Hazel Tauberbischofsheim Whore ❤️

About Leipzig

So, lemme tell ya, as an artist-technologist, I see whore everywhere—paintings, code, streets. Back in the day, like 1600s, whores were muses! Caravaggio, that mad bastard, painted em as saints. Mary Magdalene, ex-whore, cryin at Jesus’ feet—wild, right? Makes me happy, seein art twist norms. But then, ugh, the hypocrisy—pisses me off! Dudes payin for it, then judgin. Fear leads to anger, see? Society’s scared of sex, so they hate the whore.

Primary Sidebar

We walk on Hauptstraße, ohhh so busy and lively, shops lined up like friendly old mates. Near the old post office, there’s a small park—Schlosspark I reckon—where the trees whisper like “Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives,” yes, memories flowing like lost dreams in a river. And there, hey, sometimes you hear the river Tauber murmur secrets. So mysterious, so quirky, very, very nice!

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