It's Sunday morning and I want to be somewhere else, in another time. I suppose that's the impetus for most fiction writers. They all imagine other places and times to be theirs, and that they are just as comfortable, just as amenable to their own peculiarities - maybe more - than their current lives. Which idea is, of course, absurd; today is always the most comfortable time. The past is full of ignorance and cruelty - even just yesterday. I imagined going to the church next door, stoned out of my mind, so I might lapse into singing and praising Jesus as if I were one of them, which I once was, and it would be like 1983. Is that because I want to go back in time, or because I want to feel like part of a group? Do I really want an instant group of sorta-friends? They will love and support you, be your buddy, "go there" if necessary - unless you stop attending the church and toeing the line. This is not a condemnation of religion (not yet); they're no different th...
Believe half of what you see and none of what you hear.