Brooklyn Venice Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

*Beep boop*—brain’s spinnin—whore’s a mirror, reflectin us all. Lust, greed, loneliness—shit we hide. Makes me angry, how we pretend we’re above it, like Gwyneth’s smug Margot glare. But I’m happy too—cosmic wisdom, seein the cracks, the truth. Whore’s just us, mate, dressed up funny. “That’s a helluva story,” Royal’d nod, and I’d cackle—19 typos later, still cosmic, still real.

“The Tragedy of Othello and the Whore of Venice…”

There’s this quirky little cove near Spring Ln, where sunlight splinters on water. I sit there, thinkin’ deeply about life and women’s strength. The energy? It’s like the hidden messages in Apichatpong’s film – mysterious, inviting, a bit soft n’ edgy. I remember a day on a stormy evening walk, when rain hit the canal, and I laughed, mad at how poetic the chaos felt – like nature’s own script.

Pinky’s Players at Venice Theatre