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liked It=852 Vote

Review=Haiti, 1962. A man is brought back from the dead to work in the hell of sugar cane plantations. 55 years later, a Haitian teenager tells her friends her family secret - not suspecting that it will push one of them to commit the irreparable

Creator=Bertrand Bonello

Duration=1hours, 43 Min

Directed by=Bertrand Bonello

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Full movie zombi child games. Zombi Child Film poster Directed by Bertrand Bonello Written by Bertrand Bonello Starring Louise Labeque Wislanda Louimat Adilé David Music by Bertrand Bonello Cinematography Yves Cape Edited by Anita Roth Production company My New Pictures Les Films du Bal Distributed by Ad Vitam Release date 17 May 2019 ( Cannes) 12 June 2019 (France) Running time 103 minutes Country France Language French Box office $185, 715 [1] [2] Zombi Child is a 2019 French drama film directed by Bertrand Bonello. It is based on the account of the life of a supposed zombified man in Haiti, Clairvius Narcisse. It was screened in the Directors' Fortnight section at the 2019 Cannes Film Festival. [3] [4] Plot [ edit] A teenage girl Fanny makes friends with Mélissa, who moved from Haiti to France after the 2010 Haiti earthquake. It is revealed that Mélissa's family is associated with voodoo culture. Cast [ edit] Louise Labeque as Fanny Wislanda Louimat as Mélissa Mackenson Bijou as Clairvius Katiana Milfort as Mambo Katy Adilé David as Salomé Ninon François as Romy Mathilde Riu as Adèle Patrick Boucheron as History teacher Nehémy Pierre-Dahomey as Baron Samedi Ginite Popote as Francina Sayyid El Alami as Pablo Saadia Bentaieb as Superintendent Release [ edit] The film had its world premiere in the Directors' Fortnight section at the 2019 Cannes Film Festival on 17 May 2019. [5] It was released in France on 12 June 2019. [6] Reception [ edit] Critical response [ edit] On review aggregator website Rotten Tomatoes, the film has an approval rating of 85% based on 59 reviews, and an average rating of 7. 01/10. The website's critical consensus reads, "If the strain of its ambitious juggling act sometimes shows, Zombi Child remains an entertainingly audacious experience, enlivened with thought-provoking themes. " [7] On Metacritic, which assigns a normalized rating, the film has a score 74 out of 100, based on 13 critics, indicating "generally favorable reviews". [8] References [ edit] External links [ edit] Zombi Child on IMDb.

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Full movie zombi child movies. Çok güzel olmuş video kalp koyarsan çok sevinirim seviliyorsun orkun abi❤❤❤. The best cover I've ever heard. Devami gelsin super video olmus ve bu sefer daha cok youtuber ve ya arkadaslarin olsun. Montreal is proud of him. R.I.P🙏💔. Kids on bikes. again. Only thing good about this movie is Lupita, everything else is garbage... even the kids. Beginning in Haiti in the early sixties, Zombi Child" deals with voodoo and is one of the best and most poetic horror films in many a moon. It is obvious from the title and the setting that we are meant to think of a much earlier film with a similar setting but that would appear to be where the comparisons with Jacques Tourneur's "I Walked with a Zombie" ends for in the next scene we are in comtemporary France and a group of schoolgirls are being taught French history in a very white classroom.
What follows is a deliciously unsettling movie that manages to encompass the pains of teenage romance with a tale of the 'undead' as a metaphor for colonialism and it actually works. I can't think of too many examples in recent cinema where two opposing themes have been as beautifully united as they are here. In some ways it's closer to something like "The Neon Demon" or the recent remake of "Suspiria" than it is to Val Lewton. Here is a film with a creeping sense of dread, we've all seen films in which schoolgirls are not as sweet as they appear to be) and the grand guignol finale is as spooky as a good horror movie should be. It also confirms director Bertrand Bonello as one of the most exciting talents working anywhere today.

