You may have noticed that I deleted my last poem titled, "The Goodness of God." I wrote the poem in about five minutes, and I realized when I read it after being out for the evening that it is so bad that it couldn't show anybody anything but that I'm severely brain-damaged for posting that on my blog. The idea behind the poem was that the joy one derives from rhyme is evidence that points to the goodness of God, and the first half of the poem doesn't rhyme and each line therein ends with an expression that should rhyme (and the reader should know which phrase it should rhyme with), so when it is read it is very jarring. The second half of the poem rhymes, and the reader should see that the joy that comes from the aesthetic experience is evidence for the goodness of God, because there is no other way to explain why such beauty exists. But the poem was terrible, and so I deleted it promptly when I got home.

I remember talking to someone who is a therapist. Before I talked to him, I felt I was doing all right in life. However, after talking to him I then realized how dysfunctional and discontent I really was. What a nice experience! Aparently I had been living my life all wrong, and that happiness and contentment I had before talking to the therapist was illusory at best. Funny. I don't get why they try to put all they psychobabble onto me. I'm so full with joy all the time, and I don't hurt anyone ever, so why do they say I'm doing it all wrong. Isn't your oath "Do no harm," or is that only for doctors? Anyway, I'm never going to see a therapist ever again. What a bitter, harmful, waste of my time. That has been my experience anyway. Just to be clear, I've heard they have helped other people, so perhaps my experiences cannot be extrapolated to make a larger point.