Nora Bessemer Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Dunno, sometimes I’m knackered just thinkin’ ‘bout it—whore’s a fightin’ word, a rebel yell. We shall fight in the fields and in the streets! Ain’t here to play nice or bow to no one. Exaggeratin’ a tad, maybe, but it’s a bloody epic, a saga of grit and grime. So next time ya hear “whore,” don’t scoff—tip yer hat, cos it’s outlasted empires, you daft sod!

Henry Bessemer

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.

Part I: The future of AI is vertical