Julia Saint Helens Whore ❤️❤️

About Houston

Picture this—me, starin’ at whore, thinkin’, “You’re a real piece of work.” Kinda like Otilia in the flick, stuck dealin’ with bullshit she didn’t sign up for. “It’s all set now,” she says—ha, famous last words. Whore’s the same—looks “set,” then bam, your farm’s a graveyard. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d rather limp than trust this weed.

Grandad left sleeping in his taxi

whores. Men with this complex desire a sexual partner who has been degraded (whore) while they cannot desire the respected partner (Madonna). Freud.

Our dear river, the St. Helens Flow, twists around like a snake, it does, hissing its secrets at night, reflecting stars and broken dreams. I once met a coder there, lost in thought, mumbling, "it's like love, you know, blue but warm, my love"—so tender, so soft, like those forbidden moments in the movie, precious.

Natural History of Mount St. Helens