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Wicked Wednesday #143 — Happy Birthday (Marie Rebelle)!!!

Fiona walked about the rooftop, restless. The stars were practically on top of her, along with her own photographs hung up everywhere. She loved the attention, she always had. 

Ever since Shanghai, when she was there with Eliza, it was all that she relished. The attention that she got because of her own talent. Photographs had always been her map to the world, the way she absorbed things and the way she translated everything. Holding her camera, the circles she made around this earth, everything that was in her eyes was in her pictures. It did not matter if it was the supremely beautiful, or the most common of things for her as an artist. It made her smile because she had told Alice about her love of Jean Dubuffet, who loved to highlight the most basic of things. Alice had introduced her to her boss Polly, who had just acquired a Dubuffet as a surprise in Paris. They were negotiating now the private sale of the painting.  

Fiona smiled even more when she thought of Alice. The beautiful girl had wandered into her vision through a crowd in Paris, like she was tumbling down the hole and Fiona felt like the bunny that led her down. She could tell when they first met that Alice was starstruck, Fiona’s reputation as a lothario of sorts was out there and a lot of girls wanted to be her next conquest. But that was just it, Fiona wanted a conquest. Someone she had to chase. Well she used to, anyone she could not get that was who she wanted. She had to admit that that was part of her love for Eliza. Not that it negated her love, but she had to admit where it was coming from.

But as she talked to Alice, she saw that she was really smart about art, self-possessed and that she liked her. 

Alice was the reason she had agreed to this birthday shindig at the gallery which she was going to veto, but she wanted to see Alice again. As it turned out, she was with Polly when they went in the private viewing room to look at the Dubuffet earlier which made Fiona’s heart burst with joy as soon as she saw it. The almost fecal tones, it was that earthy and she loved it. She started snapping pictures of it, and one she snapped while Alice was looking at it. Alice’s side profile defined with her lovely head cocked to one side, and her hips thrust out.

Fiona liked her, and judging by the way Alice looked at her with alternate smiles, or avoiding her eyes she was pretty sure Alice really liked her.

It was with the stars on top of her, and with a birthday cake on the table covered in edible gold and silver stars, that Alice appeared. With her hair out, Alice effortlessly made the transition from day to night. A touch more makeup and glitter, made her shine more than all of the stars in the sky to Fiona.

“I was wondering where you were,” she said to Alice, watching her sentence register over her face.

“I had to finish up some work, but I told you I would be here. Especially since Polly could not make it…”

“Let us eat cake then!” Fiona took Alice’s hand in hers, and the softness of Alice’s hand felt like a soft fire in hers. “I eat cake on my birthday, but I want more champagne really!”

“I barely like sweets,” Alice said.

They cut into the buttercream-filled layer cake, and took one piece. Fiona piled stars on their slice, laughing as people watched her pile on the stars. Balancing two glasses of champagne, 

they took the cake back out onto the roof,  Eating cake to distract her from staring at Alice, Fiona captured a forkful with lots of buttercream frosting and a small star. She let it hover over Alice’s mouth. Alice looked surprised, but she opened her mouth to accept the cake. Fiona took out her phone, knocked a glass of champagne off the ledge of the roof, and took a picture of Alice. When Alice looked like she was protesting, she took more pictures and continued to feed her cake.

“You’re beautiful,” she said finally, as she filled Alice’s beautiful mouth with the last scraping of buttercream frosting.

“Thank you,” Alice said quietly.

Fiona’s eyes lifted toward the stars, as she fingered the frosting-smeared plate.

“What was your birthday wish? I see you looking at the stars, and I was not here when you blew out the candles.”

Fiona stared at Alice, turned to face her fully, pushed out her hips and lowered her lids.

“I wished for you.”

Fiona whirled away from Alice, and mingled with the crowd. She had not been drinking, but she barely heard anything that was being said because all she was thinking about and feeling was Alice. When Alice left, she was no longer there either.

