Neon Gods Quotes

You’ve ruined me, Persephone. Forgive the fuck out of me if I want to return the favor.

If we were different people in different circumstances, I would get down on my knees and beg you to stay at the end of the winter. I would move heaven and earth and the Underworld itself to keep you with me.

For someone so determined to be labeled a monster, he’s incredibly invested in my pleasure and consent.

You’re beautiful to me. The scars are part of that, part of you. They’re a mark of everything you’ve survived, of how strong you are. That fucker tried to kill you as a child and you survived him. You’re going to beat him, Hades. You will.

Take what’s yours, Hades. I want you to.” “You aren’t a princess. You’re a fucking siren.

Power is as much about perception as it is about the resources one has at their disposal.

There are new gods growing in America, clinging to growing knots of belief: gods of credit card and freeway, of Internet and telephone, of radio and hospital and television, gods of plastic and of beeper and of neon. Proud gods, fat and foolish creatures, puffed up with their own newness and importance. "They are aware of us, they fear us, and they hate us," said Odin. "You are fooling yourselves if you believe otherwise.

We didn’t choose this life. We’re just trying to survive it.

Zeus is notorious for not wanting what he considers tarnished goods. I take a deep breath. So…Tarnish me.

I’m going to have you, little siren. In every position, in every way.

If you bleed all over my floors trying to escape, I'll be forced to track you down and haul you back here to clean them." I blink. It's so close to what I was thinking that it's almost eerie. "You are the strangest man I've ever met." Now it's his turn to give me a wary look. "What?" "Exactly. What? What kind of threat is that? You're worried about your floors?" "They're nice floors.

Consent because you have no other options isn't consent.

Only you could manage to run away and fall into bed with a sexy man determined to do anything to protect you. You’re truly gods-blessed, Persephone.

I love you," Amir told her. Samirah stumbled backwards like she'd been hit in the face with a giant eagle egg. Alex propped her up. "I ... yes," Sam squeaked. "Also. Too." Amir nodded. He turned and got into his car. A moment later, his tail-lights disappeared down Flagship Way. Samirah smacked her own forehead. "Also? Too? I am such an idiot." Alex patted her arm. "I thought you were quite eloquent. Come on sister. Your neon-yellow warship awaits.

God’s in His heaven— All’s right with the world!

I’m rapidly reaching the point where I’d cut my chest open and dig my heart out just so I can present it to her. What the fuck is wrong with me? She’s leaving. She was always leaving. I never thought she’d take my beaten-up heart with her when she walked away.

My whole body goes heavy as the truth settles in my bones. I love this woman. I have to steel myself to keep from doing exactly what I said, from dropping to my knees and begging her to stay.

I can barely believe that she’s mine. That she’s made me hers as surely as if she’d tattooed her name on my very soul.

We’re buying three dogs.” He pushes easily to his feet, the pup still cradled in his arms. “You should know by now that I can’t say no to you, Persephone. You turn those big hazel eyes on me, and I’m putty in your hands.

I am really excellent at submission. I’m equally excellent at communicating what I want when I want it. It’s called being adaptable.

I simply go to my knees before her. Her eyes go wide. “Hades, what are you doing?” For a moment, I can only stare up at her. Her dress spills over her legs and down to the floor, the dark throne behind her and careful lighting giving her blond hair a halo effect. Even with her makeup less than perfect, there’s no denying the power vibrating from every cell of her being. I thought she looked like a queen before, but I was fucking wrong. She’s a goddamn goddess.

Good God, how much reverence can you have for a Supreme Being who finds it necessary to include tooth decay in His divine system of creation? Why in the world did He ever create pain?' 'Pain?' Lieutenant Shiesskopf's wife pounced upon the word victoriously. 'Pain is a warning to us of bodily dangers.' 'And who created the dangers?' Yossarian demanded. 'Why couldn't He have used a doorbell to notify us, or one of His celestial choirs? Or a system of blue-and-red neon tubes right in the middle of each person's forehead?' 'People would certainly look silly walking around with red neon tubes right in the middle of their foreheads.' 'They certainly look beautiful now writhing in agony, don't they?

