He Was Sick With Lust And Mesmerized

As Always Occurred When He Quarreled Over Principles In Which He Believed Passionately, He Would End Up Gasping Furiously For Air And Blinking Back Bitter Tears Of Conviction. There Were Many Principles In Which Clevinger Believed Passionately. He Was Crazy.

I've Come To Look Upon Death The Same Way I Look Upon Root-canal Work. Everyone Else Seems To Get Through It All Right, So It Couldn't Be Too Difficult For Me.

Someone Had To Do Something Sometime. Every Victim Was A Culprit, Every Culprit A Victim, And Somebody Had To Stand Up Sometime To Try To Break The Lousy Chain Of Inherited Habit That Was Imperiling Them All.

It Is The Anonymous "they," The Enigmatic "they" Who Are In Charge. Who Is "they"? I Don't Know. Nobody Knows. Not Even "they" Themselves.

But The God I Don't Believe In Is A Good God, A Just God, A Merciful God. He's Not The Mean And Stupid God You Make Him Out To Be.