Word: godly
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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Emma is th' only one in th' family who has more brains than God gave a chicken, but she doesn't realize that she, too, is doomed 'cause she carries Dad's "poison" in her veins. Ella, of course, doesn't carry it, but she makes up for it by bein' self-righteously angry at th' rest of her brood. This is th' archetypal Western family, says Shepard; th' Cleavers or th' Huxtables they...
...lumbered to the bathroom and stared uncertainly into the mirror. What stared back was . . . was . . . was it Thomagata, the one-eyed, four-eared Colombian god of thunder, chastened by his encounter with the sun-god Bochica? Or was it Chonchonyi, the revolting, bloodsucking god of Chile with the long, flapping ears? Shuddering, I stepped into the shower. As the hot, healing liquid bathed my shoulders, I felt like . . . like . . . like Kappa, the solemn little Japanese water demon, renowned for his punctilious manners. Or perhaps like Ahto, the water god of the ancient Finns, who lived under a sea cliff...
...game. Once again, the winning run had been driven in by Darryl Strawberry. To those without mythic insight, Strawberry is just a tall, moody rightfielder who wallops long, high-arcing home runs. To me, though, Darryl seemed like the incarnation of . . . of . . . of Nyamia Ama, the all-powerful storm god of Senegal. Nyamia Ama is said to be somewhat remote and invisible. (Well, sometimes Strawberry doesn't like interviews either...
...good day. Just as I finished a second cup of coffee, an editor called me, requesting some fixes on a story. As we discussed the changes, my mind began to transmogrify. His familiar visage took on the horrible features of Tezcatlipoca, Mexico's evil magician-god with blazing eyes and slobbering tongue. If one encounters this dreadful apparition, legend has it, one's only hope is to thrust a hand into the god's bloody chest cavity and seize its palpitating heart...
...your desk this afternoon." Back in my office, though, it was hard to concentrate. The little cursor on the blank computer screen blinked incessantly, like an accusing Cyclops. I felt like Sisyphus, endlessly, futilely pushing a rock up a hill. Oh, that I were Nabu, the Mesopotamian god of writing and destiny, whose powers could alter the days allotted to men in this life...