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b842884 Yeah, I'm great. Nothing like witnessing a death match between gods when I'm trying to get some Cheetos. -Deacon deity Jennifer L. Armentrout
b265160 Nobody wants to worship you if you have the same problems, the same bad breath and messy hair and hangnails, as a regular person. You have to be everything regular people aren't. Where they fail, you have to go all the way. Be what people are too afraid to be. Become whom they admire. People shopping for a messiah want quality. Nobody is going to follow a loser. When it comes to choosing a savior, they won't settle for just a human being. worship god saviors savior deity gods Chuck Palahniuk
fe29cc4 "Muhafizlarim oldugunu biliyorsun degil mi ? Burada oldugunu biliyorlardir." "Yolda Linard'in yanindan gectim." Yanagima dusen sac tutamini geriye atip kulagimin arkasina soktu.Eli orada kaldi. "Kurallari cignedigimi soyledi. Ben de ona kicimi yemesini soyledim." dex tanrı deity Jennifer L. Armentrout
cf81a39 THE NEXT DAY WAS RAIN-SOAKED and smelled of thick sweet caramel, warm coconut and ginger. A nearby bakery fanned its daily offerings. A lapis lazuli sky was blanketed by gunmetal gray clouds as it wept crocodile tears across the parched Los Angeles landscape. When Ivy was a child and she overheard adults talking about their break-ups, in her young feeble-formed mind, she imagined it in the most literal of essences. She once heard her mother speaking of her break up with an emotionally unavailable man. She said they broke up on 69th Street. Ivy visualized her mother and that man breaking into countless fragments, like a spilled box of jigsaw pieces. And she imagined them shattered in broken shards, being blown down the pavement of 69th Street. For some reason, on the drive home from Marcel's apartment that next morning, all Ivy could think about was her mother and that faceless man in broken pieces, perhaps some aspects of them still stuck in cracks and crevices of the sidewalk, mistaken as grit. She couldn't get the image of Marcel having his seizure out of her mind. It left a burning sensation in the center of her chest. An incessant flame torched her lungs, chest, and even the back door of her tongue. Witnessing someone you cared about experiencing a seizure was one of those things that scribed itself indelibly on the canvas of your mind. It was gut-wrenching. Graphic and out-of-body, it was the stuff that post traumatic stress syndrome was made of. sex emotion poetry meaning beauty inspiration humor love wisdom black-authors black-history deity literary-fiction scorpios valentine-s-day wilmington rebirth prose foodies stress knowledge new-york Brandi L. Bates