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When it comes to art, what is the artist but a mere vessel, an empty chamber which passively receives all the many shouts of the world and magnifies them, combining them into a single echo, a convolution of existing thoughts that only seems original in its unique combination?
Einstein’s theory of relativity was incomplete. Time dilation didn’t just occur at relativistic velocities, but in moments of extreme fear and anxiety. And in these cases the effect was much stronger, more prevalent.
As a writer, my characters influence me. Is it like that with God in relation to man?1
“I want you to lie to me,” he said brusquely, reaching to undo her bra straps. “I want you to tell me you love me.”
“Why, baby?” Her lips brushed against his ear. Her tongue gently probed its surface, exploring uncharted terrain that it would never see again.
“Just do it,” he said. Unseen tears dotted the corners around his eyes. “Say you love me. Lie like you mean it.”
Footnotes
1. I sometimes think of God as if he were a writer and we were the characters in an unfinished novel.
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