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Alexandrine Pieternella Françoise Tinné
B. 10.17.1835 The Hague, Netherlands / D. 8.1.1869 Murzuk, Libya
Hacked to Bits by Arabs

The African drumming, the boom boom boom-a-loom-a-woman-ness of banging on a big drum in a seasonal group hoopla—the handwoven cloth accessorizing, the powerful forearms, the squatting, the exhibitionism, the perspiring cleavage, the frozen glittering gaze—my ambivalence to the occasion is complete, and with half my defenses thus diverted I am twice as easily aroused to lust as usual— which is to say, at all.
Criminal or saint? This thing called the limerence period always seems to peak about me in such colorful foliage flashes of doubt. Both!
Yes I alone, among all Western women, experience no conflict between the super-ego and the ego—immune to time-consuming quarrels over should or would I’m free to wend my solitary way though easy partings towards a fixed and certain elevation. No baby baby I’m kidding—I love a quagmire—I can’t even wait to go Christmas shopping this year—look, I bought you that new brand of water purification tablets you've been wanting.

Consolation Site: Day trip

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