The 11th Docta

I am currently on the road to my Psychology major in Deree College. Behind me lies the waste of 5 years of Informatics studies in Larisa.
I love to discover the world ahead of me, trying to avoid stupidity. While open-minded I want to keep a safe base, even if that makes me slightly prejudiced. I hate the notion of the supernatural and God, though the mythology behind it tickles my human mind (that's why I play RPGs so often :P)
I strongly believe that you'll know me better if you pay attention to the quotes I put below. :D
Quotes from http://www.godlessgeeks.com/:
Christianity: The belief that a cosmic Jewish zombie who was his own father can make you live forever if you symbolically eat his flesh and telepathically tell him you accept him as your master, so he can remove an evil force from your soul that is present in humanity because a rib-woman was convinced by a talking snake to eat from a magical tree. — unknown
"Imagine a world in which generations of human beings come to believe that certain films were made by God or that specific software was coded by him. Imagine a future in which millions of our descendants murder each other over rival interpretations of Star Wars or Windows 98. Could anything -- anything -- be more ridiculous? And yet, this would be no more ridiculous than the world we are living in." — Sam Harris, The End of Faith
"Religion is the process of unconscious wish fulfillment, where, for certain people, if the process did not take place it would put them in self-danger of coming to mental harm, being unable to cope with the idea of a godless, purposeless life." — Sigmund Freud
A STORY
Knight rider in the jungle , unarmed
Riding , traveling with destination naught.
Wonder-er lost. Wonderlusted.
Atop her tower, princess laments
She spits the world, she mocks and hacks
and coughs a wind that spits and douses disease.
Her forlorn and haggard sword
as her only mirror and prism, to gaze critically upon
herself and others.
Blackened Knight hears her dirge in awe
Bewildered he beckons, bewitched, bearing in his biased brain "Beware!"
Boldly he enters her tower, invited
How can something so fair smell so acrid?
Her hair a loom of dreams.
Her gown made of brimstone, woven on silk and rose petals.
She served him rot and bile, on porcelain and crystal,
That breathless succubus unfurled her limbs to the starry-eyed dreamer with the gentle face.
Before the stab he said:
"I want to see you smile."
She kissed his eyelids:
"Best to keep things in a shallow end,
cause i never quite learned how to swim."
That was not true. He knew instantly.
She could swim. Her pain and suffering
emerging from memories of drowning assaulted him,
brought him to his knees.
He wanted to sit with her for days,
to listen to her whine and curses
to dance with her in trance
to sing and compose with her.
To lick her wounds and see her heal.
But he didn't realize he was not the hero.
She was the Arthur of her own England.
She was hard as stone, run-through by
a sword, a sword she could only pull free and allow the wound to heal.
All that was left for him was to move
to her shadow gallery. And become another suitor
waiting for that splendid sword to point him out of the crowd.
by A.D., a good friend of mine