Hazel Tahara Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Kyoto

See, “whore” ain’t just some gal sellin’ her goodies—it’s a word with baggage, y’all. Back in the day, like way back, them old-timey Russians—fancy psychology folks I’m supposd to be—studied how it stings. They said it’s a slap to the soul, a label that sticks like gum in your hair. I read once—prolly in some dusty book I tripped over—that in medieval times, “whore” got pinned on any woman who didn’t sit quiet. Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me wanna holler, “Well, bless their hearts, they’d hate me then!”

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First off, I hit up the local konbini on Kōen-dōri for my usual coffee fix. You know, the one that’s basically rocket fuel? I’m standin’ there, half-asleep, and this old dude starts talkin’ to me about the weather. Like, c’mon man, it’s Japan, it’s either rainin’ or it’s not. But he’s goin’ on about how the cherry blossoms are late this year. I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, nature’s got its own schedule.”

Exhibition | Keiichi Tahara, 'Existence' at √K Contemporary, Tokyo, Japan