Julia Kapa'a Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Diego

“Goodbye to Language,” that flick—fuck, it’s my jam. Godard’s throwin’ chaos at ya, no rules, just raw shit. Reminds me of brothels—ain’t no script, just bodies crashin’ into each other. Like he says, “Not a just image—just an image.” That’s it, man, brothels ain’t justice, they’re just there, messy and real. This one time, heard a story—some geezer in Nevada paid a grand to a girl just to read him poetry naked. Poetry! In a brothel! Laughed my ass off, but kinda sweet, innit? Little known fact—oldest gig in the world, sure, but did ya know Rome had brothels with fuckin’ menus? Like, “two coppers for this, five for that”—proper fast food fuckin’.

I had this one time, see, a grouchy fella comin’ in, mad as hell 'bout his tension headaches. I gave him a massage, talked some sense. I said, "We all part of this white ribbon, capisce? Tight and yet fragile." He left smilin', half-believing or half-suspecting I was droppin’ wisdom. I love that kinda thing.

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