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I’ve lived with disability my whole life. It’s not been easy. Even something as simple as lifting a bag is made harder without kinesis. Most of you probably don’t even notice but they don’t put handles on them. Imagine that? Imagine going shopping and having to lift the bags up one by one using your hands. Imagine having to take the stairs everywhere because you can’t use the chutes? Imagine having to buy toilet roll to clean yourself by hand and doing it every time, not just when you’re tired or you have a headache. I know there’s a big debate about how to define disability in our society. It’s easy to look at someone like Dr Atterson and say that they have ability. I mean, the guy’s been doing knifeless surgery for years now, effortlessly saving thousands and thousands of lives from all over the world. We know he’s doing well. But what about the guy who can only move a pencil, or who has to strain for minutes just to shut a door? What about people with finesse but no heft? What about the people who can sew with their mind, but couldn’t possibly be expected to lift their own weight up to the 56th floor of a skyscraper? And what about people who go the other way? We’ve all seen the stories of that kid who can move cruise ships but can’t even stop a paper ball thrown at his head. Is he disabled? Is anyone who can lift a truck disabled? But no one’s prepared for me. No one’s prepared for the guy with absolutely zero ability, but I exist. Others too, though don’t be surprised if most of them kill themselves before adulthood. You have no idea how hard it is to live in a world built for the able-minded while you can’t so much as move a grain of rice. They had me at it for years, you know that? I was told it was my fault. There’s no political correctness for my kind, let me tell you that. The assumption was always that I was lying or that I had some mental block. I mean, after all my brother is world famous for his skills! How could one twin be a total dud and the other a fuckin’ real-life superhero? I can’t even go in cities anymore. Without kinesis it’s a death trap. I’ve been hit by fliers sixteen times in my life and every time the driver gets out screaming at me for not getting out of the way. The whole world is just pinging around with the power of their minds and when they get to me they don’t even know how to process it. When I tell them I can’t just magic myself out of the way at the speed of thought do you know what most of them do? They fuckin’ laugh. My blood smeared up the windscreen, my bones broken, my teeth knocked out all over the tarmac, and almost all of them laugh when I tell them I don’t have kinesis. They apologise quickly enough but it’s always just a shrug of the shoulders, like I’m a spider with all the legs pulled off – sad, but ultimately insignificant. Maybe if I could hide it… that’d be something, at least. The average person burns 34, 000 calories a day. You know what my calorie recommendation is? 2500. The doctor had to do it with a calculator. We’ve all seen the little test kit they use where they move those sliders to get all the metrics right so they can calculate exactly what your nutritional needs are. Well those levers don’t go low enough to describe me. It’s one thing if I can make my food by hand but between the GM foods and the junk food all pumped full of calories to keep us moving mountains with our minds, I’m struggling to keep my weight below 250 pounds. I’m sure you’ve seen the internet shock images of that woman who stopped using kinesis for a month and the weight she put on. Well… that’s my life. I live in the arse-end of nowhere now. I have a few neighbours who score low enough to qualify for the same government sanctioned protection, but they all have some ability. At the very least they can keep themselves thin by moving pennies around. I had to have a fucking hamster wheel specially made. I’d go running outside but my carer’s afraid of what might happen if I fall since I can’t lift myself back to safety. I guess I don’t have any reason to disagree. This whole thing got so bad that when I turned 17 the government offered me anonymity, and it was just about the only time in my life someone reached out to help me. Apparently some scientists were planning to vivisect me but someone had a pang of conscience at the last minute and reported them to the University ethics board. That’s about the extent of life’s mercy to me. I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Between the identity wipe and the fact I’m a living joke, no one’s gonna believe me. But maybe I can at least plant a seed of doubt… Dr Atterson is my twin brother, fraternal of course. The current record holder for kinesis across all known metrics is my living flesh and blood and I’m writing this to tell you that he is a sociopath. Those thousands of lives he saves only matter to him for his ego. The only thing stopping him from pulling the moon outta the freakin’ sky is that there’d be no one left to blow him afterwards. He has tortured me non-stop since the day I was born and it wasn’t until I escaped that he left me alone. His initials are burned into my kidney because our mum put my name first on the shared birthday card. My left testicle was severed when I was 13 because I asked if we could share the bike he got for Christmas; it was six months before a doctor noticed and removed it and by then the infection had spread leaving me bed bound for months. My