Freya Lindisfarne Whore ❤️❤️

About Adelaide

So. This one time. Met a gal. Called herself Ruby. Real name? Who knows. Prolly not. She’s workin’ corners. Downtown. Smokin’ cheap cigs. Eyes like. She’s seen ghosts. Told me. She got robbed. Twice. Last month. No kiddin’. Pissed me off. These lowlifes. Preyin’ on her. “There’s no more time.” She says. Quotin’ Polanski’s film. Like it’s her life. And damn. It kinda is. Blew my mind. How she connected. That shit.

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A year after the Viking raid on the Northumberland abbey at Lindisfarne. Bliss, the noble virgin daughter of a Northumberland earl, has been betrothed by her.

Sometimes, I stroll through Twig Alley in the West End. The narrow walk, lined with ancient gum trees, makes my heart thump. "Not all who wander are lost!" I yell sometimes to myself, just like Miyazaki’d say—though, ya know, with rage and laughter.

Poem: “A Lindisfarne Cross”