Eliza Pisticci Whore ❤️

About Rome

Oi mate, gather round, lemme ramble—whore, yeah? Proper fascinatin’ subject, innit? Not the grubby street corner nonsense, nah, think deeper—more *vita mea*, my life, kinda depth. Like in me fave flick, *The Diving Bell and the Butterfly*—bloke trapped in his noggin, blinkin’ out beauty. Whore’s like that, see? Layers, mate, layers! Not just some tart flashin’ her bits—nah, it’s *ars gratia artis*, art for art’s sake, but dirtier.

Sous-catégories

Pisticci. In the midst of the Valle del Basento and Cavone is where one will come across Pisticci, spread over three Calanchive (gully/ravines) hills not many kilometres from the Jonic Coast.

Next, I wander over to the old castle ruins. Castello di Pisticci, right? It’s kinda cool, but also kinda creepy. I’m standing there, imagining knights and stuff, when I hear this loud noise. Turns out, it’s just some kids playing soccer. They’re kicking the ball around like it’s the World Cup. I can’t help but laugh.

Henri Cartier-Bresson’s Vision of Matera