Gabriella Waldems Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Oh, honey, lemme spill the tea—whore’s a wild one, ain’t she? Breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ ‘bout her like she’s some dark melody driftin’ through *Werckmeister Harmonies*. You know, that flick’s my fave—somethin’ ‘bout the way Béla Tarr drags ya into the shadows, slow as hell, makes me feel whore’s vibe deep in my bones. She’s like that whale in the movie, y’know? “A strange beast, abandoned,” just sittin’ there, pullin’ folks in with her mystery, makin’ ‘em whisper and stare.

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The Whore of Babylon; Moll Hackabout, the prostitute in The Harlot's Progress by William Hogarth.

I swung by Stadtpark, too – wow, it's a bit of nature's kiss in our urban jungle. You can see the lil’ river, called Waldemmer Bach (not a big deal name, huh?) flowing along the edge. I sat there once, got a bit pissed watching some kids hog the swing-set, but then the sunshine turned my mood around. “Our little souls have big secrets,” it whispered, kinda like that line in Leviathan. Not sure if you catch my drift, but it's magic.

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