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Bridget cried for the leavers and the left. For the people, like herself, grimly forsaking what precious gifts they would ever get.
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I feel the monster of grief again, writhing in the empty space where my heart and stomach used to be. I gasp, pressing both palms to my chest. Now the monstrous thing has its claws around my throat, squeezing my airway. I twist and put my head between my knees, breathing until the strangled feeling leaves me.
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I never like things that don't look nice. It's really that simple.
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I obviously have a knack for getting on paper what a lot of people have thought and didn't realize they thought. And they say, 'Hey, yeah!' And they like that.
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People think God is a man. People think God has got ears, nose, teeth and he rises daily in the morning, brushes his teeth and washes his mouth. And he is an old man and he has a beard. All these things people think. But no, God is energy. God is perfect and pure energy.
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Threatened men live long.
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I admire people who just do the right thing, not looking to screw people up. I love all people.
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My loneliness was born when men praised my talkative faults and blamed my silent virtues.
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I allowed myself to think if I could be doing anything in the world, what would I be doing? And what came to mind is I'd be traveling a little bit, I'd be going to classes and I'd be going back to school.
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The underlying sense of form in my work has been the system of the Universe, or part thereof. For that is a rather large model to work from.
