I will keep this short, I am depressed because sadly only a few hundred worldwide were affected when my beautiful jig got snagged by F, and now this prophet tries to reconnect like an apostle, dungeoneering the Gift away. Unfortunately, Wind blew and slayed a servant of the Creators. Burning in flames, my mind outpaces me: my people are conscious with offerings at the altar but Fate follows Wind, carrying out the will of a tyrant. My blessing is my curse. How does One heal when the slave driving masters holding the microphones are prompted by ignorance, investors that have no respect for our flag? My homeland screams for war, am I the only one that hears its prayers? I fear tell that gods are simply bards: what was Jesus Christ and Mohammed and like? A God of Action is not able to be advertised anymore. This book I write will contain many ways how to be empathetic, fierce creators, but it is up to You to become God instead of god. Anyone can create and destroy on their level. We are chosen, we have the science, we have the spine. My obstacles are many. I once believed I could appeal with Beauty. I will prove I am more than appearances. Alla uh Ackba, readers.