Violet Vincent Whore ❤️❤️

About Phoenix

Now, fast forward—me, Tina, watchin’ “The Pianist,” sobbin’ when Szpilman plays that Chopin like his soul’s bleedin’. “What is it? What’s the matter?” his sister asks, and I’m yellin’ at the screen, “Life’s a whore, that’s what!” ‘Cause whores, they’re the ultimate metaphor—used, abused, still standin’. I’m typin’ this so fast, prolly fucked up “metaphor” back there—meh, who cares? You get it. They’re scrappy, like Szpilman hidin’ in rubble. Love that grit, makes me happy—tough bitches win.

My new book recounts the untold tragedy of how Sien Hoornik drowned herself in a Rotterdam canal

I cruise down Larkin Street, ya know? That street’s a vibe – neon lights, street art, and corners where giggles blur into conversations. Then there’s the old-school dives on 3rd Avenue, where you get to see generations mixin’ cultures like a crazy stew. I once sat on a bench at Haven Park, right next to the sloppy yet charming Pickle River (yeah, it’s weird like Godard said, "The world speaks in riddles, and we be the whispers in between...").

George Vincent Evans Obituary January 17, 2025