a work in progress

[soopermouse]

http://forfuckssakes.blogspot.com/2006/ ... -pimp.html

feedback is much appreciated

[sam]

Content is good and follows from one point to the enxt, but you might want to run it throught a spellcheck to catch some of the typos.

Or, if you want, I could send you a private message detailing where I see them.

[soopermouse]

I know, all of these things are all typed in one go. When I'll have the time I'll sort the typos out. I am interested to see whether it makes sense.

[soopermouse]

where I am going on that train of thought is that abuse is an absolute consition in "making" a prostitute, because only a "broken" person can survive with having her body invaded liek that on a regular basis. don't know if this makes sense

[sam]

Well the facts certainly back you up, so I'd say it makes sense.

I rarely use spellcheck because after I'm done coding and playing with language it takes unreasonably long for spellcheck to do its thing and I trust I'm a good enough writer that the small errors won't detract much from the writing itself.

[soopermouse]

I have added part two of the series- http://forfuckssakes.blogspot.com

[deedle]

Makes perfect sense to me

[annared]

I know exactly what you're saying soopermouse.

[soopermouse]

what I am getting at is that even if a woman consented to get into prostitution, the deterioration of the power structures between herself, the pimp and the johns is such that she cannot vbe held responsible for her initial decision, because what follows after is unavoidably abuse.

[soopermouse]

finally the part three is up
http://forfuckssakes.blogspot.com/2006/ ... woman.html

[soopermouse]

part 3- the woman


As stated in the first part of this thought process, prostitute in this case refers to the “street walker” prostitute and for the purpose of this thought process is considered to be a woman.

Our body is our first and foremost possession. It is how we define it, it is what from the first seconds of life, differentiates us from the rest of the world. Our bodies are the basis and heart of our persona.

Most humans all have a certain degree of need for a “personal space”. Unless the person coming close is known, familiar, lover or progeny, we feel deeply unsettled by someone unknown being too close to us. It is a natural reaction, it is what even the lowest forms of life perceive as its main right, the right to one’s own body.

As such, I had to ask what would make a woman even begin to cope with having her body penetrated and used by someone she does not love, does not even know? What kind of sublimation is going on through her mind in order to be able to live with that kind of experience??

And then I remembered something painful- namely I remember what happened when I was raped as a child. I remember it happening, and I remember something important, that kinda told me what was happening. I remembered that as it happened, a wall raised itself between myself and my body I stopped perceiving my body as me and just as a something… like a tool, that is mine to use but is not me. My body could be raped and hurt by that dirty old man that we called teacher and who was a respectable member of the community. My body could feel his weight and the sharp pain and the and the shame and the deathwish. But not me. I was OK. The body did not really matter.

I do have to confess to the fact that it took me a hell of a long time to actually learn to accept my body as a real and definitive part of me again. The body was the part who was hurt and vulnerable. The body was the part that could be hurt- repeatedly. Not me. My body was not me, it was just a thing. A weakness.

And I hated it. I hated the way I looked. I spent my teen years hating my body and trying to shape it into something else- via bulimia and starvation. I was firmly convinced that it was my body that kept me alone, my body that was to blame for the lack of affection in my life, for being treated like a freak, without understanding that the damage was inside me, that my soul was damaged, and that I was just passing blame on my body.

And that is what is happening to the prostitute. I know, there are highly paid courtesans and escort girls out there. However, I am not sophisticated enough to talk about them, because I do not know them. However I do know street walkers. I have met a lot of them, I lived close to them, I met them at the centre where I used to volunteer until it got closed down.

It took me a bit to understand them. To understand that what put them on the street was abuse in its many forms. That abuse is the main issue when talking about prostitution because without abuse there is no distancing from one’s body that can permit for someone else to use it as they see fit. This distancing from ones own body is only achieved by abuse.

Yet, even for these 15-euro-girls, it wasn’t easy. Most of them had an addiction or other. They weren’t on the streets to feed the addiction, they were addicted to stand being on the street and gain money for their pimp. For their kid(s). To feed the addiction in order to keep away from what otherwise made them sick to their stomachs, that there were men, scores of dirty ing men that were using them like pieces of meat again and again and again and again. The vicious circle in all its glory.

When one of them died, the reaction was strange: about a quarter compassion, a quarter fear, a quarter pity… and the rest envy. The dead girl could no longer be hit. She could no longer suffer, There would be no more pain for her, no more threats, no more suffering. Whatever was on the other side was not as bad as what was here and now.