bones have been broken and reset more times than you can count, all done in the burgeoning early morning hours where he liked to practice his medical skills. My childhood was spent weeping on the bottom bunk with my vocal cords temporarily severed as he tinkered around with my insides. Since day one he has been an unstoppable bully. All those fucking surgeries he can do, well guess who he perfected them on? Guess who’s ribs he cracked open, who’s blood he kept pumping with his mind while my heart sat in an empty ice cream tub, who’s teeth he pulled out and put back in over and over and over… And it’s not just me. He tried fucking his chemistry teacher when he was thirteen and when she said no, do you know what he did? He put a bubble around her and compressed it with the force of a tectonic plate. I watched him turn that poor woman into a diamond and it’s been his go-to trick ever since. When he dies they’ll find a suitcase full of diamonds and they’ll never really know where he got them from. But I’ll know. The odd patient here or there, a passing girl he found pretty, a man whose jawline made him feel inferior… they’ll all be in there, put aside like precious little trophies. That’s the truth. Richard’s a serial killer and he always has been, and if there was any justice in this world, even a drop, he wouldn’t have been made an unstoppable force of nature. He would have been stillborn, but here we are and honestly I think you’re all lucky he gets a kick out of lying to you. And now, somehow, the bastard’s dug me out and he’s coming at me anew. I always thought he’d just kill me if he got the chance. He doesn’t “get” that other living things feel pain so torture for torture’s sake isn’t his thing. We’re just meat to him and we exist only in that we have utility. But this kind of psychological torture I’ve been going through lately? I never really thought it was like him. I guess he must be learning… God he must know me better than I thought. It started simple enough… I was smoking (and no, I don’t get to strip the tar out when I’m done, I just have to live with it clogging my arteries) when I felt something crawling up my leg. Out here in the country it’s not uncommon to get mosquitos so I went to swat it away but I nearly had a coronary when I saw a big fat spider on my leg. I hate the freaking things. Jesus Christ they scare me, I’m getting sweaty just thinking about its long spindly limbs spread across my skin. And I freaked out, right? I just freaked out and I smashed my hand down and then I pulled it back and I started doing that weird little hoppy dance from terror and revulsion that teenage girls do. I could barely process my own thoughts in the moment, I just knew I needed to scrape my hand before I took a proper look because this thing was a big fat-bodied hairy monster and the sight of its guts would have made me ill. So that’s what I did, I scraped it off on a table ledge and shut my eyes and washed my hands with the hottest water I could get. But then when I went to clean the table there was only dust. And that’s when I felt a weight on my sleeve and I looked and there it was again, the same spider. It met my eyes and its leg tightened with the creaking sound of tensile strength. I’d never seen a spider like it and this time I didn’t close my eyes, this time I slammed my arm so hard against the wall I’ve still got the bruise. And you know what happened? Poof. The spider went up like a glitter bomb. It took me a moment to realise it was just dust pouring down around me, like snow or ash. And yet there was the outline of the spider on the wall. I couldn’t deny it had been right there. Course, at the time I didn’t really think of it like that. I just put the strangeness down to fatigue. In fact it wasn’t until a week later when I saw it (again) on the kitchen island that I took the time to trap it and get a proper look. At first it stayed so still I started to wonder if it was a kind of prank toy. The neighbours and I are spaced out pretty far on account of some protocol zeta or some shit, but even amongst the losers I’m still the biggest outcast and I wouldn’t put it past them banding together to play a mean trick on me. Anyway, there I was thinking all this, staring at the misshapen legs of this thing when I became convinced it wasn’t not real. So I lifted up the glass and it just flew at me like something out of an old B-movie, like it was a cheap rubber prop. And all I could do in the moment was bat it away but once again it just went poof and turned to dust. Only when I looked back to the island there it was again like it had teleported so I grabbed a book and slammed it down over and over until there was just the dusty linty outline of a spider. Somehow, in front of my very fucking eyes it popped back up into the shape of a three dimensional thing and it took every ounce of my willpower not to scream like a girl. So I trapped it, again. And after what felt like hours of just staring at this thing—seeing clearly that it was a spider made out of whatever random matter was at hand—that it finally dawned on me. Richard was never into psychological torture but he was a pragmatist and I still have nightmares about the time he locked me in a basement and sent “dust bunnies” after me. He was only seven but even back then it took weeks for me to recover. I still have nightmares about it, only now in the nightmares the “dust bunnies” look like spiders and I know they’ll do more than just scratch and bite. I