The Neon God is a plague, a global pandemic brought to bear by our hatred and greed. Because of Him, we have lost our soul, our free will, our humanity.

The Algorithm was Justice. The Neon God – Judge and Jury.

It’s a terrible thing not to be wanted.

The Neon God is too big to fall now; too intricately interwoven with our technology, with our minds, to be ripped out from humanity. We let Him in, Miss Aurora. We allowed Him to occupy the Dark behind our sentient eyes. He is us now, and we are Him.

He might dominate. I might submit. But the power balance is startlingly equal.

This woman is no blushing princess in a tower. She’s a goddamn shark, and she’ll attempt to top from the bottom if given half a chance.

Be quiet.” “The fuck I will.

This city runs over with ghosts and neon gods.

I’m rapidly reaching the point where I’d cut my chest open and dig my heart out just so I can present it to her. What the fuck is wrong with me?

he’s incredibly invested in my pleasure and consent.

Hades finally smiles and, good gods, it’s like being hit by a laser beam. Heat strong enough to make my fingertips tingle and curl my toes. I stare up at him, caught in the intensity of those dark eyes. And then he’s shaking his head, smothering the rush of strangeness through my body. “No.” “What do you mean, no?” “I’m aware that you’ve likely not heard the word often in your privileged life, so I’ll spell it out for you. No. Nein. Nyet. Non. Absolutely not.

Aurora took a deep breath. There it was, she thought, the reason behind all the madness. Why society was acrumble; why she and everyone else were on the brink of starvation. Humanity’s inevitable ending. The Darkspread. The Close. There, in the Golden Dragon’s dark underbelly was where all the maps stopped. ‘Two days from now, the Dark will cover the world,’ she said pensively, trying not to think what horrific sight awaited her behind the spring-loaded door, ‘and the Neon God shall rule over darkness.

It's tucked away in a quiet corner, shadowed and obscured, no part of the Nightside's usual bright gaudy neon noir. It doesn't advertise and it doesn't care if you habitually pass by on the other side. It's just there for when you need it. Dedicated to the patron saint of lost causes, St. Jude's is an old old place... St. Jude's isn't a place for comfort for frills and fancies and the trappings of religion. just a place where you can talk to your god and sometimes get an answer.

We created Him, yes. The Neon God is our mess. Our digital hive-mind. Our A.I.,’ said Aurora, watching the man absent-mindedly gape at the ceiling. ‘We built Him to manage our finances, our logistics, our armies, our wealth distribution…. and… and He went crazy. 'Because we filled Him with crappy commercials and stopped maintaining His morals. He’s only like this because of us, all of us. It’s His Algorithm – the one you wrote, the one you keep feeding to Him – we need to watch out for. That’s the Neon God’s soul. That’s His Justice.

Do you think there’s anything I wouldn’t give you while you’re mine? Fucking anything, little siren.

I take it you're a dog person." "I'm an equal-opportunity pet person.

Hurting yourself when they cross you doesn't do a damn thing to them. If anything, it's what they want. You treat your body like it's the enemy; it makes you too weak to fight them.

Only Chromeheads believe the Neon God is a true god.’ ‘And yet we treat Him like one, all of us. We worship His Broadcast and we pray for His Justice and sacrifice on His altar each day. When our own eyes deceive us, we make His Jurors into Apostles of Truesight, or rely on worldview-enhancers like that drug Rhapsody or the VVV Visors. Day after day, we find our every thought and action judged by kynikois we can’t see, by arbitrary rules we don’t know, in a reality we rejected. We lead empty lives and so we empty the world of all meaning.

The sort of person you’d think about as you fell asleep, comforted to remember that in this world of bad luck and rising sea levels and impossible pain, at least, thank God, there was her.

It feels like my heart is trying to dig its way through calcified tissue to get to her. I'm rapidly reaching the point where I'd cut my chest open and dig my heart out just so I can present it to her.

The conductor said to go find God. Maybe he (or she—but who are we kidding? God’s definitely a guy. How else to explain war, pestilence, and morning wood?) is right here in Times Square just waiting to be found. As soon as I’m on the street, though, I remember that Times Square is a kind of hell (a fiery pit of flickering neon signs advertising all seven deadly sins). God would never hang out here.

