"This is your life, are you who you want to be?" "Maybe we've been living with our eyes half open, maybe we're bent and broken" "Try me, i'll make you famous" (undertaker thing) "Now that i'm back, you better watch yours" "Sometimes, dead is better" (Pet Sematary, for u stephen king fans)
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.
They say idiots come in all shapes and sizes. As soon as you think you've figured out how to spot one, boom, another exception looms on the horizon. ~Dahl
“Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves. Here’s Tom with the weather." -Bill Hicks