don’t know how he learned about that dream of mine, but the second I realised what that spider was I knew he was behind it all. It was like something out of my head had come to life and only he has that kind of power. The next day I went to check up on my neighbours and my suspicions were all but confirmed. It’s a long walk between houses - they’re these chic little 60s-esque trailers that were thrown up cheap just for us, the clean rounded lines and pastel colours contrasting strangely against the overgrown Irish moors where we live close to the coast. Anyway, I dragged myself through sodden muck and lumpy earth until I made my way to the home of someone I know only as Alec. The strangest thing was that his house had been pulled apart. I’ve heard of people having latent kinesis in their middle age and how they often end up hurting themselves with a sudden outburst, and for a moment I thought that’s what had happened to Al but a closer look revealed him lying there amidst the rubble. What little I could see of him was poking between out the ruins all bloodied and mangled, his face bloated and his pallid skin coated in dust. He looked like a zombie out of one of those old movies with his face all caked in white make up, and after seeing him I immediately left to go tell someone. For some reason I found myself rushing back to my place, the tall reeds and rolling hills appearing oddly menacing to me along the way. I couldn’t say for sure, what with this place being so wind-beaten and visibility being so poor, but I had this sense of being watched by something in the overgrowth. By the time I was picking up the phone I was hitting the buttons hard but there was no dial tone, and a quick look at my roof revealed that the phone line had been bent and snapped off and was lying amidst the mud and sand just outside my kitchen window. Seeing that made me certain that this was all part of Richard’s game. The idea of him coming back to get me could have driven me insane then and there… Hell, I even messed around with the idea of hanging myself with a belt as a last resort but even just the thought of it turned my stomach. I’ve spent my whole life fighting against a society that’s not just made for people like me, the thought of rolling over pissed me off even though I knew Richard could just take me apart like a jigsaw and keep me alive forever. He was playing a game, that much was certain. Not long after finding the antenna I went and checked on the others in this area. It took me most of the day but each one was either missing or in pretty bad shape. One guy was buried up to his neck in the soil, his tongue all fat and swollen and his face gaunt and thin. It looked like he’d starved to death there, but I couldn’t say for sure. Another one, a young woman who’d always looked mousy and afraid, she was up on the top of her home and while I couldn’t see the rest of her, the little bit of ankle that dangled over the edge was bruised and broken, her skin the colour of battered fruit. I tried calling out to her, but it didn’t take much to figure she was dead. Only one of them offered any clue to what had happened. He was hiding in his closet clutching a knife in one hand and something very odd in the other. It looked like a bit of dried plant maybe, but it was all dark and leathery. In fact, it looked a little like dried banana skin except there was three feet of it, not to mention it was pretty hairy too. He’d also left some notes out along with a few photos on his desk, clearly having spent his time around here as some kind of naturist or bird watcher. The photos were odd, mostly showing the surrounding beaches except he’d circled some blurry shapes along the coast and in some pictures of the nearby dunes and hills. Squinting closely I couldn’t make out anything but he’d organised them in a way to suggest that he understood the contents to have great significance. It didn’t make sense to me, but then again neither did the sketches of local wildlife almost all of which he’d annotated with phrases like “unseen in nature”, “unusually carnivorous”, or simply just “???? ”. I took the papers and went back home, and sure enough I found some of the stuff he’d drawn growing around my place. In fact, there was more of it in my garden than anywhere else. I’ll admit, they looked a bit odd, like punk-rock thistles and angry seedpods with teeth. But they were just plants, and as for the things he’d circled in the photographs? At the time I sure as hell couldn’t figure out what he’d been trying to point out, but whenever I looked up at the endless hills and shuffling heather I could have sworn something was out there watching me. Come night time I tried to lock up tight, trying to figure out if I could wait all of this out until one of my carers arrived. But if Richard really was after me then there was fuck all them or anyone else on Earth could do. People had spent so long celebrating him, I hoped to God at least one person, somewhere, had thought of how to contain him if he finally went Ted Bundy on the whole world. For all I know I’m writing this for a wasteland. Maybe I’m his final victim? Maybe there’s a mountain of diamonds somewhere and I’m just the final person he gets to play with. You know my parents got him a dog once? First time I ever really got a sense of his true abilities was when he started killing it and bringing it back, night after night. He’d sit there, hands hovering over its golden fur while I tried to shut out the sound of