Archive for the ‘Prostitute’ Category

Sport is a rort, these days.

If you wanna make it work

you have to play the game,

smile ambiguously,

entertain …

TV interview …

… Say the right things, at the right time,

in the appropriate sickly sweet voice,

and you’re in.

… You win!

Alas, shame I don’t speak American…

… Lingua Franca,

and discarded morality…

We dance for Dollars

and cents.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

It’s World Fair Trade Week,

whatever that means.

“Like, fair trade prostitution?” I ask.

… Unexploited, with no pimps.

An honest and fair exchange.

Is it possible?

… In this age where sex is no longer sacred,

well, maybe.

But, then, *everything* is a commodity,

and *everyone* wants the best deal.

… And money is tighter than your ass.

So…

Likely, no.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Once upon a time,

they welcomed us

and our strange, brilliant ideas.

Funny, how things change.

It used to be hard to get out,

but get easy to get in.

And Lady Liberty smiled opaquely,

welcoming.

Then came openness and restructuring,

so as to say,

doors opened, doors closed,

houses were besieged,

some fell,

crumbled.

Now,

lines on maps fluid…

It’s easy to get out,

but hard to get in.

Big thinking no longer enough to impress,

indeed,

system will stress:

“No more welcome,

unless you undress…”

 

Sex slaves (1).

Posted: 2016-04-20 in Anja, Blick!, Prayer..., Prostitute

Life sucks and then you die,

full of compromise.

“Fucking bitch!”, swore one to another,

as she went off, making money, denying everything proper,

her past, her present, her future,

dying a little more, every minute.

“Once a whore, always a whore,” said the wannabe wise man,

but aren’t we all,

whores?

Then there’s the modern-day slave auction,

Bulgarians are cheaper, don’t you know?

It’s prefaced in your mind with imagery of a horse drawn-carriage and Lada cars in Sofia – but surely that’s pushing it, the bounds of sick fantasy.

Still, the girls are here, regardless of you.

The poor girls, how poor, pushed into this situ,

on show, on offer, to the highest bidder,

room full of trash, exploitative scum.

Still,

these girls,

I’m surprised they’ve been allowed the luxury of underpants.

But, I suppose,

sad to say,

to these pimps,

one cunt is much the same as another.

… 

Prostitute, makes me think. We meet, we talk, we have sex, we talk some more, quite deep stuff. We drink and laugh, we share something special, she’s worth every dollar and more – I have a real connection with her, I’m me on a whole other level, different from my everyday, shitty life. Prostitute, makes me think of what I can be, makes me believe I can live with myself (I put away the knife).

 

Prostitute, makes me think. I see her in the street, long legs, short skirt, inviting cleavage, pretty face. She disappears for a while, another guy. She returns, then she’s gone again. The men seem to love her. They pay her to do her (from the look of her clothes, they pay her well). The men don’t look twice at me. Sad, my fingers are my only friends. Prostitute, makes me think, reminds me of how fucked my existence is.

 

Prostitute, makes me think. She reminds me of my past life on the streets. The constant fear and stress, the degradation, the compromising of everything that was me, the cuts on my palms and soles of my feet. Sure, I was an addict, but I don’t blame the drugs, they got me through. Grace of God, I reached the other side. Now I see the actress on my TV screen, she is as detached from me as I used to be. Prostitute, makes me think.