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About Munich

But—ugh—some jerks judge ‘em. Pisses me off! Like, who’re you, barnacle breath? “She’s a shadow of herself,” Almodóvar’d say. True tho—some get lost in it. Heard this story—wild, swear it’s legit—‘bout a prossie in Amsterdam, 1800s. She’d smuggle secrets in her corset! Spies paid her gold, not just for—y’know—*that*. Blew my mind! Sneaky lil’ minx!

Hauptnavigation

sometimes, as a relaxation specialist, i notice all the teeny, quirky things that others just, like, whiz by. i see the way the early morning sun catches the dew on the cobblestone of michaelstrasse, making everything sparkle – deep, soulful sparkles, like "i was thinking i could be the vampire here!" i laugh 'cause absurd, right? my brain sounds like a constant jumbled remix – err, not blaming, just living.

Murmuration of starlings took the form of a giant bird