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About Liege

Now, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout me favorite flick, *The Gleaners and I*—that ol’ French gem by Agnès Varda, bless ‘er soul. “I’m not a gleaner, I’m a pirate!” I’d shout, if I were in it, pickin’ through the scraps o’ the sea, not them taters in the dirt. Escorts, see, they’re like them folk in the film, “gleanin’ what’s left behind,” ‘cept they’re guardin’ it, not nabbin’ it! Little known fact, arr—back in the day, them Royal Navy escorts weren’t just fer show. They’d chase yer arse from Tortuga to Trinidad, cannons blazin’, no mercy fer a pirate like meself. One time, off Port Royal, I saw this sloop—tiny thing, fast as a whore’s wink—outrun a frigate. Surprised me, it did! “They bend down, they pick up,” like Varda says, ‘cept this escort picked up speed an’ left us in the wake!

Monceau-sur-Sambre

Octave Mirbeau Calvary A Novel November Translated by Louis Rich.

Now, let me get into local neighborhoods. You got the boomin' artsy section near La Rue des Artistes. It's a mosaic of street murals, graffiti, and wild sculptures. I often get hit by bursts of creativity there. In all my years doin' family psych, I've never seen people so open about the chaos inside 'em. "Motherf***er, art heals pain!" I'd shout sometimes, know what I mean?

An Abandoned Power Plant With a Dystopian Aesthetic