It was awhile before she left herself, but she eventually did and got into the car that was waiting for her. Alice sat by the window. When Alice turned and looked at her, Fiona leaned forward and pressed her lips to the mouth that she had photographed on the roof, focusing on it like a Tom Wesselmann. Alice moved into her, and Fiona pulled Alice’s legs over her own and felt herself click like a key had been turned between her legs. Fiona closed her eyes, and before she did she saw the stars in the sky. Such a heavenly view, she heard that fragment of Coldplay’s ‘Sky Full of Stars’ in her head as they kissed. Alice’s soft fire turned hard, as their kisses deepened.

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tom wesselmann study for smoking via google images

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Wicked Wednesday #142 — Reviews

Alice was super nervous about her review. All of the interns had an exit interview…some of them were hired after the fact. Being in Paris was nerve-wracking, because she was terrified that she would do something wrong and she really wanted to work with Polly. There was room for Pollyto hire an assistant, and she wanted that to be her.
She went to a reception in Polly’s place, where there were sumptuous hors d’oeuvres and creative cocktails. Polly was having dinner with the client that they had met with earlier, Alice guessed that their families had been friends.
Some people knew the latest music artist, Alice knew the newest artists. When she noticed a photographer that she admired, she took a sip of her drink and tried not to shake. Her friends laughed at her when she fan-girled an artist, but this was her groupie base. In the art world.
Seeing Fiona Méret, made her pause. Aside from her stunning photographs, Fiona herself was stunning. The first time Alice walked past her to get a cocktail–a rye whiskey concoction mixed with Lambrusco–she almost had a nervous breakdown. But it was Fiona’s hand on her shoulder that soothed her.
“Come on in honey,” she said pushing Alice forward.
Alice smiled and got her cocktail, which she sipped faster than she normally would have. For her second one, she again walked past Fiona who had never moved away from the bar. Fiona who this time, fanned away from the rest of the crowd to invite her in.
“Come on honey,” Fiona welcomed her like it was her own home. “Another one for the pretty girl,” she said to the bartender.
Alice blushed, she knew that Fiona liked women, she had read an article about her. But she was not expecting the particular nervousness she felt when she walked past her.
Fiona was gorgeous, and additionally charismatic and charming as evidence by all the groupies around her. Alice felt flattered that she went out of her way to allow her in to get her drinks. And at that close range, she saw how striking Fiona was. Everyone around her, looked at her like she was otherworldly. Like she had come down from the stars.
Maybe there were stars in her eyes as she lingered, just a bit where Fiona was. She took a soft sip of her cocktail, and observed her, closer but she was not quite near her. Fiona took out her phone, to take a picture, of a lacy decoration on the wall.The decoration was lace, somewhat Victorianesque in its look.
Alice moved closer. Without words, she and Fiona had a full conversation.
“So you know I am a photographer,” Fiona said to her after they had started actually talking. “What do you do?”
Alice did not tell her she was an intern, she just told her where she worked.
“Well cool, I am going to be there next week. Here’s my card.”
Fiona’s skin whispered against Alice’s palm as she handed her the card. Suddenly Alice was not thinking about Polly’s review of her, or her exit interview.
She was thinking of Fiona Méret’s cool card burning a hole in her hand.

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louise dahl-wolfe photo via duck duck go images

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Lana Fox Is the Cream of the Crop!

Yesterday was my one-year blog anniversary, and I honestly cannot imagine a better way to kick off my blog’s second year than with the cream of the crop! I feel like I have already gushed about Lana before on my blog…you see I was a fan of hers before I knew her at all. I wrote this blog post about her story “The Silver Belt.” Her writing is extraordinary, in the vein of our muse Anaïs Nin. With Cream, she masters the craft–again. Her writing really is like the best cream filling. Read her interview and excerpt below, and tell me you are not licking your fingers after!

1. You’re such a romantic! Tell us more about your romantic side and your love of Anais Nin.

Well, I grew up in England with parents who were living very traditional, religious lives. I was different to them — very different. What’s more, I was bullied at school, and generally treated as weird and strange. But I truly found myself in the books my parents so readily bought me. In these stories, from fairy tale to fantasy to comedy to Shakespeare, I discovered my love of words. (Dear God, I love words!) There’s a line in Carol Ann Duffy’s poem “Little Red Cap” that explains how I still feel about words and stories. In this lovely, twisted retelling of the fairy tale, Little Red Cap (aka Little Red Riding Hood) goes willingly home with the wolf after they’ve met at the theatre, no less, and stays the night:

“As soon as he slept, I crept to the back
of the lair, where a whole wall was crimson, gold, aglow with books.
Words, words were truly alive on the tongue, in the head,
warm, beating, frantic, winged; music and blood.”

