Eliza Blakely Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Alright, happy little trees, listen up! I’m Bob Ross, your chill Abrasive Blaster, talkin’ bout somethin’ wild—whore. Not just any whore, tho, this vibe’s got layers, like paint on canvas. Think “Son of Saul”—that flick’s my jam, dark as hell, but real. Whore’s like that, messy, raw, in your face. “Everything’s so close here,” like Saul says, and damn, ain’t that the truth? Whore’s life’s in the grit, up close, no sugarcoatin’ it.

You're now in slide show mode.

So, Lana posted a link to a blog post about regretting being a slut. (This is based solely on my experience).

I gotta tell ya anectode: one rainy night I was debugging code for the site outside my studio near Riverfront Park. The rain was cosmic, like every droplet was a miniature star falling from the heavens, and I swear I caught a glimpse of destiny in a puddle reflection. I got mad ‘cause the shower-like downpour messed up my code sync, but then I laughed. “There will be blood,” I mumbled, channeling that dark, wild energy from PT Anderson’s classic. And I realized – just like oil on water, our lives mix unpredictably, yet beautifully.

Lewis E. Blakely, Jr. Obituary March 12, 2025