cracking bones and creaking flesh. Meanwhile he’d sit there silently, telling me all the things he could feel. “There’s an energy in it, Matthew, ” he told me. “I can feel the cells pulling apart and knitting together. I can feel that energy, I can… I can reach in and slow it down, or speed it up, or even… yes, I can even rewrite it. ” No one knew except for me. People thought it was incredible that he could remove tumours but he could do more than that. He could kill cancer at the genetic level, he could extend lifespans, cure infertility, rewrite our very genes and no one knew. If they had known what he could do they might have understood just how fucking heartless he was because he never once bothered to help the world beyond the odd surgery. Then again, why did he have to? He got everything he needed patching up politicians and movie stars, or from turning up on talk shows. I think he knew that if anyone actually got wind of what he could do they’d put him under the knife just like they wanted to do to me. Do you guys know how you close you came to total annihilation when Richard was born? I mean, every day you guys are millimetres away from a literal hell on Earth, because if some dick in a lab coat ever did decide to go after Richard you’d remove pretty much every reason he ever had to control himself. Like I said, it’d be a mountain of diamonds. Maybe that’s why he’s doing this to me? Maybe he got sick of keeping it under wraps. He only ever messed around with our dog, switching its gender week-to-week, growing new heads, sustaining old ones, altering it to grow flowers in its fur. He must have spent decades knowing he had all that power and he just never acted on it. Deep down I always suspected this kind of thing was his deal; the strange flowers that look like faces down by the beach, centipedes made of fingers, the mosquitos the size of hummingbirds. Richard really has gone all out, letting all these things loose. I recently went to take another look at the other homes around here, just look for supplies, and almost all the bodies had been dragged away. The only one who wasn’t gone was the guy who’d been buried up to his neck in dirt. His flesh had started to grow into the very grass itself, his mouth stuffed full of violet flowers that whistled as I approached. It was while I was there that I noticed how the horizon had taken on a strange oily effect. The closer I got to it the more I realised I couldn’t see a damn thing on the other side. When I threw a rock into it, it was like the air sucked it up. It barely travelled a few inches before it just disappeared into God-knows-what. He’s trapped me in this hell on Earth and oh boy the games he’s been playing with me. I can barely sleep for all the spiders I keep swatting away. They turn up everywhere now, magicked out of the very essence of reality by the sociopathic deity I call brother. They’re in my glasses of water, hiding in my food, in my shoes, the back of my collar, and on one or two occasions they’ve come crawling out of my yawning mouth. They’re like the very idea of a spider, as opposed to the real thing. They’re legs often split half way down and they’re never the same size or shape, but they’re nothing compared to that thing on the beach. First time I saw it, I thought I was looking at a pile of fishing tackle and seaweed from a distance. It was a long way away but the jumbled figure broke the clean lines of the shore and drew the eye. God it wasn’t until it had closed half the distance that it even dawned on me I was in some kind of danger. It’s just it looked quite unreal, maybe even fake like a movie prop. But it kept coming, moving like an invisible hand was bobbing it up and down and I quickly realised I needed to get home, quickly. It didn’t make a sound and I still suspect it’s doesn’t belong in our reality quite like you or any other physical thing might. It moved like it was suspended in water, like its movements weren’t happening in the same space as the real world. And the way it looked meant that it was impossible to see clearly amidst the rolling moors and dunes. I ran so fast I nearly sprained my ankle, feeling the tremendous strain of thundering up and down endless slopes, some just a few feet high, some nearly ten metres tall. And every time I glanced over my shoulder there was a sense of something moving against the silhouette of the grass, but this thing was in its element, perfectly camouflaged against the wind-swept grass. Only when I ran indoors and slammed my door shut did I get to see just how close it was behind me. Its body rammed into the door the second I clicked it shut, and looking out the small window I got to appreciate the trailer-sized body it dragged along the Earth. You could have mistaken it for an enormous compost heap with misshapen, almost puppet-like, arms branching from the centre, and every now and again some glistening pinkish flesh would become visible as it thrashed around. Weirdly, its teeth weren’t sharp but blunt and flat, like the teeth of a large pig, and for some reason that unsettled even more than usual. It wouldn’t stop coming for me, and in a sort of mindless panic I ran into a cupboard and tried to shut the door. There I stayed, squeezing my eyes shut in terror while my whole home was rocked back and forth until eventually the trailer was pushed over. At some point I must have hit my head and blacked out, but when I came to, I was confused to find no sign of the thing that had attacked me. Instead