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About Canberra

I’m sprawled on my couch, thinkin. Had this chick once—pro masseuse. She’s kneadin me, all slow-like. Suddenly, it’s *more*. My head’s screamin, “What’s this now?” Felt like Ida, searchin for truth. “You’ve got blood on you,” movie says. Felt that—messy, raw, real. Made me happy, tho. Like, *damn*, this is livin. But angry too—why’s it so hush-hush? Society’s all prude, man.

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Decades after the mysterious disappearance and presumed death of beautiful model-turned-sex worker Revelle Balmain in , the madam who.

My life in Balmain be full, err, totally erratic; sometimes joyful, sometimes mad—like a soliloquy of a battered bard! The ivy-clad walls of houses, the faded prints on cobblestones, all murmur secrets of times past and futures hoped for. "Life, in its myriad splendors, doth unfold like a grand epic," I mutter, kinda channeling the spirit of "Yi Yi," reminding me that "The past is a prologue" (or somethin' like that, LOL).

‘Disrespectful disgrace’: ‘Blocker’ blasts Galvin in all-time spray