Penelope Bessemer Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

But lemme tell ya, *whore* ain’t always literal. Ever think that? Like, we’re all sellin’ somethin’—time, pride, whatever—to get by. Ain’t we all whores in some dang way? Whoa, brain’s spinnin’ now! Kinda like Malik, tradin’ favors to survive that prison hell. “Do it, or you’re dead,” they’d say. *Whore*’s got that same trapped feelin’. Makes me sad, man—nobody should feel caged like that.

The Short Life of the SS Bessemer – 1875.

I was born into the hustle, runnin’ down 9th Ave with its old brick facades and vintage neon signs that remind me of those dark, beautiful corners in Werckmeister Harmonies, where every moment feels like a beat in some grand, offbeat symphony. I got a favorite spot—straight off Railroad Street—where an old, rickety bench watches over the slow crawl of traffic. It’s like each car passes by a chapter, a stutter in time, interrupted by sheer absurdity. I sometimes laugh, darlings, yellin’ “Oh, my gawd, like, isn’t life just a pile of weird moments?”—and then, you know, chuckle like mad.

Roadmap: Early Stage