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the libertine.

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(no subject) [Jul. 2nd, 2007|04:26 pm]
the libertine.
Prostitution Is A Revolutionary Act


Grisélidis Réal (1929-2005)


I'm a whore -

And I slip through your fingers as
a burning ice fruit would.
Yes, we are WHORES.
And our bodies are your instruments.

The GENITALS are magical organs, in communion with the earth and facing both life and death...

In your civilization of repressed and alienated people, they were turned into disease, poison, evil, obsession -


I LIVE to hell with the rest.
We, the Whores who refuse to be exploited by your system, will do the Revolution on the sidewalks, in the police stations, jails, Ministries, universities, hospitals, everywhere. We will bust all these old academic straightjackets...

All the men who come to us, "who labor are are heavy laden", as the Bible says - the ones we save from suicide and solitude, the ones who find in our arms and our vaginas the vital push they get refused everywhere else - the ones who leave again with lighter balls and a sunny heart - should stop bothering us, judgine us, disowning us, taxing us, hitting us, locking us up, taking our kids away to put them in the welfare system, locking our lovers and our beloved men up.

If you hold it so fiercely against us, it's because we question your entire system of murderous exploitation.
We refuse war...

We prefer LOVE.
We refuse to be enslaved by factories and offices, by marriage, bosses or the State.
We are FREE, despite your taboos and bullying, Free to be here, or elsewhere, or nowhere - free with our bodies - free with our money - free with our time - free with our space - free with our moves and movements -


For my current and future freedom -
So that my life can explode in a beautiful and perishable gleam -

I don't want any of your ties, your traps, your blackmail, your contracts or your charity -
I want to get up and go to bed
You will ejaculate when I say so - You will make me come when I say so - And you will pay me -
The pleasure I give is very expensive -
I am your Courtesan Master -
And you are my servants -

I proudly claim my prostitution

The better to spit on your laws - your jails - your psychiatric hospitals - your schools - your barracks -

On your chemical and electronic
masturbations, your weapons,
your uniforms and your computers.

May 22 1977
Geneva, on the sidewalk
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(no subject) [Jun. 5th, 2007|03:45 pm]
the libertine.

"So to all the hateful abolitionists who cannot find an ounce of compassion in their cold hearts I have this to say: I hear you when you speak about being raped. I hear you when you cry out for help. I hear you when you tell me that prostitution was the worst thing that ever happened to you. And I believe you. Now please hear me when I speak from my heart and my experience. If prostitution is my chosen profession, respect that. Don't try to silence my voice because I disagree with you about how to help women and how to protect prostitutes. We are sisters and we both want women to be safe.

And to the analytical academics who like to study whores as if we were rats in a cage, I have this to say: Did you really expect the prostitute to agree with you? Did you expect us to spout academic hyperbole and trot out statistical data? We are whores. We do what you read about. We don't need to study it. We are it. And someday our voice will count. Until our voices count with you, you have no right to claim concern for whores. Now show me you mean what you say when you say you want to help prostitutes. Stop trying to discredit and hurt those few prostitutes who actually have the courage to come forward and speak out publicly. Recognize as human. And grant us the dignity to speak for ourselves."

- Veronica Monet
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(no subject) [Jun. 14th, 2005|01:03 pm]
the libertine.

She's a beautiful woman with opulent shoulders
Who lets her long hair trail in her goblet of wine.
The claws of love, the poisons of brothels,
All slips and all is blunted on her granite skin.
She laughs at Death and snaps her fingers at Debauch.
The hands of those monsters, ever cutting and scraping,
Have respected nonetheless the pristine majesty
Of her firm, straight body at its destructive games.
She walks like a goddess, rests like a sultana;
She has a Mohammedan's faith in pleasure
And to her open arms which are filled by her breasts,
She lures all mortals with her eyes.
She believes, she knows, this virgin, sterile
And yet essential to the march of the world,
That a beautiful body is a sublime gift
That wrings a pardon for any foul crime.
She is unaware of Hell and Purgatory
And when the time comes for her to enter
The black Night, she will look into the face of Death
As a new-born child, — without hatred or remorse.

-Charles Baudelaire (translation by William Aggeler)
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