![]() ![]() We just are, and what happens just happens. 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. They bring you your meals on a tray with a paper cup of meds. The angels here are the Old Testament kind, legions and lieutenants, a heavenly host who works in shifts, days, swing. People write to me in heaven and tell me I'm remembered. Everything in heave is quiet, rubber-soled shoes. And your one perfect moment won't last forever. With the police helicopters thundering towards us, and Marla and all the support group people who couldn't save themselves, with all of them trying to save me, I had to pull the trigger. Of course, when I pulled the trigger, I died. ![]()
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