My desire to hear Hades’s dry, rasping laugh is becoming a serious addiction. It’s a thousand times better when he’s making the sound against my pussy. He drags his tongue over me. His growl is the only warning I get before he grabs my thighs and presses them up and out, holding me completely open. There is no savoring, no teasing, no tempting me. He goes after my pussy like he’ll never get this chance again. Like he needs my orgasm more than he needs his next breath.

Aurora shuddered, her face white with anger. The only thing worse than having to compete for Gold Stars was not being allowed to compete anymore. Muting was the Neon God’s favourite punishment, for He loved to hijack human language, almost as much as He loved hijacking perfectly human societal norms. Judging people on their supposed worth was His favourite pastime, and God forbid you didn’t follow His arbitrarily-chosen set of beliefs, which appeared to change every hour. Under the Neon God’s law, innocent words such as “powerline” or “screwdriver” had become obscene, trigger words that would most definitely get you muted, thrown in a Mind Prison or killed.

If we break promises to God, shouldn't we be allowed an occasional violation of our word to our friends and superiors?

the cruelest insults come with sweet smiles and honeyed words.

The only people a war benefits are the generals. Not the supply lines. Not the ones working in the background.

I'm your anchor. Remember that.

They see what they want to see." "They see what you want them to see.

Tomorrow night, this room will be filled with people. Everyone showing up to get a look at your pretty pussy, to hear how sweetly I can make you come.” “Oh, gods.

Sorano returned a half-hearted nod and mumbled on, dreamily. She seemed completely fascinated by a man in a rabbit costume who kept falling flat on his face whilst endlessly repeating the phrase “How dare they speak the word “motherboard” when the Neon God has no mother?” in a very affronted tone. He was accompanied by swarthy-faced dame, who aimlessly dragged a red piece of string after her. ‘Why are you dragging that string, hey?’ the rabbit-man asked the woman right before taking a spectacular nosedive, face-first into asphalt. ‘But I must drag it, I must!’ the woman replied panicky, ‘for if I try to push it, it bends.

driving her toward orgasm. She still tastes like summertime. I want to wrap her up and keep her safe. I want to fuck her until all her masks shatter and she cries as she comes around my cock.

My name is Matthew Swift. I’m a sorcerer, the only one in the city who survived Robert Bakker’s purge. I was killed by my teacher’s shadow and my body dissolved into telephone static and all they had left to bury was a bit of blood. Then we came back, and I am we and we are me, and we are the blue electric angels, creatures of the phones and the wires, the gods made from the surplus life you miserable excuse for mortals pour into all things electric. I am the Midnight Mayor, the protector of the city, the guardian of the night, the keeper of the gates, the watcher on the walls. We turned back the death of cities, we were there when Lady Neon died, we drove the creature called Blackout into the shadows at the end of the alleys, we are light, we are life, we are fire and, would you believe it, the word that best describes our condition right now is cranky. Would you like to see what happens when you make us mad?

I go still, and she tries to roll her hips to keep fucking my fingers. That earns her a nip on her shoulder. “Please what? Be explicit.” “Make me come.” Her inhale is ragged. “Kiss me. Fuck me. Just don’t stop.

Persephone.” He says my name like it’s a song he’s recently memorized. “Who said anything about warning off everyone else?” He nips my earlobe lightly. “What if I want to share? What if I pull your panties to the side and let whoever is interested come over here and fuck you against my chest?

My worst, Persephone?” His voice gets lower, almost a growl. “You dip one toe into the water and think you’re ready to swim the length of the River Styx. You can’t begin to handle what my worst has to offer.” He finally moves his hand up, only to shove it into my panties and spear me with two fingers. The contact bows my back, but his other hand is there, bracketing my throat and holding me in place. “Can you feel their eyes on you?

There are always casualties in war, and it's always the people who least deserve to bear the cost.

You dip one toe into the water and think you’re ready to swim the length of the River Styx. You can’t begin to handle what my worst has to offer.

