We're the middle children of history...no purpose or place. We have no Great War, no Great Depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives.You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.On a large enough time line, the survival rate for everyone will drop to zero.This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.One minute was enough, he said, a person had to work hard for it, but a minute of perfection was worth the effort. A moment was the most you could ever expect from perfection.May I never be complete. May I never be content. May I never be perfect. Deliver me from being perfect and complete.Maybe self-improvement isn't the answer...Maybe self-destruction is the answer.The things you own end up owning you. "It's only after you've lost everything," he says, "that you're free to do anything."I wanted to burn the Louvre. I'd do the Elgin Marbles with a sledgehammer and wipe my ass with the Mona Lisa. This is my world, now. This is my world, my world, and those ancient people are dead.I've met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, "Why?" Why did I cause so much pain? Didn't I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness? Can't I see how we're all manifestations of love? I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God's got this all wrong. We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens. And God says, "No, that's not right."
Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can't teach God anything.
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