Raphael was a Renaissance painter who specialized in portraits.
I am a writer who specializes in portraits.
That is my only, tenuous, connection to Raphael, the Greatest Painter of all time.
Oh, I had a print of Raphael's painting of a young girl.
She was about my age
She was wearing a diaphanous gown, her skin was deep brown, it glowed softly, she was my love object for a time in my early youth,
As a young man, for a time, I was a Fighter.
I had some great fights, like every decent boxer, and some sad defeats, but I kept fighting until I felt I was prepared to defend myself and my loved ones with my hands alone.
I've knocked out lots of men.
Conversely, lots of men have knocked me out.
Once, when I was a high spirited but thoroughly wary young man of 14, my stepfather took me out to the barn to see what I had learned at the gym I was attending.
We laced up a pair of worn 14 ounce gloves and began sparring.
Al immediately came in and hit me with a hard left hook which rattled my brain.
stunned, I threw a flurry of mistimed and ineffectual punches, which Al blocked and answered with stiff hard blows to my head.
For the next ten minutes or so, he beat me up pretty badly.
After a while his brother Adolph who'd been watching the beating, pulled Al off of me.
I was almost out on my feet.
I spit blood onto the dirt covered floor of the barn, where I slept at night, I clenched my jaws and stared at Al.
I will pay you back, you bastard, I thought.
And I did.
I am a writer who specializes in portraits.
That is my only, tenuous, connection to Raphael, the Greatest Painter of all time.
Oh, I had a print of Raphael's painting of a young girl.
She was about my age
She was wearing a diaphanous gown, her skin was deep brown, it glowed softly, she was my love object for a time in my early youth,
As a young man, for a time, I was a Fighter.
I had some great fights, like every decent boxer, and some sad defeats, but I kept fighting until I felt I was prepared to defend myself and my loved ones with my hands alone.
I've knocked out lots of men.
Conversely, lots of men have knocked me out.
Once, when I was a high spirited but thoroughly wary young man of 14, my stepfather took me out to the barn to see what I had learned at the gym I was attending.
We laced up a pair of worn 14 ounce gloves and began sparring.
Al immediately came in and hit me with a hard left hook which rattled my brain.
stunned, I threw a flurry of mistimed and ineffectual punches, which Al blocked and answered with stiff hard blows to my head.
For the next ten minutes or so, he beat me up pretty badly.
After a while his brother Adolph who'd been watching the beating, pulled Al off of me.
I was almost out on my feet.
I spit blood onto the dirt covered floor of the barn, where I slept at night, I clenched my jaws and stared at Al.
I will pay you back, you bastard, I thought.
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