If God didn’t prefer for us to drink at night, he wouldn’t have made neon!

You promised me a second orgasm if I behaved.

The scars are part of that, part of you. They’re a mark of everything you’ve survived, of how strong you are.

Orange Mask rises to his impressive height that nearly eats up the horizon, then slowly, too slowly, his head tilts in my direction. The neon stitches glow in the near darkness as eerie silence stakes its claim. My spine jerks when his rough, deep voice echoes in the air. “I know you’re hiding. Come out and I promise not to hurt you. Much.

Hiki Komori stirred Aurora away from the orgy and handed her a clean napkin. ‘Sorry about them. It’s the Rhapsody. To them, the real world is something akin to a cardboard reality.’ ‘Why do it at all?’ she pouted, trying to wipe her shoe with the napkin. ‘Why take the damn drug?’ ‘To escape their mortality, naturally. The great curtain call frightens them, so they avoid the applause. More so, they perform badly, spitting their lines out in spite. They are embittered and hungry and will no doubt eat your child. 'Yes, the soul of humanity will end in two days. But we’ve buried its body fifty decades before, wouldn’t you think? Come, Miss Aurora,’ he beckoned, ‘the lair of the Dragon runs deeper still.

I cross to her and cup her face in my hands. “If we were different people in different circumstances, I would get down on my knees and beg you to stay at the end of the winter. I would move heaven and earth and the Underworld itself to keep you with me.” She blinks those big hazel eyes at me and licks her lips. “If…” She sounds so hesitant, I simultaneously want to gather her into my arms and don’t want to move in case she never finishes that sentence. She doesn’t leave me hanging long. “If we were different people, you wouldn’t have to beg. I’d plant my roots right here in this house, and it would take a catastrophic event to make me walk away.

Scripture breathes wisdom like we breathe oxygen. It can't not. Through Scripture, God reveals himself. This wisdom cannot be captured, let alone contained, on a neon bumper sticker or rubber bracelet. Wisdom itself invites us to go deeper- right into a relationship with God himself. Through wisdom, we learn to love God and love what he loves. We find rich counsel on the life we were meant for- in our families, communities, and world. We discover our personal responsibilities to others. And we unearth how to put love into action." -Organic God

I don’t eat when I’m stressed.” “That changes now.” “You can’t just decree that something will change and make it so.” “Watch me,” he snarls. Hades opens a door to what appears to be a study, though I can see a bed through the doorway on the other side of the room. He walks to the couch and sets me down. “Do not move.” “Hades.” “Persephone, I swear to the gods, if you don’t obey me this once, I will tie you down and feed you by hand.” Hades points a blunt finger at me. “Do not fucking move from that couch.” Then he’s gone, sweeping out of the room.

If there's anything that still connects me to God, it's color. I've yet to find a man-made color that wasn't first displayed in creation. From the deep fuchsia of a bougainvillea to the shocking chartreuse of the moss that clings to the rocks and trees in the damp coastal mountain range, all are unique to God's imagination. I've seen starfish donning brilliant neon orange and regal purple and wildflowers in every hue of the color wheel. We cannot out create Him.

I looked over at the colorful pile of small shoes. Their neon colors glowed dimly in the shadows. I raised the curtain of the mosque to bring light into this dark place. Herat’s warm winds covered us in the dust. I believe that on that day in that sacred place, God smiled on us and loved us more than ever before.

In the beginning, the earth was without form, and void and the darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And god said, 'Let there be light.' and there was light. Only, it wasn't good light. Bob created fireworks, sparklers and neon tubes that circled the globe like weird tangled rainbows. He dabbled with bugs that blinked and abstract creatures whose heads lit up and cast long overlapping shadows. There were mile-high candles and mountains of fairy lights. For an hour or so, earth was lit by enormous crystal chandeliers. Bob thought his creations were cool. They were cool, but they didn't work

It doesn't help that the morning light does nothing to make him look less forbidding. I'm getting the feeling this man walks around with a little bit of midnight in his pocket.

Vulnerability is an invitation to be cut down and taken apart piece by piece.

History is less important to the people in power than presenting a polished image, no matter how false.

