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So don't be shy! Many of our volunteers have never recorded anything before LibriVox. The roles involved in making a LibriVox recording. It was impossible to heat up whole place where fifty heavy-duty easels only took a quarter of the studio space.
In the center there was a huge round stage made from a special hard wood to hold any number of models when needed for the multiple human-figure compositions. The place was full of easels, portable and the large for the field. The chairs, tables, palettes, boxes with paint, cases with paper and lots of other art stuff piled up into mountains.
The parquet floor was always covered in fresh oil paints even though the teachers tried in vein to prove a fact that working neatly was by far more productive. A guard at the main door was a real watch dog, he faithfully guarded the pathway knowing every student's face. But since there were out of town students who had no place to live they were given a place in this dorm.
The beds were of a good prison-like quality so the survival was possible. Another thing is what was happening in the dorm. On a typical day nobody there had any money left after the expensive art materials. Not a penny to get high.
From one bite of that bread you could instantly drop dead as if your legs got cut off by a train. The Album) inside the nose absorb the fumes to hit right into the brain, this way the booze doesn't ever enter the digestive system and blood.
Some pissheads in desperation poured vodka into a wine bottle cap to inhale it like coke. After one cap screw it was a total alchoholocaust. There were many ways of economizing: to use a medical thin rubber tube to suck the drink very slowly, one bottle would.
It was the usual schizophrenic day for me. I had my dose of coffee and ate on a way to the studio. I couldn't understand this thing about my artworks. Why did my classmates literally begged on their knees to have the C-graded artworks I was never satisfied with.
It became my trade mark to give away all of my stuff left and right. I didn't know why I let go of my drawings and paintings so easy. Now I regret that. It would be interesting to see the growth. Once I happened to tell a guy from my class who worked very hard on his drawing he wasn't a good draftsman : "Oh Soft - Kings Of Leon - Aha Shake Heartbreak (Cassette The guy suddenly goes red, stares at me wide-eyed with anger or confusion I couldn't quite understand At some point I am thankful to the teachers for their sneaky methods and experience on how to tame the most unruly and bring them into the art's stable.
On the other hand these people were like sadistic fascists who used their special gases on me experimenting, would I survive it and live on. The bohemian hyped up life only started after the classes at about seven in the evening. This part of the artist's life was full of sex, booze, and drugs, more sex booze drugs and orgies.
The art youth was progressive, the sex - communal with the conveniently shared girlfriends and boyfriends. There was a small group of idiots who followed their criteria of achievement: to draw and paint a vase with flowers so that it comes to life, right out of the canvas to the carrying hands of the one who painted it. The art group was lead by me and another guy soon one month later to disappear forever for the reasons unknown.
After the classes me and few others searched for a studio. Found it. Not my studio. Any studio with the door unlocked. Out of nowhere shows up some dude who was a new student, he was much older, about twenty three, somewhere from Texas and just plain untalented.
If a brush would fall it seemed the atomic bomb had exploded somewhere near. We would exchange vicious cursing at the jittery creaking sneezing noise maker. When you are focusing intensely and can't quite catch the brush stroke to complete the shaping of a form so that the image would turn real and come out of the flat surface the nerves are high strung to the limit.
The last months I just never left the studio, didn't even come outside. Slept on my German coat in the corner. It was veiled with the drapery. I'd wake up in the morning. The doorman was already used to give me the keys knowing that I sleep and work there. It came with a warning that if I am discovered I must tell any story and solemnly kept the secret.
The memories from those years distract me from telling what I want. It's about the event that had closed for me the entry into the forth dimension. Whether the bros wanted to elevate my mental state, or they needed to get my works it had really caused me distraction.
I was focusing on my work. Suddenly I hear the sounds of music in the studio. That asshole doorman will come here. The way it is on here is so buzz-killing. As interesting as it was to play with the real forms in sculpting I disliked dealing with the clay. Those times I believed the painting to be so much more in gradations, possibilities and complexity.
Now I changed my mind to consider any art media possess the unlimited possibilities. I agreed. Suddenly the guys were fixing to leave and I had to ask: "So? Who will finish building up the sculpture if you're leaving? It was pointless to argue, they'd already been drunk and I was only getting nervous. I have changed the lighting set up many ways in vein.
