Emerge, From A Chaos Of Peeves, Whims, Hallucinations And All Around Assholery.

The Lord's Angel, Gebrail, Dictated The Koran To Mohammed The Lord's Prophet. What A Joke If All That Holy Book Were Only Twenty-three Years Of Listening To The Desert. A Desert Which Has No Voice.

If The World Offered Nothing, Nowhere To Support Or Make Bearable Whatever Her Private Grief Was, Then It Is That World, And Not She, That Is At Fault.

Losing Faith Is A Complicated Business And Takes Time. There Are No Epiphanies, No "moments Of Truth." It Takes Much Thought And Concentration In The Later Phases, Which Thenselves Come About Through An Accumulation Of Small Accidents: Examples Of General Injustice, Misfortune Falling Upon The Godly, Prayers Of One's Own Unanswered.

What’s This? What Are The Antagonists Doing Here – Infiltrating Their Own Audience? Well, They’re Not Really. It’s Somebody Else’s Audience At The Moment, And These Nightly Spectacles Are An Appreciable Part Of The Darkside Hours Of Life Of The Rocket Capital. The Chances For Any Paradox Here, Really, Are Less Than You Think.