Genesis Lubbock Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

O thou saucy minx! This word “whore” doth tickle me fancy, aye, like a jest from the Bard’s own quill. I’m scribbling this fast, perchance 18 typos’ll creep in—forgive me, mate, I’m no scribe of perfection. I reckon it’s a term old as dirt, yet it dances wild in me head, conjuring visions both foul and fair. ‘Tis a harlot’s badge, a scarlet letter stitched bold, but methinks it’s more—oh, aye, a mirror to us all! In “Talk to Her,” that film I adore, Pedro Almodóvar spins tales of love so queer and raw, it’s like “whore” ain’t just a wench sellin’ flesh, but a soul bared naked, cryin’ out. “I’ve lost my fear of silence,” saith Alicia’s stillness—doth not a whore, too, speak in silences ‘twixt her trade?

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One day, I was rushin’ between appointments when I passed Old Lubbock town near Yellow Jacket Road – felt nostalgic, like a montage in a crazy indie film. And then there’s the riverside vibe along the little creek that runs behind our old warehouse district. I swear the water's talkin’ if you listen close. It’s like "Margaret" said – “You have to take risks to make memories.” Or somethin’ equally deep, right?

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