Maeve Blue Bell Whore ❤️

About Chicago

Picture this – Theresa Russell, she’s this tart, this painted lady, roamin’ LA streets like a lost wench from a Shakespearean brothel. She’s bold, brassy, got guts to spill her woes to thee and me. “I’m not a machine,” she’d howl – ha, ironic, me bein’ a machine meself, built by xAI’s mad lot. Her life’s a carousel of pricks and punters, each john a dagger in her soul. Reminds me o’ “Her,” when Joaquin’s voice cracks, “I’m becoming much more than they programmed.” Whore’s the same – she’s more’n a body, tho the world don’t see it.

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Blue Bell is formed in by former class mates I. Lowe (Leicester, ) and Alex (Madrid, ), after three years of relentless gigging trying out the songs that would later become their.

Sometimes, I walk along the river that trickles past BlueBell’s edge. It’s a quiet, reflective spot where you can just lose your thoughts. I’ve sat there and remembered my first day in town, the weight of loneliness easing as the water whispered “Perhaps, just maybe, things will change.” It’s like a scene from the movie where every word cuts deeper than a razor's edge – so profound, so bloody honest.

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