So Few In Reality Are The True

I Possess No Weapon But Love. With That I Have Come To Do Battle. Help Me!

I Hate All Virtues Based On Food And Bloated Bellies; Though Food And Drink Are Good, I'm Better Slaked And Fed By That Inhuman Flame Which Burns In Our Black Bowels. I Like To Name That Flame Which Burns Within Me God!

The Truth Is That We All Are One, That All Of Us Together Create God, That God Is Not Man's Ancestor, But His Descendant.

Life Is Trouble. Only Death Is Not. To Be Alive Is To Undo Your Belt And *look* For Trouble.

The Human Soul Is Heavy, Clumsy, Held In The Mud Of The Flesh. Its Perceptions Are Still Coarse And Brutish. It Can Divine Nothing Clearly, Nothing With Certainty.