My faith is whatever makes me feel good about being alive. If your religion doesn't make you feel good to be alive, what the hell is the point of it?

Hard times and funky living can season the soul, true enough, but joy is the yeast that makes it rise.

The odor of frying bacon, sausage links, and ham tiptoed on little pig feet all the way to the north end of the second floor. Inevitably, the odor made her simultaneously ravenous and nauseated. She hated the sensation. It reminded her of pregnancy. Every Sunday morning, Leigh-Cheri awoke to a pan of fried fear.

I have never ever Googled myself, in fact I think the Christian right prohibits such things.

Dreams don't come true. Dreams are true.

Meditation... dissolves the mind. It erases itself. Throws the ego out on its big brittle ass.

Humanity has advanced, when it has advanced, not because it has been sober, responsible, and cautious, but because it has been playful, rebellious, and immature.