Suddenly, out of nowhere Muse appears. A young, very-very attractive girl about eighteen. The returned gang introduced her to me:. I approached the model, took off her coat and hanged it, removed her blouse and explained that she can go behind the curtain. Suddenly I feel elated with the anticipation of the new and amazing subject for the work. I was fed up with the poor set up and the struggle to "find" the good lighting for the gypsum head.
How wonderful it turned out that I could make some picturesque oil sketches. When the model took off her bra, her young breasts, her nipples instantly distract my attention from work. Could be that something about this evening or the environment was different. First time in a long while the music was playing, the glasses jingled and filled up with wine.
They seemed to try bargaining: "We brought you the model, hey girl turn around! My former palls in another life that was long forgotten.
Today the serious artists who always worked together with me had left the moment this bad company swam by. Now I was looking at their watery eyes winking at the model. They caressed her things as she reclined on the wooden stage to rest.
I wanted to figure out why did they distract me even more now? It was getting late when the cold winds penetrate the place from the drafty wall size windows. I put on my sweater in the starting freezer.
I looked at the laughing bunch who labored on my sculpture. I had finished sketching the figure. I came up to the stage to set up the heater. I asked the model if she could sit some more taking breaks whenever she needs to move. I held my breath working imagining how awesome would be to have such a model every day. With a shaky hand I was working fast as a machine expecting any minute now she would say that she is too cold to sit another minute and she leaves, its all over.
I will have to kill her and sit her lifeless body on a chair to complete my work. The heater I placed caused the red reflexes on the body. I was painting and had to get the color right. So I removed the heater. The model immediately complained about the cold. Kuz brought her a glass of wine asking me why did I remove the heater.
From wine her face flushed red. I tried to adjust the color scale, laying brushstrokes over the whole figure. Same in our med school, the nut cases," She openly declared to the others when I was on a floor looking from a lower viewpoint. Not his tho, his will pass, he loves the young girls very much…". You are the medic? We are forever in debt to yous for allowing us come to the mortuary and for helping with the dead bodies What we have here is a zombie. You are the goddess who saves the body as your calling.
What I heard was polluting my pure artistic brain with that life I refused. Now I was paying attention not to the mammary glands but to her breasts. Her back muscles are slightly weak. As I looked over the skeleton the muscles slowly disappeared. No matter how hard I tried to focus my x-rays were weakened.
Maybe the electricity turned off inside my head. Six months of my immaculate virginity and celibacy was broken by a wine glass. The red wine like the blood of innocents was running in my throat filling up the brain that shortly was boiling with vigor.
So I said:. He was cheering me on yet reminding that I should first finish the drawing. I was far away from normality. A actual girl weaved from the reality. But the process was a transformation with splitting dimensions. I couldn't focus on my work. I returned to my easel and continued working. She was fidgeting changing poses uncomfortable this something hurting that But it was only natural, she was sitting naked on a plain hard wooden chair.
She was sliding from one side of the chair to another. First work was washed off with turpentine and I wiped up the canvas dry with a rag. I was sketching now not with a charcoal but brushing in umber. It resulted in an interesting tonality and I was captured again.
The model squirming on her hard chair complained. I thought a little and told her to lay on the stage. Underneath her I spread some drapery. After few wine glasses I took off my sweater, my cheeks were on fire. Hers too. I unbuttoned my shirt, my blood was boiling, the body was washed with the warmth. Sit, sit, you poor thingy, I'll assist you" And he jumped on the stage. Turn her head down.
I was outraged after I just washed everything off my canvas ready to work, but this wasn't going anywhere. I kept asking Alex what did he mean by not disturbing me when he messed everything up. I heard the girls laughing trills. For like ten minutes I was staring in the infinity in the emptiness… Then I yelled: "Why are you sucking her? Get away from her, let her lay there quietly. Meanwhile Kuz, I noticed, was taking off his pants.
Lorenzo came up to me and took the brushes from my hands placing all in my field easel he closed up. Go draw some vases, fuck off to another studio. For free? I recommend you, in order to comprehend, as you must know, you can only know the truth from the inside, experiencing the inside, to understand the outside.
