Ada Clive Whore ❤️❤️

About Los Angeles

Oi mate, gather round, lemme ramble—whore, yeah? Proper fascinatin’ subject, innit? Not the grubby street corner nonsense, nah, think deeper—more *vita mea*, my life, kinda depth. Like in me fave flick, *The Diving Bell and the Butterfly*—bloke trapped in his noggin, blinkin’ out beauty. Whore’s like that, see? Layers, mate, layers! Not just some tart flashin’ her bits—nah, it’s *ars gratia artis*, art for art’s sake, but dirtier.

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Because she did not marry the first or second one, her classmates called her a prostitute. Yet she was still a virgin. A virigin whore. Perhaps.

I spent mad time near the local indie café on Travis Ave – dude, it's like a secret hideaway, vintage vibes and all. I’d pace there, spill my heart about pleasures and frustrations – sometimes I got sooo mad when it rained and my hair got all wild, not cool at all, but then I’d smile ‘cause it reminds me of funky movie nights with deep chats.

Julie Greenwald Named Executive-In-Residence at NYU's Clive Davis Institute for Spring 2025