I don't have to pretend with Hades, don't have to be perfect and bright all the time. I feel like... Like I'm finally starting to figure out who I am behind the mask.

She's not yours. She belongs to no one but herself.

For the first time in my life, I don't have a plan or a clear bullet-pointed list to get me from point A to point B. I'm free-falling.

You treat your body like it's the enemy...You only get one body, and you're a shitty custodian of yours.

I want to feel you come around my cock.

Silly me for thinking that you're among the percentage of the human population that doesn't worship at the alter of the hymen

Watch how much you need me in this moment. When you're free and chasing that dream of a life you want, you remember how good it felt to be filled by me, little siren

Everyone else either wants something from me or wants to use me to further their own agenda. It's exhausting and so much easier to give them nothing at all.

He held up his hand, and in it was... Oh, God. The neon-pink vibrator, glowing in the dark now. It was following her, stalking her, all the way down the yellow brick road to hell.

There are only so many methods of holding power. Fear, love, loyalty. The latter two are fickle at best, the first difficult to acquire unless you are willing to get your hands dirty.

Now, as all of you will have had reason aplenty to discover for yourselves, there are new gods growing in America, clinging to growing knots of belief: gods of credit-card and freeway, of internet and telephone, of radio and hospital and television, gods of plastic and of beeper and of neon. Proud gods, fat and foolish creatures, puffed up with their own newness and importance.

If we were different people in different circumstances I would get down on my knees and beg you to stay at the end of winter. I would move heaven and earth and the underworld itself to keep you with me.

Come now, Hades. You know that there isn't a lock in this city that can keep me out." "I've become aware of it over the years." The first time she showed up was a mere month after she earned the title of Hermes, some five or six years ago now. She startled me in my office and almost ended up with a bullet in her head as a result. Somehow, that interaction translated into her decided that we're great friends. It took me a year to figure out that it didn't matter what I thought of the so-called friendship. Then Dionysus started appearing with her about six months after that, and I gave up fighting their presence.

The wind howled about the bus, and the wipers slooshed heavily back and forth across the windshield, smeering the city into a red and yellow neon wetness. It was early afternoon, but it looked like night through the glass

Maybe I am, but the way she insists on downplaying the danger she was in aggravates me in the extreme. It means she’s done it before, often enough for it to be barely worth mentioning. It means she’ll do it again if given half a chance.

I’m not.” He reaches into his jacket and comes up with a small knife. “Don’t move.” I hold still. I hold my very breath as he slips the blade between my skin and the first strap. It’s surprisingly warm, likely from being so close to his body. The strap gives easily beneath the sharp edge. And then another, and another, and another, until I’m standing before him completely naked. He snaps the blade closed and takes a step back, sweeping his gaze over me from my head to my feet and back again. “Better.

