Tools of Pleasure and Despair - WOMAN IS A WEAPON

They say orgasm is the closest experience to heart attack = death. But aren't we all dying and in need? Someone to listen and touch. Lick and feed. To keep us warm and well kept in the cabin above the coffee maker? Sex shops look like a market for the love sick and broken. Though it can be taken as an escape route. A sacred passage. A safety zone. Looks like a battle for greater pleasure. Just somehow it is all so cheap… I ask myself, why? In the clear eye of the observer one can sense desperation coming from the depths of this room with darkened windows.

Washed out women and creepy older gentlemen picking outfits; something tells me that is not for his chosen one…
There is this sense of desperation of putting pieces together. Even the ones that do not match. A perverse and evil jigsaw puzzle. It seems to me that this is one of the best places to experience true social context. Like a strip club but more honest, as this place is meant for nothing else but pleasure. Deepest and darkest desires pulsates like flashing lights in the eyes of the customers.

For those moments when we are lost and cold. In the wilderness of our own desires and misfortune. Of our own tragedy. We seek someone or something to keep us on the path of survival. I see it in their faces. Lightened by falls, daylight producing light bulbs. Half empty. Silent drifters of day and night. And somehow we all know that the tools of pleasure would not give us shelter. Would not feed us when we are starving. Would not cuddle us when we are lonely. Would not destroy our weakness and kill our enemies. We just hope… that they will fill in the emptiness that we feel in ourselves.

As I walked away from the store somehow the darkness had fallen on the concrete and shadows were following my thoughts. Ball and chain. I had hoped I would receive answers but left with even more questions. So is there happiness in these shops… Hookers. Strippers. Dominatrixes. Housewives. Gentlemen who worship rubber and leather in the depths of their imagination and privacy of their houses. Teenagers hoping for revelation. Old couples wishing for the last kick… Whose side was I taking? Probably my own. Just can’t label it. Not yet. Secretly hoping that I don't fit any, though clearly knowing that there surely is one.

I felt as if I was on the other side of the mirror they have in interrogation rooms. Watching them and the game they play. Counting face expressions and catching sighs of excitement. The porn of human nature. I have seen this movie so many times. It doesn’t even get me off anymore. You see bitches and gentlemen; I have seen all that so many times, and still can't get why are you denying it? Your weakness for decisions. Your fear of intimacy. Your delusion you call understanding. It is so unbelievably simple. Your problems seem so obvious but you have the greatest talent to hide them and cover them with non existing ones. Perhaps it's the main illness we all share. Like a virus it concourse us in every breath we have. Funny isn't it?

I passed a church. Entered. Looks exactly like a sex shop just more expensive and with smarter decorations. Perfect! Who could assist me with my purchase? I am here to buy your one and only mother superior. She knows me; we met before. She’s supposed to look after all the Harlots. They tell me she is in the corner crying tears of blood. She is always on the watch. This is what she pays for tearing off that forbidden fruit; they recalled it - virgin birth. Men! All the prophets are men. All the bosses are men. All the judges and politicians are men. God bless the MEN! As something tells me that they’re burning up - watching the stripper on the stage and hating her. As she, the one they pay for, is much more powerful then they are. And all is quite simple - she has them by the balls. No anal hooks will ever change that. We may be on our knees - but we’ve got you by the balls. One wrong move - and you are not of the ball game. Scary isn't it? So blessed shall be a men. Let him fight in his wars and eat his candy. Watch his dogs and walk his children. This is what he was created for. Amen!

* * *

The sudden urge of freedom overtook my breath. Like a need to fuck someone in the toilet after a very good gig. Or even better - during. This is what it’s all about, apparently - fucking in the toilets. How it burns the skin, sicken dispatches from flesh, flesh fools down from bones. land is on fire. dear of mental beginnings.

I come back, back and back again. These streets of Leith had stolen me. The smell of cum and rotting food mixed with herbs and spices crawling from under Chinese stores and restaurants. I went on a hunt for hookers and found the treasure chest. Surrounded by my own misery and watching theirs. Anger kept on growing. Growing…growing!! WOMAN IS A WEAPON! Ready to shoot! It seems that we don't even need a reason. Like kamikazes we walk in line and eternal 8. Circles, parables and lines on the beaten breasts. We are ready to attack!

And skin is itching like a post effect of opiates. In bubble wrap the post orgasmic chill. Would you dare loading me? How long, how much and how often should you masturbate so that the whole world around you would disappear? And that sense of freedom, that sense of a bullet inside your veins is compulsive but building a bullet proof vest. The breaking mirrors. Blood stained dresses and lines on the pavement. Church bells are bringing dead living to it's ground. Preachers of "Saturdays live church" are singing and selling cheap "whooha" to local imbeciles.

One asked me, what does that word means to you- "CUNT"? Laughter filled the air - it means pride. I have worn this crown for years now and am not giving it back. I have observed the worms, seen the leaches, smelled the shit flies. Every street corner in Leith and every shop in posh George Street served its purpose. Its legend - its mission. So I dare you to challenge me.

I was always the one who wanted to fuck her haters. It felt so simple. So natural. Like getting ready for your night time lovers or childhood imaginary friends. You put on an old slip. You cover yourself with a black slick night gown, put on red heels that match with the light touches of lipstick - don't want it to look like you put to much effort in. A bit of black liner - this time inside the eye lid. You are ready. Hair braided. The look spells "just woken up - fuck me". You come to it - slowly… you wait, you trace your sample. You kiss, you smell, you hunt the weakness, and then you swallow - "Aramorph". I will always be there for you. Gal hammer. A woman is a weapon! And the legacy continues…

Stay Safe - Stay Saved - Stay Fuck - Bend over!

Good night and good bless,
Sonia Dietrich


Popular Posts