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Quote by Lebo Grand

“When your heart is pure, your sensuality is clean. People think sensuality is dangerous, ungodly, or sinful mainly because of femme fatales out there whose hearts are not pure. Don’t let them make you relinquish your sensuality.”

Quote by Lebo Grand

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Lebo Grand

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“At first glance, The Town seemed like every other. Its suburban landscape, however, had become infected. Below sharpened blades of green grass that bent under the weight of heavy raindrops, worms wriggled and dug through damp soil, establishing intricate systems of rot; intertwining the roots of tall-standing trees and invading overgrown weeds, harboring all the people’s secrets, filling with blood and pulsating such as the empty womb of a woman overcome by a withering sickness. And unknown to the stranger who slept under a heavy blanket of ash and liquor, but this sickness had also nestled itself —as real and consuming as her organs—within the girl who wandered the streets of the Town. Flickering yellow lights shining through bounds of thick white locks, she could feel it inside her, sliding into her belly, residing alongside the trauma that coated her tongue like honey; sweet as ripe tangerines but bitter against the back of her throat like coffee grounds.”

“The threat of the femme fatale lingering through modernist texts. All the dark ladies of "The Waste Land," wounding the impotent Fisher King. She is an excessive, castrating presence, threatening to sweep the subject up into sudden hysteria. Fitzgerald's baby vamps and society vampires, the fast girl who kisses (the real danger is her mouth, Zelda's mouth was selected in her high school composite of prettiest girl). Mythologizing the lives (wives) that catalyzed them. A DeKooning horror: FEMME. He who immortalized her in leatherbound.”

“The Silken Trap by Stewart Stafford Beware chimera beauty's charm! Faux-demure, eyes downcast. A raging rutting season over her; Spideress-gossamer entrapped. She casts bait with arid hooks, Covertly spinning sentient silk, Soon swept up/wed/heirs sired— Promulgating the snare's traffic. A flash fire of rival suitors ignites, Fans herself to mask her smirk, The webbed game her hand to play— Vault’s hasp clicks shut on her pulse. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”