I wait for wisdom and the moment when my life is revealed to have ballast, and in the waiting I´m left believing, fifty-one days out of a hundred, that God exists – or at least that life exists on the level of mystery – but also just suspicious enough, just faithless enough that, in my suspicion and faithlessness, I´m bound to proceed through the remaining forty-nine on the awful, nearly unspeakable assumpting that there is no mystery at all, only molecules.
Steve Erickson: Amnesiascope