My Mother Didn't Try To Stab My

I Still Don't Like The Word Agnostic. It's Too Fancy. I'm Simply Not A Believer. But, As Simple As This Notion Is, It Confuses Some People. Someone Wrote A Wikipedia Entry About Me, Identifying Me As An Atheist Because I'd Said In A Book I Wrote That I Wasn't A Believer. I Guess In A World Uncomfortable With Uncertainty, An Unbeliever Must Be An Atheist, And Possibly An Infidel. This Gets Us Back To That Most Pressing Of Human Questions: Why Do People Worry So Much About Other People's Holding Beliefs Other Than Their Own?

I'm An Angry Person, Angrier Than Most People Would Imagine, I Get Flashes Of Anger. What Works For Me Is Working Out When It's Useful To Use That Anger.

Listening Is Being Able To Be Changed By The Other Person.

Artists Try To Say Things That Can't Be Said. In A Fragile Net Of Words, Gestures, Or Colors, We Hope To Capture A Feeling; A Taste; A Painful Longing. But The Net Is Always Too Porous, And We Are Left With The Sweet Frustration Of Almost Knowing, Which Is Teasingly Pleasurable.

It's Too Bad I'm Not As Wonderful A Person As People Say I Am, Because The World Could Use A Few People Like That.