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About Marseille

Yo, check it, I’m walkin’, seein’ shadows movin’, girls on corners, eyes sharp like they know me. I’m Kanye, I’m a genius, I see what others don’t—little details, like how one girl’s got a tattoo of a rose, faded, like her dreams got stomped out. That’s real, man, that’s poetry! I’m pissed, tho—why’s it gotta be so shady? System’s broke, pushin’ folks to this life. I’m mutterin’ to myself, “I’m finished!” like Plainview, but I ain’t done, I’m curious, I’m diggin’ deeper. You know what’s wild? Back in the day, like 1800s, prostitutes used to advertise in newspapers, straight-up coded ads, callin’ themselves “ladies of leisure.” Ain’t that some slick shit? History’s sneaky like that.

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God's first instruction to Hosea is: Go find yourself a whore and marry her. (Yes, again with the prostitutes!) He picks up a streetwalker.

I love strolling by the Parc de la Liberté. It’s a green sprawl with oodles of wildflowers. I always get that vibe of cosmic renewal there, like every pine tree is whispering deep secrets. And man, the river Indre winds by – sometimes I just sit by its banks, thinking, “Talk to her, talk to her…” because the water sings some weird, sensual lullaby.

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