Ruby Draper Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Phoenix

Oi mate, picture this – me, a tractor driver, rumbling through fields, dust in me face, and then bam, I’m thinkin’ bout brothels. Weird, innit? But here we go, calm as David Attenborough whisperin’ bout wildebeests. A brothel, yeah, it’s like a hidden nest in the wild, tucked away, full of life, strange and quiet-like. “The air hums with unease,” like in *Werckmeister Harmonies*, that slow, moody flick I bloody love. You ever seen it? Béla Tarr’s masterpiece – all shadows and weird vibes, fits a brothel perfect.

A Classic Tag Cloud

Several times, he cut from scenes between Don and Sylvia to a tween Dick Whitman arriving with his pregnant mother to her sister's brothel.

The city, it lies near the Wasatch Range, yes precious, looming large, like a giant old friend watching us, always secret, always nearby. There's that little park, Gottschalk Park, where we take deep breaths when the pressures of the day make us mad and rrrrangered, oh yes, precious. Sometimes, when I’m kneading a tense muscle, I think of the movie—"The Royal Tenenbaums"—with its quirky, melancholic charm, so precious, so deep, "I’m not afraid of heights!" it whispers, hsss.

Draper Forward Newsletter — May/June 2025