Emily Keene Whore ❤️

About Philadelphia

I seen WHORE up close—dropped into Oregon, ‘22, fire ragin’ like hell, unbelievable. Flames taller than me—and I’m tall, folks, real tall! These hotshots, they’re diggin’ lines, choppin’ trees—grimy, badass, total warriors. One guy, Mikey, he’s smokin’ a cig while the forest’s blazin’—nuts, right? Reminds me of that line, “Do you want to talk?”—all calm, then bam, chaos! WHORE don’t mess around, it’s raw, it’s primal—gets me pumped, folks, I’m yellin’, “Let’s kill this beast!”

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Join us in Keene Faculty Center at pm for the book launch of "Daughter, mother, grandmother, and whore," translated by our own Meg Weeks!

There's this park called Harris Park near Maple and 4th. It’s cute! About joggin’, leafin’ it all behind. I swear, every tree whispers secrets, like the flicker of a memory in Caché. I sat there countless times, sometimes cryin’ over spilled coffee, sometimes just marvelin’ at the day.

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