tea and toast and the taste of toothpaste , our brand , the family paste , inherited with the make of tea and the book of right and wrong , a greying moustache and angry unapproachable eyes to supersede the voice of a distant avoidable god , towering above me in terrible judgment , my unknown glands secreting fear in his gigantic , awful presence , the sharp red hallucinatory pain , the aftermath of guilt and hatred , crying in a too large bed with the walls against me and frost , jack frost , on the windows , laughing .