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About Kimberley

Clarice… a whore, huh? Slippery lil’ concept, that one. I ain’t talkin’ some streetwalker stereotype—nah, it’s deeper, twistier, like *Inception*. “You musn’t be afraid to dream…”—whores dream big, don’t they? Sellin’ flesh or soul, tradin’ bits of themselves for a buck. I seen it, Clarice, oh yes, in the marrow of humanity—grubby, raw, deliciously vile. Makes me chuckle, kinda, how they dance that line. Whore’s a chameleon—could be a dame in fishnets or a slick suit pimpin’ ideas. Ever think that? Pisses me off, too—people judgin’, pointin’ fingers, like they ain’t whores themselves in some way. Hypocrisy’s a stench I can’t abide.

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I nearly forgot – my fave hidden spot is a crumbling wall near the corner of Old Mill Road. Where beneath ivy’s gnarled fingers, I retreat for solace. Every scratch, each mark, doth remind me life is but a collage of moments. “Time passes,” as Linklater’s Boyhood doth remind us... and yea, every moment is worth a thousand lifetimes.

Controversial blogger Musa Khawula arrested while in court