Claire Deming Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ about “Whore”—you know, that flick from ‘91 with Theresa Russell? Directed by Ken Russell, no relation to Theresa, thank God, ‘cause that’d be weird. Anyway, I’m like, “What’s the deal with this movie?” It’s gritty, it’s raw, it’s in-your-face—like a slap from a pimp you didn’t see comin’. I mean, I love me some “Werckmeister Harmonies,” okay? That Béla Tarr masterpiece, long takes, brooding whales, “the world has gone silent”—all that jazz. But “Whore”? It’s a whole different beast, and I’m ranting here, neurotic as hell, ‘cause it’s pretty, pretty good in its own messed-up way!

A Brief Introduction:

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I’m not gonna lie – sometimes it sux. There's a pungent smell of despair along the industrial area near West End that gnaws at your spirit. But then, how can one not cherish this ups and downs? Life’s bittersweet, like a punchy jazz riff on a rainy night. And darn, I’ve had 11 times when I nearly cursed out loud (yep, 11 times! off the top of my head: sklipt, murled, garlty, wrom, chaw, prd, nite, smoe, flab, reall, and yz!) – my fingers, my eyes, all betraying the raw truth of existence here.

Austin Deming and his winding road to the big leagues