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State of the UnionLuka Angeleski
From your last letter, I felt that I needed to tell you more about my country. What you knew was not incorrect, but it was only half the story. A proud country, America is ethnocentric and it affects many aspects of our lives. The problem with this is, many citizens take it too far and/or base their opinions on fallacies. This portion of the populace speaks loudly and brings shame to this country. They use religion, perverted morals and even our language to carry their messages of hate.
In a culture language is important to all its members; it is a source of pride. As an American I am proud to speak English, but somehow insanity has turned many of us against being multilingual. These people feel we are losing our culture to foreigners are being hateful without reason. They have forgotten that we stole this land from the Native Americans in the first place; all of us are foreigners. What happened to our pride as t
My brother lies heavy in my arms. He doesnt cry, never has, but he is trembling. His wounds are worse than mine and I wish I could help him. I stroke his hair and my heavy eyes close. I am beyond any fear for myself, in fact I feel relieved, glad I could stay by his side until the end.
My brother lies heavy in my arms. The scent of fire comes to me on the breeze. I realize it isnt coming from our smoldering home, but from the opposite direction. Confused, I open my eyes and my breath catches in my throat. A man kneels, head bowed, beside us. His long red hair veils his face; he appears to be praying, and that is more surprising than his presence. In this godless land, no one cares for anyone else and nothing is free, not even sympathy. I conclude he is an angel waiting for us.
My brother lies heavy in my arms. He is trembling violently no
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More