Mari Somerset Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

Oh blast it all, R2-D2, where are you? I’m stuck here ramblin’ bout whores—fish, ya know, not the other kind! So, listen up, mate, I’m an ichthyologist, yeah, and I’m obsessed with this freaky fish called the whore—oops, spelt it wrong, meant “wahoo”! Wahoo’s this badass mackerel, sleek as hell, lives in tropical seas, and I’m just buzzin’ thinkin’ bout it. Looks like somethin’ outta “Werckmeister Harmonies”—you seen that flick? Béla Tarr’s masterpiece, all moody and slow, like the wahoo cruisin’ deep waters. “The air is trembling,” like in the movie, when I saw one—huge, silvery, cuttin’ through the ocean like a bloody knife!

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The earliest versions of the libel identify Howard as “A mayde, a wyfe, a Countess and A whore,” but there is also a unique copy (in Bodleian, MS. Rawl. D ).

The local park, Spruce Grove, is a haven for lost souls. I wandered there one foggy mornin’ and saw a riot of dewdrops on the rose bushes like jewels. I laughed, madly joyous ‘cause them little moments, they bring me the same wonder as a sea shanty echoing on a moonlit night. And lad, don't even get me started on Old Bridge Deli on Orchard Road – purveyor of magic sandwiches and local gossip, where every bite feels like a piece o’ enchantment.

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