Devon Paris

“Memories, like ancient history, can easily disappear when their pertinence to today is ignored, and then they eventually reappear and become current events.”
― Hubert Selby Jr., The Demon

“In the rose garden, the flowers are maneuvering toward the winter sunshine and the alluring sound of the koi pond’s waterfall makes you think it has a crush on you. You offer no resistance—you are done (at least temporarily) with the “regular” world.”
― Tom Hillman, Digging for God

“And she was right. No matter how they tried, the two humans, with the cat but without the microchip, couldn’t connect to headquarters. Raya heard a loud popping sound in her mind, like a huge rubber band being snapped, like a glider plane released from a Piper Cub.”
― Sara Pascoe, Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For

“Ahem! Ahem!” As I recalled, Aunt Kathy loved Uncle Dan so much, she went grocery shopping during his funeral and failed to attend his burial as well. Apparently, Ham Hocks, Collard greens, Chitlin, Fatback, and Hog-Head cheesetook higher priority over his Last Rites. Then the reverend proceeded cautiously as he introduced my mom. “Let metell y’all about my Ms. Liza. Sister Kathy kept this one close.”
“Ahem! Ahem! Ar-choo! Ahem!”
Shockingly, there was a lightening blast that rocked the building once again while dimming the lights for more than 10seconds. The crowd turned restless, took a deep breath, and then allowed Pastor Keith to resume. “I’m gonna tell y’all, they were two kernels on a cob. When you saw Sister Kathy, you saw Sister Liza.
“Ahem! Ahem! Ahem!”
“The two of them raised those boys from seeds to bean stalks. We helped nourish them right here in Zion Gate Union. Now they’re just ripe for the harvest. I hope some of you ladies can take a

hint!” For a brief moment, modest laughter filled the church. Yet, it was needed because Pastor Keith had gone into uncharted waters. No one dared to challenge my mom. Yet, Pastor Keith was speaking glowingly about her. Only a fewwanted to see where the Reverend was going. But most didn’t care to re-open that door. Church members were so afraid of Mom, no one dared to call her by name. All parishioners would go mute and head the other way, or simply hit the exits just to avoid all encounters.”
― Harold Phifer, My Bully, My Aunt, & Her Final Gift