Rose Chyst Whore ❤️

About Grodno

Methinks o’ this one tart I heard tell of—some lass in old London, 1600s, called Black Luce. Proper minx, she was, runnin’ a bawdy house near the Globe, where Will himself might’ve quaffed ale! Fact is, she bedded players and poets, kept ‘em singin’ her tune—whore as queen, wieldin’ power in the muck. Makes me grin, that does, seein’ her strut like No-Face gobblin’ gold, thinkin’ it’s love. “Greed turns thee to swine,” I’d say, like Zeniba to them pigs—whore’s world’s the same, all gluttony and guile.

Yo, ever heard of the old Gustave Bridge? Walk across it, and you see the Chyst- River glittering under the sun. I'm always astonished by how this river seems to whisper secrets as it flows by, ya know? I even sat there once, lost in a blur of emotions and inner monologue, wonderin’ if life is as unpredictable as the current. It reminded me of that dreamy shot from The Diving Bell and the Butterfly – simply magick!