You cast Gravaga on accident.
You fail your save.
I was diagnosed with a brain disorder when I was 5–elementary school, kindergarden. The Republicans don’t like me much. Fast-forwarding, my nails are unclipped and I am uncoordinated. No one understands. The host is supposed to be polite to the visitor. But those rules don’t apply to the mind.
I can’t read. All of what you are hearing, will not be registered in my mind. I can write but not read. This is a real brain disease, and I am learning this for the first time as I write this sentence. I do not have a memory. It is temporary. I know this as a fact. I am faithless.
There are some things I don’t talk about. If this is a cliche and the meta-game is cliche too, I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s just a tree. We all branch and see branches from A to B. No worries, brah. No worries.
Temporal rift of twice shifted meaning makes me tremble. They prefer it spelled. There’s real danger, with real pain. Now we are in Gravaga. Be careful.
The question is not what is Gravaga, but where is Gravaga. It is in the Costa Rican Alps, with swiss makeup on. There’s a ketch: The slime dries the walls. Upon second cultural influence: N/A ripo santorum.
Pushing. Temporal rift. The story is not long enough so I’ll just do what I do now. The darma drama leaked out of my bucket, so I’ll just move on. If this is vaguely stylized don’t worry all too much. Some like extreme things. These people damaged me. I am the person the good people beat up. It is a point reference in a subset along an interval. We talked over it. So finally, an alone moment. People have been dying to hear: