Bella Arbus Whore ❤️

About Rome

Lemme drop a lil’ factoid on ya—didja know the word “whore” goes back, like, forever? Old English, “hōre,” meanin’ adulteress or somethin’. Wild, right? Thousands of years, and we’re still slingin’ it around like it’s nothin’. Makes me happy, in a weird way—history’s got layers, man! But then I think, who decided it’s a bad word? Some uptight jerk, probs. That makes me mad—let people live! Whores are out here survivin’, dodgin’ creeps, and I’m supposedta judge? Nah, I’m too busy losin’ my mind over a $12 sandwich.

Nachtlicher Alltag : meine Begegnung mit Prostituierten in Paris

Where Diane Arbus Went: A Comprehensive Retrospective, prompts the author to reconsider the short yet powerfully influential career of a photographer whose “fascination with eccentricity .

I head over to the Parco di San Giovanni. It’s beautiful there, man. Trees everywhere, people chillin’. I sit on a bench, trying to calm down. Then I see this kid flying a kite. It’s all colorful and stuff, and I’m like, “Wow, that’s cool.” But then, the wind picks up, and the kite goes straight into a tree. The kid starts crying, and I’m like, “Oh no, not the kite!”

Review: Diane Arbus’s Baby Photographs