The Greeks fuck everything up, Jim.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

For whatever reason, they portrayed Atlas as a man, when you and I both know she's a female.  She's as tall as the universe and made out of carbon steel, who looks like all the world's races mixed into one stunning visage.  She holds up the world...raising kids, running a business, mentoring artists, the whole works, all on her shoulders.

But she's forgotten that she's a Godling.  People who know her have come to take her strength for granted, and to think of her as part of the furniture...or as someone they can discard as they see fit.  She's let them beat her down til she thinks she's a midget, and she's completely oblivious to the fact that the reason she feels weak is because she's busy bearing the weight of the whole world.  She carries weight that would crush you or I flat, and she does it day in and day out, one foot in front of the other, plodding along as she keeps the world, her world, from spiraling into an abyss that she alone can see, an abyss that would drive you or I mad merely by contemplating it.

These fools that take her for granted are fortunate that she doesn't tend to view monkey trash for the walking garbage that it is.  They are exceedingly lucky that she has taught herself to blame herself for their bad acts and foolishness, because she thinks that everyone else is as big as she is.  She hands them her heart, and blames herself when they tear it to bits out of sheer self-centered stupidity.

One day, Jim, she's going to remember who she is, and she'll cast off the crutches she doesn't actually need.  And on that day there will be an end to her forbearance with the jackasses and two-bit hustlers, the Prince Charmings who turn out to be nothing but charm.  She'll dance, Jim, and in each of the gigantic footprints she leaves there will be a greasy spot that was once the ego of one piece of the dross that have gathered around her.

Won't that be a sight to see?

Or Kill Me.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Oh holy crap

[Jasper]

There has got to be some way to put this in every person's brain.

[Reginald Ret]

There has got to be some way to put this in every person's brain.

mail it to everyone you know.
its what i am going to do.

anything special you want the email to say TGRR?
or don't you want it sent at all?

[Richter]

Damn.  That's it.

[Eater of Clowns]

The power to move a world but with skin as fragile as rice paper.  Cosmic fury bouncing from her brow as though a pesky snowflake while parasitic humanity wears at her ankles one cruel bite at a time.  Her head is beyond the clouds, Roger, it's in the stars, but it's dark up there and she can see only blackness with small pins of light in the distance but never a blue sky; even the divine need a blue sky.

For all the wonder of her being she didn't create this world, my friend, she's as much a prisoner to it as we are.  Though it's a bit more of an actual shackle to her than it is to us.  Prisoners dream of life outside, I've heard, and count the days until they can be free again.  But her sentence is so much more cruel.  She can go anywhere, through time and space even, and her godly knowledge tells her that no matter where she goes it won't change anything, it won't make her free and even the walls won't be much different.  Atlas is the original model of learned helplessness.

It isn't just a sly tongue that makes her feet drag and keeps her eyes cast downward, nor the promise of things to come because she knows better.  We've done the same thing to her that we do to ourselves and we did it to her first.  The words first made her aware of her weary shoulders and he heaviness on her soles and like any kind heart it seems she simply asked what we could do for her.  Something huge and hairy and malevolent scuttled in the corner of her eye and we handed her a little capsule and said "Take this, you'll feel right as rain."

She'll never let the world go, she'll never throw it to the sun and bid it good riddance.  You get her to dance, Roger, and I'll bet her she can't balance the Earth on her head.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

This is amazing me.

[Dysnomia]

oh. my. god. amazing.

[The Wizard]

Nice. Where do you get these ideas?

[E.O.T.]

EITHER

          Winesburg, Ohio keeps getting larger.


OR

          She's lucky to have you as a friend

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Nice. Where do you get these ideas?

By watching/listening to people.

Also, pills and death coffee.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

There has got to be some way to put this in every person's brain.

mail it to everyone you know.
its what i am going to do.

anything special you want the email to say TGRR?
or don't you want it sent at all?

Just stick Written in the Spirit by The Good Reverend Roger on it, and go nuts.

[The Wizard]

By watching/listening to people.

Also, pills and death coffee.

Hmm. I use caffiene, usually in the form of Monster and other such toxic concoctions for my writing. That and I watch movies and read comics and pen and paper rpg's.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

EITHER

          Winesburg, Ohio keeps getting larger.


OR

          She's lucky to have you as a friend

I never finished reading that, my ex took it when he moved out.

[Reginald Ret]

There has got to be some way to put this in every person's brain.

mail it to everyone you know.
its what i am going to do.

anything special you want the email to say TGRR?
or don't you want it sent at all?

Just stick Written in the Spirit by The Good Reverend Roger on it, and go nuts.

Done.
This is gonna confuse alot of people i havent spoken to in a while, entertain my friends, and i have no idea how my relatives will react.