God is not the voice in the whirlwind, God is the whirlwind.

For years I wanted to be older, and now I am.

In the end, we'll all become stories.

Keep an eye on the weather, which is changing faster than predicted, and on the new diseases escaping or being made, even as we speak. It's a race between new tech and biosphere bankruptcy, I'd say.

What am I living for and what am I dying for are the same question.

This afternoon held that special quality of mournful emptiness I've connected with late Sunday afternoons ever since childhood: the feeling of having nothing to do.

and each of his voices left his body in a different colored soul and floated up towards the sun still singing.