Claire Litchfield Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Diego

Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ about “Whore”—you know, that flick from ‘91 with Theresa Russell? Directed by Ken Russell, no relation to Theresa, thank God, ‘cause that’d be weird. Anyway, I’m like, “What’s the deal with this movie?” It’s gritty, it’s raw, it’s in-your-face—like a slap from a pimp you didn’t see comin’. I mean, I love me some “Werckmeister Harmonies,” okay? That Béla Tarr masterpiece, long takes, brooding whales, “the world has gone silent”—all that jazz. But “Whore”? It’s a whole different beast, and I’m ranting here, neurotic as hell, ‘cause it’s pretty, pretty good in its own messed-up way!

THE FULL METAL JACKET REACH-AROUND AWARD

I defnitely enjoy my secret hideouts too. One of my fav spots? A tucked-away trail near Elk’s Crossing Park. I wander off the beaten path there, lose myself in the chirping crickets, and it sorta feels like floating in a dream world, like in "Spirited Away": “I feel that I'm already in another world.” Funny enough, sometimes I get lost in thought—misbahvior of my Zen self—and end up rambling on about fate and destiny.

Boys tennis roundup: No. 9 Litchfield falls to No. 5 Pine City