I foam at the mouth when I read or hear someone deny the existence of God.
I grew up with nuns taking care of my elementary education and spiritual growth. Both of my grandmothers were conservative Catholic devotees. They would wake up at three in the morning to hear at least two masses recorded for the radio. They prayed the rosary five times a day and always in fifteen mysteries, which would take them three hours to recite in a monotonous tone.
I become suicidal and homicidal when someone goes on and on with his predictable dissertation that plays around semantics and circular logic just to prove God does not exist.
I am a firm believer that there is God. Believing in Him is a personal journey and experience. My life and all the chances I have gotten to survive are my proofs that Someone intelligent and powerful has made sense of my existence, my chaos, my chances composing the complexity that is me. My religion and belief in God is my background too.
Since I do not want to kill myself or someone just because of what he writes or says and be labeled a religious fundamentalist, I always force myself to ignore atheist writings and speeches, and I succeed all the time.
Atheism is not an essential knowledge to me. It is akin to deconstructionism, where nothing is really constructed but everything is denied and what make sense and seem ordered are semiotically trashed into limbo and intellectually rendered as grey, deconstructed, and, yes, confusing.
Also, anywhere I go--in liberal universities, on atheists-dominated literature forums, or at workshops peopled by existentialist artists whose inspirations run the gamut from despair to desolation--I make sure I do not impose my rabid religiosity on anyone. That is the reason why I do not want to waste my time arguing about the existence of God on this forum, besides the fact that I am too lazy to brush out the oral foam with a mint and strawberry-flavored toothpaste.
Do I complain because something repulses and disgusts me? That is not the kind of drama I want to play. I am a relativist. If a graffiti is art to Basquiat, anything can be literature. Some want to read Boccaccio's "Decameron" or Aretino's whore dialogues; should others, who want to read the Bible and Martha Stewart's ways to clean pots and pans, protest?