I lived through books, breathed through books, and even when I was sent away to Christian Science Boarding school, it was stories that kept me sane, kept me brave.

Then, years later, when I was sexually ashamed, dissociated, and recovering from sexual trauma, I found Anais Nin’s “Delta of Venus” on a bookstore shelf. I picked it up, opened it, and felt an instant connection. Here were books, written *most* romantically and poetically, about the very sexual fantasies I’d locked away inside myself lest anyone see the truth about me — the truth that I was fiercely, intensely erotic, in spite of my attempts to be the “pure” girl my parents wanted.

That’s how Anais Nin saved me. And she has done, ever since. (In fact, she brought us together, dear friend!) Her words, like the wolf’s, are crimson, gold, aglow, truly alive on the tongue — and for me, they always will be.

So now I live in a world of books. In fact, I just published Cream: An Erotic Romance, which was so exciting and rapturous to write! And by the way, at Go Deeper Press we currently have a contest running for indie writers. So if you want to win a book cover design and e-book formatting package, do take a look!

2. Cream: An Erotic Romance is your new erotic romance novel! Now, isn’t it both dessert- and music-themed?

Yes! Thank you for asking! I’ve been a fan of smoky jazz numbers for a long time, largely thanks to amazing performers like Diana Krall, Ella Fitzgerald, Natalie Cole, Miles Davis, and others. So it was a joy to write about a jazz singer called Caroline who brings music and sex — and creamy deliciousness — back into the life of her new romantic partner, Marcus. Here’s a little blurb of the novel:

Sultry jazz singer Caroline Spence has a penchant for smokier numbers—and, as it turns out, men of a similar temperament. So when the darkly dominant Marcus takes her on as his submissive, she surprises him by sharing his love of double cream, both in a bowl and on her body, as well as a passion for kink that could lose him his job.

Still, it turns out Marcus isn’t the only one who wants Caroline. The young, rich, and audacious Kyle could listen to her sing forever. Caroline soon finds out, however, that Kyle’s obsession has a dangerous side. But with his charm and smoldering good looks, she finds it easy to let him push her a little too far.

Two men. One siren.

And a challenge that changes her life.

You can also listen to the Cream playlist here, thanks to Angela! (Some of my faves include Diana Krall’s version of Frim Fram Sauce and “The Lady is a Tramp” by Frank Sinatra. I hope you enjoy!

3. What are your feelings about Valentine’s Day?

You know, I’m a big fan of romance–and that includes solo romance. I’ll share a little story: After my first marriage was over, and before I met my lovely wife Angela (we co-run Go Deeper Press together), I lived with a group of wonderful friends, but I wasn’t dating on Valentine’s Day. All the same, I still took myself out to celebrate! I bought myself flowers and a box of chocolates (all for myself!), not to mention a brand new sex toy from Good Vibrations. On the day itself, I went to Trident Book Store on Newbury Street in Boston and had dinner out with a brand new book. And you know what? I discovered that Valentine’s Day can be just as romantic when you are single.

Oh! And another thing, while we’re on the topic of romance! When I studied literature at university I was taught that people originally gave one another roses because the rose was thought to represent the anatomical beauty of the female genitals. All those lush petals and the way they surround the core so sensually. Isn’t that lovely? So if anyone out there is still learning to love their genitals, buy yourself some roses this Valentine’s Day and tell yourself they reflect you, perfectly. Just an idea!

4. I know you love yoga! How does this tie in with your life as a writer?

Yoga helps me to do the opposite of escape — it helps me to become myself in the moment. I have one of those minds that wants to be continually creating, but unless I feel the calmness of the present moment, I’m always mentally rushing around. And of course, when my mind is still during both yoga and meditation I am lighting the pure flame that drives all that creativity and romance. I have to remember that yoga and meditation help everything to flow — sometimes that is hard to remember when I’m trying to meet deadlines, but avoiding yoga and meditation is rarely to my benefit!