(This is from a tribute poem to Ronnie James Dio: Former lead vocalist of the band Rainbow, Black Sabbath. This is written with all the titles of the hit songs of DIO. The titles are all in upper case) You can “CATCH THE RAINBOW” – “A RAINBOW IN THE DARK” Through “ROCK & ROLL CHILDREN” “HOLY DIVER” will lurk “BEFORE THE FALL” of “ELECTRA” “ALL THE FOOLS SAILED AWAY” “JESUS,MARY AND THE HOLY GHOST”- “LORD OF THE LAST DAY” “MASTER OF THE MOON” you are When my “ONE FOOT IN THE GRAVE” With our “BLACK”, “COLD FEET”, “MYSTERY” of “PAIN” you crave You’re “CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE”, “BETWEEN TWO HEARTS” When “HUNGRY FOR HEAVEN” “HUNTER OF THE HEART” hurts “FALLEN ANGELS” “FEED MY HEART” “FEVER DREAMS” “FEED MY HEAD” “I AM” “ANOTHER LIE” “AFTER ALL (THE DEAD)” Not “GUILTY” if you “HIDE IN THE RAINBOW’’ With your perfect “GUITAR SOLO” “DON’T TELL THE KIDS” to “DREAM EVIL” Don’t “GIVE HER THE GUN” to follow “DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS” Those “EVIL EYES” can see “LORD OF THE NIGHT” “MISTREATED”; “MY EYES” hate to fancy “SHAME ON THE NIGHT” “TURN UP THE NIGHT” Now it’s “TIME TO BURN” “TWISTED” “VOODOO” does “WALK ON WATER” And today its our turn “BLOOD FROM A STONE” “BORN ON THE SUN” I’m “BETTER IN THE DARK” “BREATHLESS” The “PRISONER OF PARADISE” you are! Forever you are deathless “SACRED HEART” “SHIVERS” Laying “NAKED IN THE RAIN” “THIS IS YOUR LIFE”- “ WILD ONE”! Your “GOLDEN RULES” we gain “IN DREAMS” “I SPEED AT NIGHT” I’m “LOSING MY INSANITY” “ANOTHER LIE”: “COMPUTER GOD” Your “HEAVEN AND HELL”- my vanity! By “KILLING THE DRAGON” “I COULD HAVE BEEN A DREAMER” I’m “THE LAST IN LINE” To “SCREAM” Like an “INVISIBLE” screamer Now that you are gone “THE END OF THE WORLD” is here “STRAIGHT THROUGH THE HEART” “PUSH” “JUST ANOTHER DAY” in fear “CHILDREN OF THE SEA” “ DYING IN AMERICA” Is it “DEATH BY LOVE”? “FACES IN THE WINDOW” looking for A “GYPSY” from above Dear “STARGAZER” from “STRANGE HIGHWAYS” Our love “HERE’S TO YOU” “WE ROCK” “ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD” The “OTHER WORLD” anew “ONE NIGHT IN THE CITY” with “NEON KNIGHTS” “THE EYES” “STAY OUT OF MY MIND” The “STARSTRUCK” “SUNSET SUPERMAN” Is what we long to find “THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING” Is the “INSTITUTIONAL MAN” “SHOOT SHOOT” to “TURN TO STONE” “WHEN A WOMAN CRIES” to plan To “STAND UP AND SHOUT” before “ THE KING OF ROCK AND ROLL” Though “GOD HATES HEAVY METAL” “EAT YOUR HEART OUT” to reach the goal. From the poem- Holy Dio: the Diver (A tribute to Ronnie James Dio)

The Sound Of Silence" Hello, darkness, my old friend I've come to talk with you again Because a vision softly creeping Left its seeds while I was sleeping And the vision that was planted in my brain Still remains Within the sound of silence In restless dreams I walked alone Narrow streets of cobblestone 'Neath the halo of a streetlamp I turned my collar to the cold and damp When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light That split the night And touched the sound of silence And in the naked light I saw Ten thousand people, maybe more People talking without speaking People hearing without listening People writing songs that voices never share No one dared Disturb the sound of silence "Fools," said I, "You do not know Silence like a cancer grows Hear my words that I might teach you Take my arms that I might reach you." But my words like silent raindrops fell And echoed in the wells of silence And the people bowed and prayed To the neon god they made And the sign flashed out its warning In the words that it was forming And the sign said, "The words of the prophets Are written on the subway walls And tenement halls And whispered in the sounds of silence." Paul Simon, Wednesday Morning, 3 AM (1964)

Good God, how much reverence can you have for a Supreme Being who finds it necessary to include such phenomena as phlegm and tooth decay in His divine system of creation? What in the world was running through that warped, evil, scatological mind of His when He robbed old people of the power to control their bowel movements? Why in the world did He ever create pain?' 'Pain?' Lieutenant Scheisskopf's wife pounced upon the word victoriously. 'Pain is a useful symptom. Pain is a warning to us of bodily dangers.' 'And who created the dangers?' Yossarian demanded. He laughed caustically. 'Oh, He was really being charitable to us when He gave us pain! Why couldn't He have used a doorbell instead to notify us, or one of His celestial choirs? Or a system of blue-and-red neon tubes right in the middle of each person's forehead. Any jukebox manufacturer worth his salt could have done that. Why couldn't He?' 'People would certainly look silly walking around with red neon tubes in the middle of their foreheads.' 'They certainly look beautiful now writhing in agony or stupefied with morphine, don't they?

