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Hello, /lit/erates.
Could I have some constructive criticism? I accidentally wrote an overly involved thing while responding in a thread. It might have potential?
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I grew up in an extremely Southern Baptist household, which meant that I also grew up thinking that ritual cannibalism and live burial wasn't weird. You may take every stereotype you're now thinking of and then apply it to the first ten years of my existence. Young earthers high on Jesus, the Spirit, dodgy epistemology, and an ensuing even dodgier understanding of the hard sciences. We were the chosen few and demons crept in every shadow. Little hawks that knew it was the most noble to join the service of our country (for She was Blessed) or the Lord. Perhaps they were the same thing.
It was a gradual descent from this all-consuming light, but eventually when my eyes adjusted to the dark I was quite dissatisfied with the gaps in my knowledge re: reality. I hid textbooks I stole from the public high school in the ceiling of my church's youthroom. They supplemented and frankly surpassed my homeschooling on the four days of the week I was there. It was a simple matter to stand on stacked chairs and poke a ceiling tile aside with a yardstick. There was no insulation in that layer, which was fortunate.
I still love mythology. When people talk about their gods, they talk about themselves, except for when they talk about their government or dreams or truth. It's ugly and fascinating.
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So, the homemade bomb club is a result of zero parental supervision, mutually enabling pyromania, and unscrupulous fireworks stands.
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