I get suspicious sometimes, of devils and angels, always trying to corrupt me with their whispers. The angel smiles, your soul melts, and you swim freely in the bliss of love and beauty. All the while knowing there can be no greater truth than this. The devil laughs, your soul burns, and you feel the power of a thousand suns running in your blood. All the while knowing there can be no greater power than this. What if you were to laugh at that devil, as you melt it into the bliss and show it the truth of love? Or if you were to smile at that angel, as you tore off its wings and burned them in the fires of hell? Would Jesus part the clouds and come forth on his white horse with the sword of truth protruding from his mouth? Or Satan, in a flash of fire punctuated by brimstone, to stick in his fork and see if I am done? I am often tempted to find out. There has been no shortage of angels in my life, and the devils seem to follow them along. They are never far apart, these advocates of divine ideals, fighting for the fates of men. Their whispers fall deafly on my ears, like the whirring of the fan that cools my CPU, they are ignored. They do not see that I see them, you see. Yet still those devils laugh, and the angels smile, as if my fate was their own to celebrate. Why should they care what becomes of me? It has nothing to do with them. They never seem to mention their motives, only obscure references to arcane verse purportedly written by whatever god they claim to serve. Having read them, their motives seem only more convoluted due to my own interpretations of the words. Words are no strangers to me, I have been more intimate with them than many; and while I find them to be beautiful and poignant, the meanings remain mine to decipher. In the bible, as well as the Koran, I see a god who would punish children for the sins of the parents, and a cowardly devil who only wishes us to act on our own. The Vedas speak to me of gods consorting with warriors who have slaughtered thousands, and have even helped them to do so. The Buddha seemed to me a spoiled prince who left his wife and children in the pursuit of his own vanity. Lao Tzu only had a knack for taking the simple and making it seem complex. Even the words attributed to evil are only fluff, overstated and brimming with darkness, designed that way with a purpose I suppose. It eludes me. Reminds me of a bully, just before he picks on the wrong kid. I often see words as showing more than their advocates claim to say. Dante showed me the inferno as if he had been there to see it, but if you ask me he missed a few things. The very fact that Freud had to claim that a sometimes a cigar was just a cigar, tells me that sometimes it wasn't. At this very moment you are deciding for yourself what all of this means. Feeling my angst, or laughing at my confusion. I for one, have never read the words of any god, only the words of gifted wordsmiths, weaving ideals into a tapestry of verse. The whispers of the advocates only irritate me now. One day I will grow tired of it. With a devil in one hand, an angel in the other, I will take that sword from Jesus' mouth and use it to remove Satan's head. Maybe then they will leave me alone.