Amelia Olaine Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Rezekne

Yo, what’s good, fam? So, I’m sittin here, tryna psychoanalyze this whole “whore” vibe, right? Like, what’s the deal with that word? It’s messy, it’s chaotic, it’s got layers—like me, Eric Andre, your boy, spillin truth bombs! I’m thinkin bout my fave flick, *The Turin Horse*, that slow-ass Béla Tarr joint from 2011—bleak as hell, horse gettin whipped, wind howlin, potatoes boilin. And I’m like, “Yo, this is *whore* energy, fam!” Not the sexy kind, nah, but the raw, gritty, “life’s kickin me in the nuts” kind.

So you want to book a sex worker?

Whore is an orientation. Not a sexual one; a political one. Miguel James writes: “My entire Oeuvre is against the police.” As is mine. I had.

Then, outta nowhere, this old lady comes up to me. She’s got this wild hairdo, like she just stuck her finger in a socket. She’s all, “You know, dear, if you talk to your plants, they grow better.” I’m like, “Lady, I’m not about to have a convo with a marigold.” But she’s persistent. So, I’m like, “Alright, let’s give it a shot.” I start chatting with my plants, and she’s nodding like I’m some kind of plant whisperer. I swear, I saw a daisy perk up. Maybe she’s onto something?

Another solar energy park opens in Latvia / Article