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By AnonymJohn Hart
Art, after all, is traditionally displayed against vacancies: paintings on dun walls, sculptures in empty spaces, music in quiet halls.
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By AnonymJohn Hart
Denial was a weapon; it killed truth, numbed the mind, and I was a junkie.
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By AnonymJohn Hart
It's not an exaggeration to say that we're on the verge of a meltdown.
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By AnonymJohn Hart
But people could walk the same road and see different things.
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By AnonymJohn Hart
For a year, Johnny lived the new, brutal truth that he was on his own. But that's the way it was. What had been concrete one day proved sand the next; strength was illusion; faith meant shit. So what? So his once-bright world had devolved to cold, wet fog. That was life, the new order. Johnny had nothing to trust but himself, so that's the way he rolled - his path, his choices, and no looking back.
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By AnonymJohn Hart
It was a paradox of life behind walls, that where any day could end in blood, every morning contrived to start exactly the same. A man woke and, for two beats of his heart, didn’t know where he was or what he’d become. Those few seconds were magic, a warm flicker before reality walked across his chest, the black dog of remembrance trailing at its feet.
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By AnonymJohn Hart
She kept her eyes on Channing when she could; saw the wounded blankness of all who are ruined young.
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By AnonymJohn Hart
The fall could have taken her all the way down, so deep she would not have come back the same or even close. He was going to pound her into the dark and leave her there.…
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By AnonymJohn Hart
The last word smelled of desperation,and the old lawyer sighed. 'I can tell you that the law is an ocean of darkness and truth, and that lawyers are but vessels on the surface. We may pull one rope or another, but it is the client, in the end, who charts the course.
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