Siento en silencio durante su conversación. Ustedes no saben pero te comprendo. He estudiado el español por una decada, pero ustedes me miran y asumen que es seguro para hablar. Sé que quieres chingar todas las mujeres en el programa. Sé que soy una en una lista muy larga. Pero tú no sabes. Como me gusta.

I sit in silence during your conversation. You dont know, but I understand. I've studied Spanish for a decade, but you looked at me and assumed it was safe to talk. I know that you want to fuck all of the girls in the program. I know that I'm one on a very long list. But you don't know. How I like it.

The ugly sound of life tasted bitter sweet in my ears

And with every tap of foot, every breath, the villanous earth gave me a cool head ache

The scent of its whispers skipped in my ears

The black and gray of the voices tell me secrets,

Yellows and pinks fade away from the sounds, and all thats left is the hue of ringing

If God wrote the bible,

His words would be carved into the mountain sides with his lightning.

If Jesus wrote the gospels,

His words would be drawn into the deserts of demons that he conquered.

If Mohammad wrote the Qu'ran,

His messages would be scraped into the cave walls that he sat in for days on end alone, so that he could hear what the angels were saying to him.

No book was ever meant to be written, for true believers never needed a book to turn to for solitude. They believed in themselves, their world and their God - with nothing but their hands pressed together as they bowed thier heads to the sky.

Now we don't kneel to the sky, we kneel to priests and the altar.

Now we don't turn to God, we turn to the bible, a book written by mourning men of their fallen teacher as they aged away, trying to remember all the life they wished they could live again.

These books we cherish and worship were writen by humans just like us, edited by humans just like us, with help not from God but from sinners like us.

Now, tell me again, what do you believe in?