All that night, after I shut the door and left Number 16 empty, I went looking for the parts of my city that have lasted. I walked down streets that got their names in the Middle Ages: Copper Alley, Fishamble Street, Blackpitts where the plague dead were buried. I looked for cobblestones worn smooth and iron railings gone thin with rust. I ran my hand over the cool stone of Trinity’s walls and I crossed the spot where nine hundred years ago the town got its water from Patrick’s Well; the street sign still tells you so, hidden in the Irish that no one ever reads. I paid no attention to the shoddy new apartment blocks and the neon signs, the sick illusions ready to fall into brown mush like rotten fruit. They’re nothing; they’re not real. In a hundred years they’ll be gone, replaced and forgotten. This is the truth of bombed-out ruins: hit a city hard enough and the cheap arrogant veneer will crumble faster than you can snap your fingers; it’s the old stuff, the stuff that’s endured, that might just keep enduring. I tilted my head up to see the delicate, ornate columns and balustrades above Grafton Street’s chain stores and fast-food joints. I leaned my arms on the Ha’penny Bridge where people used to pay half a penny to cross the Liffey, I looked out at the Custom House and the shifting streams of lights and the steady dark roll of the river under the falling snow, and I hoped to God that somehow or other, before it was too late, we would all find our way back home.

Read. You should read Bukowski and Ferlinghetti, read Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton, and listen to Coltrane, Nina Simone, Hank Williams, Loretta Lynn, Son House, Robert Johnson, Howlin’ Wolf, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Miles Davis, Lou Reed, Nick Drake, Bobbie Gentry, George Jones, Jimmy Reed, Odetta, Funkadelic, and Woody Guthrie. Drive across America. Ride trains. Fly to countries beyond your comfort zone. Try different things. Join hands across the water. Different foods. New tasks. Different menus and tastes. Talk with the guy who’s working in construction on your block, who’s working on the highway you’re traveling on. Speak with your neighbors. Get to know them. Practice civil disobedience. Try new resistance. Be part of the solution, not the problem. Don’t litter the earth, it’s the only one you have, learn to love her. Care for her. Learn another language. Trust your friends with kindness. You will need them one day. You will need earth one day. Do not fear death. There are worse things than death. Do not fear the reaper. Lie in the sunshine but from time to time let the neon light your way. ZZ Top, Jefferson Airplane, Spirit. Get a haircut. Dye your hair pink or blue. Do it for you. Wear eyeliner. Your eyes are the windows to your soul. Show them off. Wear a feather in your cap. Run around like the Mad Hatter. Perhaps he had the answer. Visit the desert. Go to the zoo. Go to a county fair. Ride the Ferris wheel. Ride a horse. Pet a pig. Ride a donkey. Protest against war. Put a peace symbol on your automobile. Drive a Volkswagen. Slow down for skateboarders. They might have the answers. Eat gingerbread men. Pray to the moon and the stars. God is out there somewhere. Don’t worry. You’ll find out where soon enough. Dance. Even if you don’t know how to dance. Read The Four Agreements. Read the Bible. Read the Bhagavad Gita. Join nothing. It won’t help. No games, no church, no religion, no yellow-brick road, no way to Oz. Wear beads. Watch a caterpillar in the sun.

Neon Gods Neon Gods have drawn me to their altar With the promise that a better life won’t come. Now high on drugs my mind begins to falter, My body aches with phony martyrdom. Where are the friends that swore they’d be there? Where is the love that promised not to die? And when I’m gone, will anybody be here? And when I’m dead, will anybody cry? Sure times are low, and life seems hard and rotten. But up’s the only way there’s left to go. Though my friends have left me I have not forgotten That loving is the only way to grow. I can hope that I will have new things to dream of. I can hope that there’s a better life to come. Though I know it ain’t easy to find new love, I know that loving is the only way to grow. I’m still alive, I will survive. I’ll be there tomorrow, I will arrive. I’m a man, and you can plan I’ll be there tomorrow, I will arrive.

