Spent the last week or so in New Orleans. Where punk4lyfe is a way of a life (and not simply a fast fashion). Almost every queer I met there did sex work, in some form or another. Life is cheaper so few do it as a daily-grind and most use it to supplement their income but it reminded me that sex work can be a form of resistance. That there’s nothing shameful about survival. And a lot of what was appealing about sex work in the first place is still there: fast cash, flexible work hours, no bosses. Plus I can be rude to the customers when I want to be.
The place also made me think about punk as a vow of poverty. Choosing anything and everything but a career. There were a lot of kids living in houses made of scraps, in former squats, living with limited electricity and limited plumbing. Never have I ever hooked up in so many shacks. But what happens to punks when they get old? Asked an older queer (former?) punk I’m dating. I don’t know. I guess what happens to everyone else who lives out her life in poverty. You die. Maybe sooner than those who don’t.
I guess what I’m trying to say is sex for money is a radical act and I kinda forgot that cause I was finding the whole thing so dark and dready for such a long fucking time.
spent the first day of 2014 sohigh on plan b and gravol.
heterosexuality is too much work, y’all. keeping it queer for the rest of the year. amen.
When people ask what I do, I’m just going to start saying I’m a whore. Fuck all this weird dance around “I’m a sex worker, I’m a dominatrix, I’m a dancer” or “I’m a freelance reporter & an erotic masseuse.” Only if the other person is also a sex worker do I want to talk nuance. If you think being a whore is fucked up, we’re not friends.
the only book in this dungeon is Dorothy Allison’s Bastard Out of Carolina.
Hey! I wrote a personal essay for this podcast about how tricky it was for me to keep my public and private sex lives separate when I first started selling intimacy for money three years ago. It turned out both sexy and ‘bad taste in your mouth’ ‘leaveyoufeelingweird’, so please listen and let me know what you think. Also, btws, it’s in the middle but you should listen to the whole episode cause it’s bomb.
That said, the muddiness of performing sexuality for pay and performing sexuality for fun has only amplified with time. This year was the first time I had a crush on a client (a graphic designer from Staten Island with a Joe Strummer tattoo, loll but also, babe) and the first year I realized I might want things like a long-term partners and babies and all that junk, which for me is a serious recalibration of my sexuality. It’s also the first year where I’ve started moving in professional and social circles where I don’t want to tell people what I do for cash. Lying fucking sucks and feeling like I have to lie to my new ‘profeshional journalist’ friends is making me realize how totally unsustainable this line of work is for me.
After a series of lacklustre personal sexual encounters this year (and nail-gnashing, rage filling, professional ones where I’m just like ‘omg you are a pervert and I hate you and WHYDOYOUTHINKITWASOKTOSAYTHAT?’), I’ve decided that sex work is adversely affecting my ability to want and desire things and people for myself. So, I’m giving myself a two month (ie, cash-saving) deadline to stop working so I can start regrouping what I’m attracted to and what I’m not attracted to in my ‘real life.’
Oh, also, NY makes me neggy and agrro and my work is totally adding to it hard. Half the time I don’t want to talk to anyone cause I assume they are all the worst type of creep. And 3/4s of NY’s charm is creepy weirdo strangers! So like, yeah, gtfo g.
Monday April 1st
i love this visual so much! the context of the piece is very sad, but in general i often think of my lovers as filled with colorful candy and about to burst.
Félix González-Torres, “Untitled (Portrait of Ross in L.A.)”, 1991
The artist created a series of conceptual portraits of his lover, Ross Laycock. Ross contracted AIDS in the 1980’s and died years later from AIDS-related illness. This is my favorite; a reflection on both the wonderful personality and slow death of his partner.
In practice, this takes the form of a 175-pound pile of individually wrapped pieces of candy. When Ross was diagnosed with HIV, his doctor placed his ideal weight at 175 pounds, so this pile of candy is meant to symbolize his sweet personality and his weight. Visitors to the gallery/museum are invited to each take and eat a piece of candy from the pile, taking a piece of Ross with them. The candy pile therefore slowly dwindles, reflecting Ross’ weight loss and eventual death.
However, González-Torres has also said that each pile should ideally be continually replenished, creating symbolic immortality for his beloved partner.