What A Blessed If Painful

What A Blessed If Painful Thing, This Business Of Being Alive.

I See God Now As An Unimaginative Writer Of Popular Fictions, Someone Who Builds Stories Around Sadistic And Graceless Plots, Narratives That Exist Only To Express His Terror Of A Woman's Power To Choose Who And How To Love, To Redefine Love As She Sees Fit, Not As God Thinks It Ought To Be. The Author Is Unworthy Of His Own Characters.

I Didn't Know The Inner Me Was Hungry," I Said To Art. "that's Because It Already Starved To Death.

Longhaired Preachers Come Out Every Night, Tryin' To Tell Us What's Wrong And What's Right. But When Asked About Something To Eat, They Will Tell You In Voices So Sweet. You Will Eat (you Will Eat!) By And By, (by And By!) In That Glorious Land In The Sky. (way Up High!) Work And Pray, Live On Hay, You'll Get Pie In The Sky When You Die. (that's A Lie!)

I Mean, When The World Comes For Your Children, With The Knives Out, It's Your Job To Stand In The Way.