Taking no prisoners. Including herself.

I got three hours of sleep last night — I’m not complaining. I’m using this as a preface to this Project Launch. I am including this little anecdote, now, which I’m about to deliver, in the next sentence, for a reason.

You see, I went to bed late (11PM) and had to get up early (4AM). And in between those hours, the hours of about midnight and two, I spent giving a witness testimony to the police about a pimp who was beating up a prostitute. I’m not being crass here — that’s how the police officer with whom I spoke — bleary-eyed and dressed in my silk pajama bottoms, long flannel shirt I had put on accidently inside-out, and my rain jacket, flip-flops, a beanie — put it. He said:

“Oh. So it was a pimp beating a prostitute?”

I said yes, yes it seemed to be.

They had arrested some guy who fit my description. Only thing: he was the wrong medium-build, dressed in black, running Westbound on Post Street, 6-foot-tall male. So I corrected them — that this wasn’t the guy I had seen — was thanked for my help, and dismissed; afterwhich, I went upstairs and cried (for the fact that I had witnessed a beating, that I wasn’t getting any sleep, that people turn to prostitution and drugs or that they had arrested an innocent man because of me, I don’t know) and locked myself in my studio.

I tell this story now, just to say, I don’t think prostitution is a joke. Except when, of course, we make jokes to cover up for the fact that we are cowardly and would rather make something funny than actually confront it. Pain is funny.

LAUNCHED: Poetry to a Transvestite Prostitute
A simple literary project that you can find out about here. And if you can’t figure out how this relates to love (the theme for the month), then just stop reading right now.

(dear Trannie)
I see you there, nearly every night, outside my bedroom window. I am too shy, scared—something—to speak with you directly; I write you poetry instead:

[Night one: Haikus]

It starts with a click;
at first distant, then louder—
heels signal the night
* * *
Clothing feminine
hangs soft from her waist: dainty
And yet her jaw: square
* * *
More poetry on
transvestite prostitution?
Hold on, it’s coming

§120 · February 7, 2006 · Love Project, PROJECTS, Tranny Prostitute · · [Print]

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