About Adriana Gómez

Atheist, anarchocapitalist and crazy cat lady. Bender Bending Rodriguez die hard fan and zombie lover.

Public Notes


Recent Activity

  • Adriana shared from a Personal Document
    Mostly you are what they think you are.
    Note: Neil Gaiman. American Gods.
  • Adriana shared from a Personal Document
    in all branches of industry—and death is an industry, my young friend, make no mistake about that—one makes one’s money from operating in bulk, from buying in quantity, from centralizing one’s operations. It’s not pretty, but it’s true. Trouble is, no one wants to know that their loved ones are traveling in a cooler-van to some big old converted warehouse where they may have twenty, fifty, a hundred cadavers on the go. No, sir. Folks want to think they’re going to a family concern, somewhere they’ll be treated with respect by someone who’ll tip his hat to them if he sees them...
    Note: Death is an industry. Nei Gaiman. American Gods.
  • Adriana shared from a Personal Document
    Salim takes off his shoes, his socks, and then the rest of his clothes. The taxi driver comes out of the shower, wet, with a towel wrapped about his mid-section. He is not wearing his sunglasses, and in the dim room his eyes burn with scarlet flames. Salim blinks back tears. “I wish you could see what I see,” he says. “I do not grant wishes,” whispers the ifrit, dropping his towel and pushing Salim gently, but irresistibly, down onto the bed. It is an hour or more before the ifrit comes, thrusting and grinding into Salim’s mouth. Salim has already come twice in this time. The jinn’s...
    Note: Neil Gaiman. American Gods.
  • Adriana shared from a Personal Document
    “Is this true? Are these people really gods? It’s all so…” He paused. Then he said, “Unlikely,” which was not exactly the word he had been going for but seemed to be the best he could do. “What are gods?” asked the buffalo man. “I don’t know,” said Shadow.
    Note: What are gods?. Neil Gaiman. American Gods.
  • Adriana shared from a Personal Document
    “Hey,” said Shadow. “Huginn or Muninn, or whoever you are.” The bird turned, head tipped, suspiciously, on one side, and it stared at him with bright eyes. “Say ‘Nevermore,’” said Shadow.
    Note: Well, if a raven talked to me I would also ask him to say 'Nevermore'. Neil Gaiman. American Gods.