But the woman on the screen locks eyes with the audience—whispering that things are “partially true, and therefore totally false”—before her figure is duplicated, flipped upside-down, and inverted like a photographic negative.
On January 16, Liberty Baptist Church was packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Under the stained-glass windows, churchgoers swayed back and forth, singing along to “When the Gates Swing Open”—but with one notable absence. Otis Clay, who for decades had sung the very same song from the pulpit, was now in a casket.
“Nowadays, I just hide where I can hide.”
As the conference’s PowerPoint conceded in bold red text: “praying with students in class is not a wise strategy; it can get you fired.”
“In the abstract, there’s something people can see many times. In something realistic, you always find the same.”
Waka Flocka Flame has worn one of his shirts.