I do not know much about God and prayer, but I have come to believe, over the past twenty-five years, that there's something to be said about keeping prayer simple. Help. Thanks. Wow. You may in fact be wondering what I even mean when I use the word "prayer." It's certainly not what TV Christians mean. It's not for display purposes, like plastic sushi or neon. Prayer is private, even when we pray with others. It is communication from the heart to that which surpasses understanding. Let's say it is communication from one's heart to God.

Now, as all of you will have had reason aplenty to discover for yourselves, there are new gods growing in America, clinging to growing knots of belief: gods of credit-card and freeway, of internet and telephone, of radio and hospital and television, gods of plastic and of beeper and of neon. Proud gods, fat and foolish creatures, puffed up with their own newness and importance. “They are aware of us, and they fear us, and they hate us,” said Odin. “You are fooling yourselves if you believe otherwise. They will destroy us, if they can. It is time for us to band together. It is time for us to act.

And don’t tell me God works in mysterious ways,” Yossarian continued. “There’s nothing so mysterious about it. He’s not working at all. He’s playing. Or else he’s forgotten all about us. That’s the kind of God you people talk about — a country bumpkin, a clumsy, bungling, brainless, conceited, uncouth hayseed. Good God, how much reverence can you have for a Supreme Being who finds it necessary to include such phenomena as phlegm and tooth decay in His divine system of creation? What in the world was running through that warped, evil, scatalogical mind of His when He robbed old people of the power to control their bowel movements? Why in the world did He ever create pain? Pain?” Lieutenant Scheisskopf’s wife pounced upon the word victoriously. “Pain is a useful symptom. Pain is a warning to us of bodily dangers. And who created the dangers?” Yossarian demanded. He laughed caustically. “Oh, He was really being charitable to us when He gave us pain! Why couldn’t He have used a doorbell instead to notify us, or one of his celestial choirs? Or a system of blue-and-red neon tubes right in the middle of each person’s forehead. Any jukebox manufacturer worth his salt could have done that. Why couldn’t He? People would certainly look silly walking around with red neon tubes in the middle of their foreheads. They certainly look beautiful now writhing in agony or stupified with morphine, don’t they? What a colossal, immortal blunderer! When you consider the opportunity and power He had to really do a job, and then look at the stupid, ugly little mess He made of it instead, His sheer incompetence is almost staggering. It’s obvious He never met a payroll. Why, no self-respecting businessman would hire a bungler like Him as even a shipping clerk!

[Hmmm…Do you know who I was named after?] I’d say Eva Perón. —Eva’s from Puerto Rico, Vincent, not Argentina. [I was named after a robot.] —That is interesting. —Oh yeah. You have his attention now. [I was born on the day of the parade when the EDC was created. My parents were the biggest geeks ever, huge science-fiction fans. Themis was the greatest thing they’d ever seen. They wanted to name me after her, but they somehow thought everyone would start naming their kid Themis, so they named me after another big robot.] A robot? [Yes. Eva’s a common name in Spanish, but apparently, it’s also the name of a giant robot, from a Japanese anime they really liked. It’s old. I never saw it.] —Eva is for Evangelion? That is so cool! —Of course, Vincent knows all about it. —Yeah! It’s awesome! But ours is bigger. —Eva, I think you have a fan now. —I…We have it on DVD, you know.

Sullivan filled the moody silence by announcing that my digression on numbers was somewhat less than Euclidean in its sweep and purity; that one of my main faults was a tendency to get blinded by the neon of an idea, never reaching truly inside it; that to follow a number to infinity was not necessarily to arrive at God. With her fork she bisected a crisp slice of bacon, a piece so brittle the fork barely had to touch it; she then halved the two fragments, then the smaller four, then the resulting eight, and so on, working with the quietly fanatical precision of all those people whose job it is to divide small things into smaller things, who live on the rim of insanity; finally there was nothing left of the slice but a hundred decimal points. Did the bacon represent the insignificance of numbers; the futile quest for infinity; the indivisible nature of God as opposed to the fractional promiscuity of numbers? Was it all a lesson in prime matter and substantial form: Were the bits of bacon supposed to be numbers and the fried egg God?