Here is another glass of wine. Look how Alex is working how he is learning. I looked at the bare ass's motions back and forth, at the girl who was lifting her legs and actively moving her hips. Alex jumped off, wiped up his cock with the drapery, he also wiped out the girl.
Understanding the Muse comes only from the inside. Lorenzo nearly helped my cock inside the girl cheering on: "Just do it, little one, everything is gonna be great. Honey, turn him back into a soldier that we've lost. He continued slurring his poems. On the other side Lorenzo had joined in groping her breasts. I was on top. I didn't hear any sounds of music, the entry door was covered with the draperies as the orgy just steamed up for the whole night.
I exhaled my dragon breath to hear no more questions. Took my coat and left the building. Walking the street I met Alex. Like Cures Like. Flashing my legs My polka dot dress. Spectator shoes, open toes. These are not pantyhose, I have to pull them up.
Wore this to church and no panties is my style now. My house, hall is floor to ceiling mirrors. Details, this material has some gleam, perfect I didn't turn around to ever shoot that part. Sandal foot. My pussy cat bow slings. Natural makeup. Light bulb overhead, my new camera.
Big Plastic earrings are so cool, for this hot season. I have added the fact i am wearing a polka dot silk scarf. Checking the album. There i have on a hat and bag, ready for church. Chuck entered the room, and tried very hard not to throw up, as Mayo, Rigger and Reardon entered after him. On the floor, were several opened porn magazines, dirty tissues and what looked to be a body pillow.
Mayo picked up a Album) issue from off the floor, and flicked through it casually, eyebrow raised. Kept it exactly as he left it. Aside from the girls that is. Another body pillow. Chuck and Rigger exchanged worried glances, before turning to face the laptop.
Suppose they wanted my youthful know-how, because I'm under What do you think? On the screen, all three were now singing, and making uncomfortable gestures with the instruments. Chuck rubbed his eyes. Pretty much". Reardon bows his head shamefully. As Bruce entered the prison, he passed a pair of guards being carried away on gurneys. On the ground, two paramedics were performing CPR on another officer. As he wandered down the hallway, he came to a stop at Dent's cell, and nodded, before continuing on his way.
In the adjacent cell, a man, nearly seven foot tall, was pacing around his room. Resting on his bed, a small, stuffed bear. Claiming that he was "strongarmed," into joining our crusade.
Threatened, by us. Said that he was You will find I am no such fool. I am proud of what we accomplished. These inmates will bend to my will just as they did, and when I'm free, I will break you," Bane smiled. As Chuck, Reardon and Rigger enter the bar, a short, red and black suited man walks past them, his head held down.
As he turns around, his eyes flash in recognition for a second, before shaking his head, and walking off into the toilets. He shrugs, and continues into the main bar. The man nods. This, is not red wine," he whispers hoarsely, as he took another sip. Brought it from home. Fiasco nodded, then cocked his shotgun. Which suits me fine- I don't want to spend another second around those rubber dolls. One of them, a hooded, reptilian figure hadn't taken it's eyes off of him since he'd arrived.
Nor, by Sharpe's estimation, had it blinked. Chancer frowned. You named me Montgomery," before turning back to the hooded creature, as though he were worried that it might strike at any moment.
Beneath it's hood, red reptilian eyes gleamed. And then it spoke, it's voice a calm, raspy and yet somewhat elegant sound. With the snap of his finger, a red robed figure appeared, and lay a still hot tray down in front of them.
But, I must Album) least ask you to consider an early night in. After a long journey-". Bruce raised a tired hand. Just give me an update on Gotham's most wanted. Witnesses say that the door was ripped off it's hinges; guards were incapacitated by a flash of white light, and when the air cleared, the thief, and the chemicals were gone. Bruce rose to his feet suddenly, and scowled. Karl Kyle's back in Gotham. Chuck turned back to Hellhound. Hellhound scratched his forehead, licked his lips and rose to his feet.
Hellhound chuckled. Good man, great kisser. Come on, gents, let's get this sexorcism started. NME New Musical Express published its list of the all time greatest albums this week, based on its poll of roughly 80 critics who work for it. I saw a listing on the internet of the NME top and it's set out below. The stars indicate the albums that would probably make my personal top and the check marks indicate albums I've listened to that don't make my personal top This is in my sweet spot.
