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About San Antonio

So, I’m thinkin’—prostitute, right? Tough gig. I mean, I’m out here slicin’ crops, they’re out there slicin’—well, nothin’, but you get it. Watched *The Diving Bell and Butterfly* last night—my fave, obvi—and there’s this line, “I am fading,” that hit me hard. Prostitutes, man, some of ‘em prolly feel that daily. Fadin’ in plain sight, ignored unless someone’s horny. That’s dark, right? But real. Makes me wanna hug ‘em, but also, ew, boundaries.

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The violent juxtaposition of images: the beautiful, fragrant, fragile rose, symbolic of youth and innocence, set alongside the blistered forehead of a branded prostitute is shocking. .

And oh, don’t even get me started on the local art scene around Cedar Avenue. Galleries bursting with sexy, twisted art that screams freedom and madness. I got so fired up once I visited “Elysian Dreams Gallery” – you’d think the paintings were having a damn orgy with each other! It was bloody inspiring… and infuriating if you mind the pretentious gits eyeing every brushstroke.

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