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Red is red, because it's in the blood. I know you all think I'm asking for disappointment, smashing my head against a wall of towering odds, trying pathetically to express myself in aesthetic dimensions and reveal the things of myself most folks wouldn't eat raw face to face in mundane life. I've cut myself for my work and let melancholia bleed all over it-- a sort of masochistic release, I suppose. But even I sometimes couldn't understand how crimson sorrow was such fertile ground for such inspired art.
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