Katherine Sleidinge Whore ❤️❤️

About Mons

Sometimes, though, it’s kinda dope. Hear me out—when that whore hums just right, it’s like the violin’s alive, talkin’ back. “The image is a prison,” Godard spits in the flick—yeah, but that sound? It’s freedom, mang, raw as hell. Surprised me once, made me grin like a dumbass. Thought, “Shit, maybe I’m the whore, fuckin’ up this pure thing.” Ha! Tony Montana, philosophizin’ over sawdust—how’s that for a laugh?

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I gotta admit, I get mad sometimes at the silly gossip floatin’ about, but when I see the sunrise over the fields, I’m as happy as a tick on a fat dog. And sometimes, repetition’s the spice of life – you know, like “I love Sleidinge, I love Sleidinge, I love Sleidinge!” even when my words come out a bit jumbled – so sorry ‘bout that, darlin’, sometimes my brain goes a million miles per hour.

Wilfried Martens, Belgian Statesman, Dies at 77 (Published 2013)