Vanessa Lowell Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About San Jose

So yeah, whore’s a mess—a glorious, piss-takin’ mess. Makes me mad, makes me cackle, keeps me goin’. Like “Leviathan,” it’s ugly but real— “Where’s your God now?” the movie asks, and I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’, prolly off with the whores, havin’ a laugh. Smug mischief, mate—I see the cracks, the lies, the hustle others miss. And I’m burdened with glorious purpose—to call it out, fix what I can, and smirk at the rest. Whore’s my muse, my nemesis, my fuckin’ spark. Now, pass me that wire cutter—shit’s gettin’ heated!

Breaking News

Lowell portrays Rimbaud s muse as a whore, and the poet as a tramp, so the poem assumes a tone and register of diction appropriate to the ethos.

So, lemme give ya the lowdown. Lowell’s a wild tapestry. Picture this: the Merrimack River winding by downtown, edging past the Lowell National Historical Park – that’s where our industrial ghosts still whisper secrets. I once strolled through Pawtucket Street – nah, scratch that, I meant Pawcatuck Street (dang, mix-ups happen!) – and it reminded me how the old mills still breathe life into the city.

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