Angela and I like to do yoga together and because we run Go Deeper Press from home, we can actually have yoga sessions at the start of the day, or during an agreed-on break. We then bring all that calm and strength back into the office and we write or promote or blog or connect. It’s quite lovely!

Thanks so much for having me! And folks can buy Cream: An Erotic Romance on Amazon in both print and e-book — I’d love to hear what you all think of it, so please feel free to follow me and tag me on Twitter at @foxlana.

And now, let’s open this creamy confection! Here is a delectable excerpt from Cream!

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In this excerpt from Cream: An Erotic Romance by Lana Fox, the dominant Marcus, who has just spent the evening having kinky sex with Caroline, has poured her a bath. He has also brought up a glass of white wine for her, along with a terracotta jug of cold double cream.

“Now,” he said. “Are you ready for cream?”
“Cream, Sir?”
“Double cream,” he said. “Get ready for some coolness on your back.”
Then he held the jug over me and poured. It was the most incredible sensation. Thick cream—the kind you whip into clouds—fell down my back, unctuous and cool. I moaned just to feel it, and I heard him moan, too. Then I felt his hands on my back, rubbing the cream into me, massaging my skin. I relaxed into it, aroused by the sensations, and asked, “What are you doing?” before quickly adding, “Sir?”
“Cream is a perfect reward,” he said, “and you’ve earned it, Miss Spence.” There was a heaviness in his voice—a lustful appreciation—as the cream swirled through the water and against my thighs. Then he rose to his feet and made me fall back into the bath before slowly pouring more of the cream over my chest. It splashed onto me and ran over my breasts in rivulets.
I gasped to feel the cool thickness pouring over my nipples, caressing them, chilling them, hardening them with pleasure.
I heard him unzip and when I looked up, he’d set down the jug and was producing his hard cock. “Rub it in,” he said, cock in hand, his voice faltering slightly with lust. “The cream.” He was breathless now. “Rub it…into your breasts.”
I did as he asked—and God, did I feel horny, my fingers rubbing voluptuous cream into my nipples and skin, while Marcus Sir breathed heavily above me, his hand jerking faster and faster on his cock.
“God, Miss Spence,” he said. “How many times can you make me come in one single night?” He moaned again, long and low. “This is a record.” His face seemed to pain with pleasure as his gaze swept down my body. “Rub the cream into your pussy, too,” he said.
The cream had trickled down my belly, so it was easy to arch my spine a little and rub the silken fluids into myself. Marcus Sir was jerking off crazily now, his teeth gritted, his eyes filled with the wildness of an orgy. I felt it, too—and just rubbing the cream into my clit was enough to bring me to the brink of climax. I rubbed harder and harder and he didn’t tell me to stop—just kept moving his hand faster until he stumbled forward, gasping, “I’ll cream your body, I’m going to…,” before coming over me in streams.
Against the coldness of the cream, the heat of his come felt warm, and I found this so deliciously dirty that I climaxed against my fingertips, bucking and bucking as the room spun and blurred. When I finally came down from the high, the bath water was a mess of spinning, clouding cream. I saw him above me, candlelight flickering over his features as he gently tugged at his still-hard cock. His gaze seemed to be filled with glistening amazement. “God, you,” he said. Then he repeated, “I knew you were extraordinary as soon as we met. But I never imagined you could make me lose control.”
I smiled, parted my lips, and sang the opening bars of The Mamas & The Papas’ “Dream a Little Dream of Me,” telling him that the stars were shining brightly, and the night breezes were whispering “I love you.” And when I sang those words—I love you—they didn’t seem out of place at all.

Okay, stop licking your fingers! Isn’t she the best? Now go get Cream!

