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01-16-2006, 02:13 AM | #16 |
Day Tripper
Join Date: May 2005
Location: Silicon Valley
Posts: 784
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Classic Scene. Sometimes parodied or imitated. Marilyn was The Babe of the 20th Century.
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01-16-2006, 03:54 AM | #17 |
The future is unwritten
Join Date: Oct 2002
Posts: 71,105
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Eros magazine was a hard bound quarterly published by Ralf Ginzburg. For $25 a year you could get highbrow pornography delivered to your door by a uniformed employee of the federal government.
I have three of the four issues before they dared to publish pictures of an interracial couple and the feds pulled the plug on the magazine. Autumn, 1962, Volume One, Number three, features the last Marilyn Monroe photo studio shoot taken just six weeks before<s> she was murdered with a poison suppository</s>,……er, I mean, uh…. her death. She had gone through the transparencies and marked, with an orange magic marker, the photos she didn’t like but they printed them all in the magazine, complete with her markings. She’s a bit slimmer than she was earlier and absolutely stunning. Babe of the 20th century, indeed.
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The descent of man ~ Nixon, Friedman, Reagan, Trump. Last edited by xoxoxoBruce; 01-16-2006 at 03:57 AM. |
05-09-2006, 10:28 PM | #18 |
Abecedarian
Join Date: Oct 2005
Posts: 172
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June's Beginning
My heart bleeds for you
she who makes it skip she who cares for me, she, the one I care for. Tears come to my eyes as each day I pass without her. The broken heart bleeds. Can it be mended? Ah, yes but someone has to tend it. Someone has to care for it. That someone could be her Should be her Might be her. Will be her. Hopefully, her. Come summer’s break a path will open one of hope my hope. On this path she may tread towards the arms of the one who loves her. |
08-17-2006, 07:00 PM | #19 |
Abecedarian
Join Date: Oct 2005
Posts: 172
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Emotion Not Returned
I long to hold her in my arms
to brush my finger across her face and stare her into eyes forever. I wish to hold her closely oh, to kiss those lips to feel her warmth against mine and run my fingers playfully through her hair I know not what I would do with myself. Would I die? Would it just seem like it? If she knew the way I felt more than just knowing I like her what I write what I long to tell her would she be afraid? Or would she embrace? Would she be with me? If only that could be! But I know it may never be. So many question I know may never be answered. I know I should not get caught up with what does not exist but I cannot help myself. Is it loneliness, despair, discontent? |
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