Leah Noicattaro Whore ❤️

About Florence

Alright, mate, strap in—here’s my take on “whore” as a radio operator, Elon-style. Whore’s a word, right? Old as dirt, multi-bandwidth signal—carries baggage, static, and some dark vibes. Kinda like a Tesla coil sparking in a storm, unpredictable, messy, loud. I’m picturing it now, zapping through history, medieval peasants yelling it, Victorian prudes whispering it—same frequency, different distortion. Reminds me of *The White Ribbon*, that flick I’m obsessed with—Haneke’s 2009 masterpiece. “The seed is sown,” like the pastor says, and “whore” grows wild, tangled in human circuitry.

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Then, outta nowhere, this dog runs up to me. It’s a fluffy little thing, and I’m like, “Aww, hey buddy!” But then it jumps on me, and I spill my coffee all over my notes. Great. Just great. I’m sitting there, covered in coffee, and the dog’s owner is laughing. I’m like, “Thanks, dude. Real helpful.”

Andrea Nino Favuzzi