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Wicked Wesnesday #141– Interviews

It kind of felt like going on an interview, Eliza stared in a store window one more time to make sure she looked perfect before going into the apartment building.
When she had decided to open up her relationship with Rafe, she realized it meant that she acknowledged that there would be other people in their lives. Transient lovers were not an issue, but people that were going to be ongoing was different.
She had never had a conversation with Severine, she had been in the same place with her or heard her on the phone but never really engaged her. For Eliza, to be fully open, she wanted to meet Severine when she was in Paris. So she could know her as more than just an idea, or a shadow.
The door opened, and there was a soft smile on Severine’s mouth. Her beauty was obvious from quick glimpses in New York, but here in Paris it was offsetting.
“Bonjour,” she offered warmly and put her arms around her.
“Bonjour,” Eliza said, and put her arms around her.
“It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Eliza said primarily because she did not know what else to do.
Severine looked at her with wide eyes. She saw that the other woman was insecure too and that soothed her. She smiled,
“You’re nervous too.”
Severine smiled even more.
“Oui, sorry! I tend to speak in French even more when I nervous…”
The conversation ended up being very different from what she was expecting, especially after some aromatic Malbec was introduced.
“What made you change?” Severine asked her. “Rafe told me that you are now also participating in the open relationship part.”
“I fell in love with someone else, that was how I learned that relationships are more fluid that I thought. It is not easy, but there is definitely a difference in deciding that there is more than one person I want to be with. You were involved with Oscar…”
It was still so hard for her to say Oscar’s name since she left Shanghai. Left him and…
“Yes, I feel like if it had just been Rafe that we shared that that would be one thing, but Oscar too…”
Eliza smiled, and looked around at Severine’s apartment which reflected her extensive travel. Postcards and exotic knickknacks everywhere.
“Well you are beautiful, it is not surprising to me that men find you attractive. Want to be with you.”
“So are you, I can imagine that Rafe is scared as hell that you want to be with other men. He could lose you.”
After a huge sip of Malbec, Eliza smiled.
She was not thinking about being lost to Rafe. Right now she was lost to herself.
She was still drinking Malbec later, in a cafe not far from her hotel in Montparnasse. Adrian was late. Even though she knew she shouldn’t, she felt alone and abandoned.
It was so easy for her to feel like that now, and she hated it…Maybe she wanted Rafe to say he only wanted to be with her? But then she was in love with someone else, who was she to fuss?
She was more than tipsy when Adrian walked in, but between her legs pounded soberlt as soon as he walked in.
He sat next to her, and she put her hand on his thigh. He brought it up further along his thigh and she pushed that boundary too.
His kisses ignited her body. She loved the feeling of his hard body that wanted hers, kept demanding hers. Sex with him was like drinking too much Malbec. Savoring, taking everything in.
When the waiter spoke to them, her French was sharper than usual. Did she have to drink too much to be fluent?
Eliza felt fluent in lust, as Adrian pulled her legs over his. She looked him in the eye. He felt sweeter to her because he had not been shared with Severine. He was only hers. At least she did not know who else he had been with. She liked that she thought, as she licked his lips that tasted like the Malbec on hers.
When she opened her eyes, they lingered on all the French words around them and she thought how freeing it felt to be in Paris. Rafe and Oscar were not her utmost thoughts. She was not feeling like the Sylvia Plath poem, The Applicant.
She had not spoken a word to Adrian or he to her, but tangled up in each other their bodies spoke all of their volumes.

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vins photo by f dot leonora

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Chocolate Covered Backstory for the Capture Cupid Blog Hop & New Sponsor Shag!!!

I am the kind of person who works best under pressure. When I was trying to get inspired to write Chocolate Covered, I did not want to be overly ambitious. I said I was going to Paris at the time, so I would definitely get inspired by my trip.
But even Paris did not give the story a shape or a form. I came back to New York…and nothing was coming to me. Oddly enough while playing Covet Fashion–which is a far advanced version of Fashion Plates with themes–the idea came! The theme I was working on was Sexy Fifties Secretary…I had at least dressed Lotte, my female protagonist in my mind.
It was then I realized that Paris had influenced me. I went to this amazing exhibiton where I could not take photos, but I saw such amazing confections from the Fifties. I love the style from that era, and I was already inspired by Oleander’s Chemical [se]X story as a stand alone. Now it is a fantastic anthology, filled with authors I am honored to be featured with. Chocolate Covered was amazing to write, if you want to sample it as you would a chocolate in a store…you can find an excerpt here.

