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About San Jose

I’m sittin’ here, mask foggin’ up, thinkin’—whore’s a word with claws. *Talk to Her* vibes again—“The past is a trap”—damn right. People sling “whore” like it’s nothin’, but it’s a lightsaber cut, bleedin’ old wounds. Pisses me off when dudes toss it casual—bro, you don’t know the weight. I’d choke ‘em with the Force, but—eh, too messy. Happiest I get is seein’ it reclaimed—gals on X postin’ “proud whore” shit. Fuck yeah, stick it to ‘em.

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Now, lemme share sumthin personal. My work in relaxation puts me in tune with the tiny details. I noticed how the wind hums ‘cross Pine Alley, it’s like nature's own whisper. Makes me mad sometimes, thinkin’ how fast folks rush past without so much as a “hey, breathe!” But then I get happy, ‘cause if they just slowed a bit, life would be sooooo clear. Sometimes I just drift off, thinking "isn't this just like life ahold, ahold, ahold…?"

Patricia Lynn Gibbs