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Mother locked me in the closet. It took a full day to realize that perhaps she may never let me out. After day three, I began carving figures in the woodwork along the baseboards of the closet with my fingernails. By the end of the week, I knew that I wanted nothing else but to be an artist. I began seeing visions, mirages on a faraway unreachable dune, of my artwork appearing in fine galleries all over the world. I had to get away.
One morning after mother had left the house I heard a noise from the front porch. The noise was a familiar voice. It was Victoria Martins voice. She was the beautiful young French girl who lived next door. I screamed, hoping she would hear me. She did.
excerpt from my new blog, . http://artbushed.blogspot.com/ -
gl with that
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Cool fake story bro
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This is a complimentary reply to a post that is undeserving of same.
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If a tree falls in the forest, and nobody is there to hear it fall, should I still masturbate with headphones on?
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My gay dog wants to adopt.