something else had appeared in the hills, and there was no missing this thing. It looked like it came crawling straight out of a fucking dreamscape. It hasn’t moved once, leering at me with those black featureless eyes. It’s the size of a fucking mansion, hovering over this increasingly alien landscape. Weirdly, if I stare at it too long, its strange crab-like legs start moving side-to-side almost like a nervous child. Before I finally left home I took the time to use my binoculars and I saw the thing that had attacked me lying below, crunched up and broken. Richard has created some very strange things to torment me. But that’s not the real torture. No that has to be what I found at the facility just by the edge of this place. I only went there for shelter after my own place was trashed but the things I found… I never knew Richard had that kind of insight into me. Age, I think, has turned him unusually cruel. It’s not just that the researchers there had been taken apart at the seams, in fact that kind of brutalist body horror is what I’ve come to expect from Richard. No, it was all the notes I found that made constant reference to project zeta. I skimmed some of them, reading their notes on how latent kinesis could be disastrous in the disabled community, specifically those who manifested little to no psychic abilities as children and teenagers. At the very least it explained why they separated us from society and each other given that in much of the reports they spoke about us “specimens” like we were walking A-bombs. It made me laugh that they’d written so much about us losers and not the fucking serial killer I spent nine-months sharing a womb with. But that was the elaborate joke Richard’s been pulling on me all along. The spiders, the monsters, the flowers – does he really think I wouldn’t recognise the things I drew as a child? And that pathetic email I found half-finished on the lead researcher’s computer; does Richard really think I’d believe he died? God just read some of it: Hi Will, I know you’re new here and your clearance just passed so let me give you the rundown. As far as we can tell from the post-mortem tests Dr Atterson had no kinesis. He was, and the brain scans seem to confirm this, a severely disabled individual. This, at the very least, might explain the recent uptick in activity at Site Gama. We’ve known that, under intense psychological distress, some people can manifest their own equivalent to bad luck and we know that people with close relatives high on the scale have higher survival rates in car crashes and during other disasters. So far, this has been written off as a peculiar quirk of human psychology, where a gifted individual is somehow able to “loan” some of their kinetic abilities to those they love; something that occurs exclusively under tremendous strain or stress. But we’ve never really considered the possibility of someone gifting their abilities to another out of sheer spite. Either way, we are openly considering the possibility that Matthew was somehow sponsoring Richard’s kinesis, providing him with gifts he otherwise lacked. At the very least this explains why, after his brother’s death (which we have carefully kept from Matthew), activity at Site Gamma immediately began spiking. Normally this kind of fringe theory would take years to investigate but given what is at risk the agency has decided to move ahead with increased funding and manpower at this facility (hence why you’re here now). Matthew’s execution has already been authorised, just to be safe, so if things look rough we can act on that without the need for further bureaucracy. But be aware, if these power readings are accurate, we might need to consider something more drastic than a mere bullet. There are already reports of strange weather phenomena in the arctic circle, and recent mutations among the annual flu virus epidemic in Europe suggest unnatural tampering with the gene code. And that’s not even starting to mention some of the recent reports from the LHC and the physicists in Tokyo. It sounds ridiculous but we might not have a lot of time. If Matthew has the kind of power we suspect and he’s not consciously engaged with it then, without his brother to “loan” his power to, it might be his subconscious in control instead. In which case this whole world might be beholden to the anxieties and neuroses of a man who once requested state-sanctioned euthanasia because of the severity of his night terrors. The email was dated six months ago, and the mere sight of it made me laugh. It was a stroke of genius on behalf of Richard, I have to give him that. Framing me for my own torture? And it’s so unlike him to create a scenario where he’s not the greatest person alive, it almost makes it convincing. Almost… I’m not an idiot. For some reason he must want it so that I don’t tell the others about the stuff he did. But you have to believe me, he’s a monster, and if crazy shit is going on out there then it’s him you need to look at. You’ve had a god walking among you this whole time and you never even realised. If you’re lucky you can catch him unaware and end the bastard before he does any real damage. Otherwise, the world’s going to look pretty weird when he’s done with it.

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2. Author: Christian Mingle Reject
3. Biography: I'm a unicorn. A magical feminist, pro-Black unicorn fairy that's hopelessly devoted to God.

 

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