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About Philadelphia

Then it hits me, that Boonmee vibe—“I see my past lives flicker.” Maybe these girls got stories, too, lives stacked like old film reels. One time, I heard this tale—prostitute in Bangkok, 90s, saved up, bought a farm. True story! Left the streets, grew rice, flipped the script. Made me smile, thinkin’ she outsmarted the hustle. But here? It’s gritty—neon lights, fake moans, guys too drunk to care. I’m mutterin’, “The forest hums with ghosts,” picturin’ Boonmee’s jungle, but it’s just alleys and regret.

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There are many things I like to do, to see, and to experience. I like to read, I like to write; I like to think, I like to dream; I like to talk, I like to listen. I like to see the sunrise in the morning, I like Missing: Morris.

I wander here and there, sometimes hittin’ up Northbridge. That part’s gritty, raw, but so alive, so soulful. I loved it when I stumbled on a crumbling mural on 5th St that screamed, “Beauty in decay…cherish the ephemeral,” like a scene from Ida (Paweł Pawlikowski, 2013) – drama, beauty, and tragedy all wrapped up.

Jane A. Morris 1949-2025