In the name of all that's holy

So I was confirmed catholic and I used to believe in god. That and some other things and then I heard about science and the theory of evolution and dinosaurs and double helixes and LaMarkian discoveries and Gallileo and space and time and Hawking and then Orson Welles and Annaud's Quest for Fire and I played Revenge of Grog on Comodore 64 while reading B.C. comics and taking geology with Ms. Stamper and Adam Borenstein and a bunch of other geeks and also dissecting frogs and then holy shit, I realized that I was a fucking weirdo, particularly playing Zork and eating fruit rollups and being friendly with the dog, but, damn, there were some things going on out there beyond the "religious" chick who used to scold me for skipping CCD and smoking ciggies and I think it was at that time that I started doubting God. Well, I shouldn't have capitalized god. But in any case, I knew when my big brother would take us to McDonalds instead of church that it wasn't for me, the Vatican and all the verses and gospels and holy apostolic angels and saints and then I when I thought that things couldn'tget more confusing I went to the local drive-in theatre and I saw an opus, a cinematic revelation that enhanced my spiritually perturbed little boy's head and shit, do you know what I saw? A gateway, a new beginning, a really fresh way to understand that there is no understanding and, by damn, I was with you all the way. I was no poisonous snake. I was no great criminal mind. I was no parishioner. I was only Martin. Just another guy who heard only one voice, one voice that spoke in a way that made my whole being crumble to threads and shards of person. I heard him tell me to kneel. Kneel before him. I did it. I knelt. I saw him. He is what we all live for. He is meaning. He is the general. He is ZOD.