I Stumble Through A Carnival Of Horrors

I Don't Like Myself You Know. I Love Myself. I'm Devoted To Myself Till My Dying Day. But I Don't Like Myself.

The Atheism And Nihilism Of My Earlier Years Now Seems Shallow, And Even A Bit Cocky.

There Is One Purpose To Life And One Only: To Bear Witness To And Understand As Much As Possible Of The Complexity Of The World -- Its Beauty, Its Mysteries, Its Riddles. The More You Understand, The More You Look, The Greater Is Your Enjoyment Of Life And Your Sense Of Peace. That's All There Is To It. Everything Else Is Fun And Games. If An Activity Is Not Grounded In "to Love" Or "to Learn" It Does Not Have Value.

It's An Awful Truth That Suffering Can Deepen Us, Give A Greater Lustre To Our Colours, A Richer Resonance To Our Words. That Is, If It Doesn't Destroy Us, If It Doesn't Burn Away The Optimism And The Spirit, The Capacity For Visions, And The Respect For Simple Yet Indispensable Things.

Once I Returned To The Church And Began To See The Universe As A Place That Really Did Incorporate Redemption And Really Tried To Understand The Implications Of There Being A God, My Identification With The Vampires As Outcasts, As Outsiders And Lost Souls Began To Totally Wane. It No Longer Worked For Me. I Had Done It. It Had Led Me To This Point.