Dear God

Dear God,

First of all, I want to apologize for writing "Christ Fuck," which
this is taking the place of. As you must know, I hardly ever take down
my literature; I believe that even my weakest thoughts need to be
preserved for mankind. But maybe there's just a little arrogance
involved with this. I'm not interested in false humility. I've read a
lot of books and heard a lot of ideas. I've taken those which seemed
the most sound, made them my own, and adapted them to fit what I've
seen of th world. And though this society doesn't give me much credit,
I feel that as an intellectual, I'm ahead of my time.
But lately, I've had this wonderful feeling of starting to really
believe in you, in a benevolent force far beyond human comprehension.
And lately, you've blessed me with such good luck that I can hardly
ascribe it to chance. And I thank you for helping me to resolve to get
clean and to hold with it for two days now.
But... you know what I have to say. Why was I born to this miserable
existence? For all the happy days, the artistic voyages and the small
pleasures, my life has not been a happy one. I am persecuted by
society; they won't accept me the way you made me. If some small part
of this is due to my arrogance, most of it is due to things I can't
control: my lack of social intelligence, my lack of coordination, and
even my creative impulse. My childhood was persecuted by bullies and
secluded in pariahism. Now, after all the drugs and dissapointments,
even my happiest days, like today, are haunted by anxiety. Why
Lord?
But, Lord, whatever form you take, you've created me and I am your
servant. I will try to be a better servant. Oh Lord, I will attend to
my duties better. I won't distort the mind you gave me. I will treat my
fellow creatures better. Give me the discipline to follow through with
this. And, Lord, please give me happiness; my cup overfloweth with
suffering.