When a bunch of highly knowledgeable critics decide on the "best ever' I'm going to seek that music out. They've heard more music than I ever have there are records on the list that I've never listened to.
Still, I have some quibbles about the list. The Smiths at 1? I've never understood the appeal of Soft - Kings Of Leon - Aha Shake Heartbreak (Cassette Smiths.
I went back and listened again to "The Queen Is Dead" and found it just as unbearable as ever. Maybe it's a British thing. Second, no Robert Johnson or Hank Williams? I'm betting this is because the list seems to ban compilation albums and Johnson and Williams recorded exclusively as singles artists. But it just seems wrong to claim that the best all time records don't include Hank Williams or Robert Johnson.
Third, where are the great British folkies? Still, why no Richard Thompson? Fourth, the list seems to ignore most of the world maybe there's a rule saying English language only. But you can't have a list of the best of all time with no Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and not a single album from Brazil.
Evolution: gyazo. The confines of the building would not trap her long, however, frame soon again bound to the city. It held the answer to so many of her needs, she could never resist it long.
Heels, so rarely used, clicked loudly upon the concrete as she advanced upon it, catching sight of a frame in distance. Leaned against steed of metal, the raven haired's features would halt her in her advance, furrow of brows marked in concentration as she tried to recall. Memories stumbled about before she extracted location one had been met. Ever since leaving the cages of HPD, the Demon had returned to her home. The swamp had a particular allure to the Demon.
Home she made, it soothed her possessiveness to know all in it belonged to her but, more importantly, the wide open spaces and the freedom found in it was closer to her nature than any of the man made cages. Few, close to none, had ever witnessed the Demon in her natural habitat. The pure elation she took from simply wandering her land, sinking knees into mud, visiting the decaying companions she maintained up, her land. Embrace of water, soil and decomposition truly revived her senses, having her ready to return to her mission.
Some had drinks with friends to recharge their battery, Demon commuted with her land of decay. Also, often enough, did drugs while in her state. Was it ever a wonder then that, when finally fickle mind decided to return to city, she found herself in most unusual of attire and state? Today was no exception. Treasures so precious had been carefully selected from her pilfered clothes, many stolen from the once raided theater and its wardrobes.
Aroma of her usual stench, the crown fabricated in barbed wires and branch swayed with each of her careful steps. Soot and blood adorned flesh visible, some of it prickling from the very crown worn. Advancing closer, intensity of gaze.
Foul smelling Demon drawing nearer, steps would halt, mismatched gaze fixed as hoarse voice would call "Have ya come to find da Demons? It had been told, after all, of the importance of being strong within the cages. He was sure he was free since getting out of jail and leaving the MC, but things for him were spiraling out of control. He had no direction anymore and he was unable to suppress his inner beast as he did when he had the ones closest to him.
Without a leash he had already decimated the innocence of a pure girl, and even marked her physically and mentally for life. Ram was thinking about all of this and it made him sick. It ook a moment but a familiar scent wafted to his nostrils, carried by the breeze.
He'd cringe slightly as his silvers lifted from behind his glasses seeing the girl he met in jail. The girl who quite literally scared the ever living life out of him.
He was very appreciative that she gave him food, but was still nervous around her. He would then take a deep breath as she made her way up to him as he sat there. He'd take another drag and blow it out. At least she wasn't covered in. I didn't even know any demons were here He remembered her comrades from jail and was a bit cautious that there were others around. I'd say I've been keeping my strength up Added weight upon scalp, aside from being precious treasure to adorn her frame, brought with it pain as the thorns and barbed wires dug into her skin.
Agony was always something that helped the Demon remain anchored in present, keeping her fickle mind from visions. Greed gathered all sort of things, be they material or immaterial, giving them the same value. There were a tenseness in the way one behaved, alike a coiled animal, uncertain of which way to bolt. A pattern the Demon had often witnessed when hunting upon her land. In such a state, they should be approached with care for, cornered animal often reacted strongly.
Something she had long learned applied to humans too. Appraisal of such a thing would be done in silence, only but a shiver moving over digits now and again, peepers traveling over frame. The scent of the tobacco filled her nostrils with every inhales, mixing in with the salt charged wind that picked at her greasy locks of mane. Eyes of the man were hidden behind lenses, something that Greed detested, having her fix the mirrors of it before ravaged lips parted "Family and Demons make der Home der.
