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Dusty journal

How odd...I haven't written anything here in, uh, two years...interesting that it has remained all this time...

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Won a medal

So our show, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, sends chills through everyone who sees it. All the other schools are terrifried that we're gonna beat their asses, but we swallow our cockiness and keep our focus on the effect of the show on the audience. The awards begin.

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Manhattan

I want to live in Manhattan, or...at least I did.
See, we went to see my Grandpa in Newark, and took a little side trip into Manhattan on the PATH train, to see Ground Zero. At first, I was overcome by the sensation of being in such a wonderful place, filled with such diverse people and such neat sights (especially the building with the sign that said, "Naked boys singing!")

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I have a dream!

The view zooms in onto me as I am now, vulnerable but bursting with potential. I am building an armada of accepting friends with whom I can take on the entie city. My gayness becomes less and less ignorable, but my confidence grows as I gain success in shows. Soon no-one can cut me down by spewing, "Fag!" because I am too strong. Too strong, too smart, too involved...and high school, the horror which everyone must crawl out from, instead launches me into fame and fortune. And meaningless sex...black-haired men and sculpted adonises weave in and out between my legs as I rise through my career...

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The String

The boy I love gave me a string! Its so pretty, and I was dragging across my face all day, sniffing it, thinking of him and sighing...until I rememberd that he had picked it up off the floor. This is the latest in a series of his signals of attraction for me. Hah! Talk about crappy gaydar. Everything he does I twist into something suggestive...I mean, really, he has a girlfriend.
...But hasn't everybody thought that way aboot someone?

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