And now for a grand announcement! If you have been following the blog hop, you know that we are giving away an assortment of prizes which you can find in detail here. But there is one prize that is missing! One of my absolute favorite sex shops, has been so kind to give us another prize for our winner. A gift bag from their store is up for the grabs, we have upped the ante! Game on for sure!

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Shag has the best items and events. I was just there for a photography exhibition featuring this gentleman, and for Valentine’s Day they have a blindfolded tasting extravaganza. It makes me all the more sad that I cannot enter contest, but you can! Just leave a comment on my blog, and you are entered to win it all!

Tomorrow the tantalizing Tabitha Rayne is up, so be sure to check her out and have another chance to win!

HOT OFF THE PRESSES!!! Another new gift was added for the winner of the contest, after I wrote this post. Oleander Plume and Go Deeper Press are giving away her newest release, Redeeming Cupid (more…)

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Wicked Wednesday #140 — Trust

Polly did not know if she could trust Colin. His mouth was not on her body anymore, so she was able to think better than she had a moment ago.
“That cannot happen again. I am with someone now, and I can’t…I don’t want to,” she declared.
“It did not matter when you were with that other guy, the one you were living with.”
She looked down at her hands, folded neatly like they would have been when she was a schoolgirl.
She was always the good girl.
“That was different, things were different.”
“So you are in love?”
Polly pounded her folded hands gently on the table.
“What does it matter to you? I don’t have to explain anything to you. Especially when you are going to throw things back in my face. You know it was not easy with Greg. You said you would console me, it got out of hand…I was sad. I’m not sad anymore.”
“So I am only for when you are sad?”
Polly shook her head.
“This is why we could never be together because you do this. You always do this. Try to manipulate me. I am not who I was when you met me, but you haven’t noticed have you?”
Colin laughed.
“Because you are all conventionally pretty and successful now? And how were you different from when we talked about art, went to museums and I drank your blood like wine Polly?”
When he said that she was transported for a moment. She had trusted him so much at that time, trusted him with her mind and her body. They used to go to auctions with his parents, dressed goth and people wrote about how they looked in the papers. No one knew how dark they really were.
She remembered the taste of his blood, if she closed her eyes very tight. It was all just sort of a whim to him though, and she was along for the ride.
“And who are you now Colin? A poor little rich boy? The tortured artist? The fashion impresario? CEO of your father’s company?”
He looked uncomfortable. She had not really meant to hurt him, but he had gone for the jugular first and she was more of a fighter now than she used to be. Without words, she communicated to him that she was sorry. He nodded his head.
“I started collecting Dubuffet.”
Polly shook her head, unfolded her hands.
“You did?”
Colin stood up, and she followed him as he walked and showed her the Dubuffet.
“I thought you did not like his style.”
“I was having dinner with a new artist, who was telling me her style was like Dubuffet. She wanted me to buy one of her paintings, and it made me revisit Dubuffet and said I might as well buy the master.”
“Smart. You have always been so smart about art.”
He ran his hand over his head.
“Not so much about women.”
Polly looked at him. The usual way that she consoled him was with her body, but now she was with Oscar. Oscar was not like anyone she had been with before. Not that her relationships had been bad, but Oscar made her feel lighter in her heart than she had ever felt before. Being in Shanghai with him, doing karaoke, kissing him and lying in bed with him for hours…days before they actually had sex. He made it so light for her, had swept her off of her feet in a way that she had not been swept before. With Colin, at some point she was so desperate for him that it felt less like love, than some kind of dependency. Even now. It was hard to trust if her emotions for him were real, or just remnant of something she used to crave so desperately with him.
“I love you Colin, will always love you. But you and I, you know what it was…”
“What was it Polly?”
She could not read his eyes, she looked at the Dubuffet, the fecal colors she almost felt. His work was gritty and earthy.
“I am surprised that you are collecting Dubuffet…”
“You don’t really know me Polly.”
Looking from the Dubuffet to him, she realized she did not.

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soul of the underground by jean dubuffet photo fragment by f dot leonora

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