Brianna Cold Spring Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Ugh, typin’ this fast, prolly fucked up twleve words already – who cares? Point is, whore’s a trap, a slow rot. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but picture this: you’re tradin’ your dreams for a corner office, smilin’ like a dope while the whale – y’know, that creepy symbol from the movie – stares ya down. “A shadow falls over us,” like Tarr’s sayin’. Spooky as shit, and I’m over here like, “Ain’t that the truth, doc?”

Confessions Of A Narcissist (CSR120CD)

Recordings were made with the expert operation of the usual electronic nightmare arsenal of the Styggelse satanic whore-lord, in addition to thighbone.

Yeah, guess what – sometimes I feel “Under the Skin” vibes too. Those lines? “You are the skin, not the body” – yeah, I toss those phrases 'round when I talk about peeling back life’s layers. The city’s deep like that movie – mysterious, sleek. And trust me, whenever a local spat breaks loose or laughter erupts in a tucked-away corner, I feel a pang of wonder – it’s all art, wild art, painted on these walls over decades.

Cold Spring, a not-so-hidden Hudson Valley gem