Ya might meet many Family came and went around the corner of city. The rest of his words would have her incline her head slightly before she rasped out, hoarse tone carrying queries "Ya didn't come to find da Demons but ya be looking for somet'ing" she states, the words holding the certainty she always gave to her beliefs. Fixing mismatched gaze on features, steps drew her closer as she spoke in hoarse whispers "Der be somet'ing A tenseness she associated with her usual beliefs of all having Demons within themselves that too many keep trapped.
She seemed like someone from supernatural movie that crawled right out of the screen and into the real world.
As his cigar was low he'd drop it to the ground and stomp it out. Narrowing his eyes at the woman he'd lift himself to his feet and pull off his sunglasses letting his silver orbs rest on the woman clearly. He had been restraining something and only two people have seen that beast inside him. Was she spying on him? Ram was becoming even more cautious now, his hand would fall to rest on his knife but he neither unsnapped it's restraints nor gave any sign that he was going to pull it out.
Same soles anchoring themselves to concrete and pulling the man to full height of frame. Drop of hand would be noticed, a gesture long seen. A sign for many. The gesture coming with not pull of the blade, however, would have her focus return to the words spoken. Heels so rarely worn offered at least on advantage, when perched upon them, mismatched gaze were able to better sight features and gaze revealed at the lift of glasses.
Diving into the silver pools, the Demon listening in attentively to words, pairing them to reaction, letting them tell her of the truth of own words. The sentiment would bring elation, ravaged lips slowly pulling into grin, revealing the rows of rotten enamel beneath.
Soot and blood painted features in proximity, putrid breath would whisper "I watc' and see all in city" murmurs holding true beliefs to them as Sisters and her held the disillusions the decaying eye they took from the. Emerald and Gold of her eyes latched upon the Silvers of one's own, fixing them with devouring interest as Soft - Kings Of Leon - Aha Shake Heartbreak (Cassette murmured "Wat be it dat has ya caging it? He didn't get a chance to do this upon first meeting in the cells as her appearance and her scent drove him from even locking eyes with her.
But now he was paranoid. The fact she knew he had something inside he hated made him suspicious. His fingers would curl around the handle of his blade but still he wouldn't draw it. As time progressed he was eyeing her face and all the markings on it. He would take note of her teeth and the rotting smell emanating from her. Ram was already planning what he could do to silence the girl Sighing he shut his eyes for a moment and shook his head before opening them again.
Not something that normal folks should see Violence that so often rocked her with needs was a call she understood all too well. Pupils would, for a few seconds, drown irises in black as the sensation acted upon her almost like a drug.
Raggedly breathing, she took in the emotion with a violent passing of elation before her focus fully returned to words being spoken. She could see him slowly taking on her frame, her face, the marks of violence and wars that made Greed who she were and yet His face softened, words spoken next stating of the restraints he needed to display. The knowledge that anyone who restrain themselves for her could only but conjure the loud sound of mirth, the rough texture of laugh cascading past maw.
Emotion so sincere had the oddity upon head sway dangerously as she seemed to be truly gripped by the expression of glee. After a few seconds had passed, some semblance of a breath would be caught, making for raspy and. Soot covered and scars marked, one of her hand would attempt to lift to man's shoulder, coming to rest upon it if allowed as she would draw her face closer. It would be to his ear, however, that she would try and lean to whisper "Wat does yer Demon need?
Mine always wants more. It wakes me in the morning wit blood on mah hands and it wants me to seek more of it. It has me delirious wit pleasure when I split flesh open and reveal wat be beneat'. It demands for me to take all I desire, all dat time.
And it never grows tired. It always wants more and more and more and more I give it all it desires. All I desire. I keep it strong Best sellers See more. Black Widow Feature [Blu-ray] Bilingual. F9: The Fast Saga [Blu-ray]. F9: The Fast Saga. Spectre [Blu-ray] Bilingual. Black Widow Feature Bilingual. Top rated See more. Chicago Fire: Season 5. Chicago P. The Thing [Blu-ray]. Blob Collector's Edition [Blu-ray]. The Breakfast Club [Blu-ray]. Hot new releases See more.
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