Father owes you no answers, yet he is bountiful and giving if you free yourself to his will. Father is always right. Father guides us. Father's care has swept over me like a cool breeze which chilled the fever in my bones. I saw suddenly the great emptiness of film criticism, of directing these paltry short video projects which ultimately meant nothing.
Art is a tool of deception, meant to corrupt.
I shun that world. I puke that microscopic universe away forever, for it is a mere pinpoint in the realm of the psyche. I have come to the Way through the well and have drunk till I was Full. I'm not hungry anymore, and I hate the people I live with. But inside that hate remains a cleansing love, a scouring and a cornucopia of bliss like joyous apples and buttercups and daisies.