I Hated The Words. Each

There Is No God And That's His Only Commandment.

You Can't Blame Me. I Mean That Literally. You're Incapable Of Blaming Me. You're Human. Being Human Is Choosing Freedom Over Imprisonment, Autonomy Over Dependency, Liberty Over Servitude. You Can't Blame Me Because You Know (come On, Man, You've Always Known) That The Idea Of Spending Eternity With Nothing To Do Except Praise God Is Utterly Unappealing. You'd Be Catatonic After An Hour. Heaven's A Swiz Because To Get In You Have To Leave Yourself Outside. You Can't Blame Me Because -- Now Do Please Be Honest With Yourself For Once -- You'd Have Left, Too.

Every Now And Then Life Sold You An Illusion Of Design. A Coincidence, A Parallel, A Sledgehammer Symbol. The Goods Were Always Faulty. You Forked Over The Cash Only To Discover They'd Fallen Apart By The Time You Got Home. But Life Kept At It. Life Couldn't Help It. Life Was A Compulsive Salesman.

I Suppose The Word "unbearable" Is A Lie By Definition. Unless You Kill Yourself Immediately After Using It.

She Understood The Genre Constraints, The Decencies Were Supposed To Be Observing. The Morally Cosy Vision Allows The Embrace Of Monstrosity Only As A Reaction To Suffering Or As An Act Of Rage Against The Almighty. Vampire Interviewee Louis Is In Despair At His Brother’s Death When He Accepts Lestat’s Offer. Frankenstein’s Creature Is Driven To Violence By The Violence Done To Him. Even Lucifer’s Rebellion Emerges From The Agony Of Injured Price. The Message Is Clear: By All Means Become An Abomination—but Only While Unhinged By Grief Or Wrath.