I don't believe in god as a sort of father in the sky. I don't believe that the meek will inherit the earth: the meek get ignored and trampled. They decompose in the bloody soil of war, of business, of art, and they rot in the warm ground under the spring rains. It is the bold, the loud mouthed, the cruel, the vital, the revolutionaries, the mighty in arms and will, who march over the soft patient flesh that lies beneath their cleated boots.