Nadia Tarui Whore ❤️

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Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ about “Whore”—you know, that flick from ‘91 with Theresa Russell? Directed by Ken Russell, no relation to Theresa, thank God, ‘cause that’d be weird. Anyway, I’m like, “What’s the deal with this movie?” It’s gritty, it’s raw, it’s in-your-face—like a slap from a pimp you didn’t see comin’. I mean, I love me some “Werckmeister Harmonies,” okay? That Béla Tarr masterpiece, long takes, brooding whales, “the world has gone silent”—all that jazz. But “Whore”? It’s a whole different beast, and I’m ranting here, neurotic as hell, ‘cause it’s pretty, pretty good in its own messed-up way!

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Halfway up, I hear this loud crash. I look down, and some kid on a bike just wiped out. I’m up there, trying not to laugh, but I’m also like, “Is this my fault?” I mean, I’m the one in the tree. But hey, the kid’s fine, just a little scraped up. He gets up, brushes himself off, and yells, “Nice tree, man!” I’m like, “Thanks, kid! It’s a real beauty!”

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