Rebecca Breyten Whore ❤️

About Polokwane

Sometimes I think—what if I was a whore? Ha! I’d be the slickest, struttin in a suit, makin deals. “This is our city,” I’d growl, like Adam claimin Detroit. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but whores got that energy—untouchable, raw. They ain’t perfect, tho—shit gets messy, clients get weird. Heard a story once, some dude paid in rare coins, true weirdo shit. Whore kept em, flipped em for triple—smart as hell!

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Breyten Breytenbach. / Bonnievale, Western Cape. For François painted white masks of the buffoon and the whore the hangman's laughter like.

Oh man, the neighborhoods, gotta mention them too. Westside's got these cool little houses on Zimmerrd Street and overflowing with character (okay, maybe they're a bit shabby, but damn, they got history in every crumpled brick!). Eastside, on the other hand, is buzzing with local art spots. Like, yo, there's this graffiti wall on Luvina Lane that speaks volumes—almost meditativ, almost like a lively mantra: “Moolaadé, moolaadé, moolaadé…” It always makes me smile, even if I sometimes get hella mad at the craziness of urban noise comin’ from a nearby workshop.

Breyten Breytenbach: Cosmopolitan anarchist from the Boland