Emily Van Nest Whore ❤️❤️

About New York City

Right, so I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, your personal shopping bitch today, and you wanna talk *whore*? Fine, let’s rip into it—cold disdain, “I choose violence.” This ain’t no prissy chat. Whore’s a vibe, a look, a whole damn mood. Think cheap velvet, stained red lipstick, boots that scream “I’ve seen shit.” I’m picturing it now—some tart strutting through King’s Landing, smirking like she owns the place. Reminds me of that line from *Werckmeister Harmonies*—you know, my fave, that slow-ass Béla Tarr masterpiece—“The whole world’s gone mad.” Whore’s like that, chaos in heels, and I kinda love it.

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The album contains 7 tracks of a total duration of 48 minutes. It is a journey to ancient times, where darkness and light were one.

Ya know, I even got my own pickle spot on a lazy Tuesday. I parked near a curve on Beechwood Dr. (another lil’ secret I cracked, shhh!), leaned back, listened to chirpin’ birds, and just let go of all that stress. Sometimes, you feel so free, it’s like every worry pops like bubbles in soft summer fizz (tyop seven, tyop eight).

Altered synaptic organization in the mushroom bodies of honey bees exposed as foragers to the pesticide fipronil