Music Is Just A Word For Something

In A Head-on Collision With Fanatics, The Real Problem Is Always The Same: How Can We Possibly Behave Decently Toward People So Arrogantly Ignorant That They Believe, First, That They Possess Christ's Power To Bestow Salvation, Second, That Forcing Us To Memorize And Regurgitate A Few Of Their Favorite Bible Phrases And Attend Their Church Is That Salvation, And Third, That Any Discomfort, Frustration, Anger Or Disagreement We Express In The Face Of Their Moronic Barrages Is Due Not To Their Astounding Effrontery But To Our Sinfulness?

At Last The Cold Crept Up My Spine; At Last It Filled Me From Foot To Head; At Last I Grew So Chill And Desolate That All Thought And Pain And Awareness Came To A Standstill. I Wasn't Miserable Anymore: I Wasn't Anything At All. I Was A Nothing-- A Random Configuration Of Molecules. If My Heart Still Beat I Didn't Know It. I Was Aware Of One Thing Only; Next To The Gaping Fact Called Death, All I Knew Was Nothing, All I Did Meant Nothing, All I Felt Conveyed Nothing. This Was No Passing Thought. It Was A Gnawing, Palpable Emptiness More Real Than The Cold.

I Started Having Doubts Right On Top Of My Certainty.

Fiction Writing Feels More Honest To Me.

The Environment, What Surrounds You, Is So Alive And Delightful And Complex.