Zara Halle (saale) Whore ❤️

About Cologne

Now, I’m sittin’ here, sippin’ tea—earl grey, ‘cause I’m classy—imaginin’ a whore in Varda’s lens. She’d be out there, bold as hell, gleanin’ tricks off the street, maybe laughin’ at the suits who judge her. “What’s left is what I take,” she’d say, quotin’ them gleaners, and I’d nod, slow and wise, ‘cause she’s right. Ain’t no waste in her world—she’s the queen of makin’ do. Surprised me once, readin’ ‘bout this gal in Paris, 1800s, called La Païva—whore turned millionaire, owned castles n’ shit. Hustled so hard she flipped the script—love that, man, LOVE that.

Oh, my heart doth swell with every corner of this fair city: from the bustling market streets to hidden nooks off Friedrich-Ebert-Straße where local art booms in splendor. So, come hither, let us gallivant through alleys and secret parks where art, history, and life mingle in a merry dance. Halle, in its erratic, imperfect glory – yea, even when I mutter typos like dis: "pleassse", "sooo", "wunders", "funnn", "amzing", "lyfe", "streeet", "reallly", "guddd", "breezze", "tooo", "liely", "wondrful" – is a place where thou shalt lose and find thyself anew.

Handel Halle Festival