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June 7, 2019 09:02:13

• Brisbane: Domination & fetish

All the brothels are haunted and now the internet is too. Haunting is  one of the most common paranormal beliefs around the world, many believe  almost every town and city has at least one haunted place  - although I have worked in many offices that had their  ghostly quirks - where maybe one would turn the lights off and the office would decide that,  no -  that lights would in fact be remaining on.. Places that would frequently host unexplained temperature changes and host unusual scents -  although actually those unusual scents were actually maybe more explainable than the other phenomena.

I feel less what I am saying is that every brothel should be in the Horny & Haunted Ghost Watchers Guide - but more that since March, the spaces which have often hosted sex work have become shells - their form and function seems so unstable. When spaces lose their meaning: What happens to their use?

Success in space use is significantly correlated with knowledge about it, providing further evidence that conceptual knowledge plays a key role in  its spacial use. What do we know about this emptiness that these spaces hold?  I know my work places too often have such coded meanings. How do we read them in this time - what is a brothel with no whores and whores with no brothels?

think of the lockers filled with pleasers and g strings and hello kitty body spray  - that have not been touched since March. I feel sad for them, to be in a place made for touch and connection and there they are - alone and abandoned. I think of the prophylactic moving closer to expiry. They never got to fulfill their destiny.  I think of the unopened curtains and the dusting floors. I think of aging snacks left behind that will become a whole new thing, maybe as it sits in a lorna jane sports bag in  a locker creating dream conditions for food decomposition. Allowing microbe and enzyme activity to be optimized, making food energy more available to the bacteria and fungi. How nice.

A  mini blue glass  stone that resembles  a lumpy heart that once delicately sat on the window frame,and had the sole job to decorate  my brothel. This was the year lump heart  lost its home, and job of fanciful living.If water and vermin are the  greatest enemies of one’s collectible papers longevity, a bin is maybe an equal  aggressor to a parlours trinkets in this time. Instead of  becoming landfill I gifted the heart to a plant that showed little will to carry on. It was  a plant that I said   I loved in the shop. I brought it to my office where it was became a crime scene accessory, a beautiful fern for this sweet suburban massage parlor a magical fisting palace…In the time between my office being a pop up brothel and then with the global pandemic just making it an empty building with not a single whore interfering in the building’s meaning, the  fern started to decline. I understand with fern care many of us will wonder  What am i doing wrong? Why are the fronds now so brown and dry. Is it dying? Can i save it?

My dying plant that sat in my office for a month before it was reclaimed, coaxed  back to life.  Now it lives a new life, an artifact of an old world . What will become of office trinkets? Will they be museum pieces from the Befores?

Where we remembered this is how we fashioned these special places. They were beautiful.

I picture all my old offices - my mind’s eye draw portraits of the past, but I know it is not just the empty brothels that house these ghosts - the internet  is a playground for a modern ghost story to be written in 0s and 1s. [1]

While many of us have been making banana bread, going on anxiety benders  or walking round the block for our allowed 1 hour  -  there is another covid hobby - the lesser advertised activity of building escort directories during times of  financial adversity. This is not the first time I have witnessed this hobby grow. The last time I witnessed it with such gusto was 2017, when FOSTA/ SESTA  the law designed to stop sex trafficking was passed. A Law that did nothing to assist workers safety - just remove our visibility -  the idea that if we can not be seen we will be gone.  A law moved through our very bordered world in a way that our bodies can not. 

 A Law that took down Backpage, an advertising platform, and many other vital resource for sex  workers worldwide.

Although now it is not the removal of an advertising platform that has caused the precarious nature of this time, but the knowledge that workers have lost the ability to work freely that created a breeding ground for these new hobbyists. [2]

Although it is not the removal of an advertising platform that has caused precarious nature of this time, but the precarious nature of this time has created a breeding ground for these new hobbyists.

In mid march I had taken down what I thought were all my ads, in knowledge that one could be fined for working, and that the police - who we know have no real job in the space of attending to the wellbeing of the people, had taken it upon themselves to play entrapment.  In a type of non-consensual role play game where they pretend to be a client (™) and then if you say you’re not working they then try and get you to agree to working - maybe by offering you more dollies ect. they love to play their fun games of criminalising survival.

Removing my ads was what I believed to be an act of being a future friend to myself.  Everyone has the right to be forgotten on the internet . I try and make myself disappear from the www,  And yet  by the end of that week, 6 people attempted to make booking with me - all claimed they had no idea about covid -  had not heard of it, one claiming they live out of reception and had just driven to the city to see me with no prior contact -  I’m not the type of prostitute you wildly  drive into the city for a lustful moment with  -  more the type who is called when a gent is really despo for someone insert a  travel mayonnaise jar  sized object into his anus - but without too much chitty chat’.

I wonder if this is our dear friends the  horror hobbyists at it again.  Pop up sites  appear in hope that they will become the new Backpage / Scarlet Blue - they usually  do what I guess is technically known as reposting - except not like cute,  in a like and  repost way. I know strange technological glitches are another sign of hauntings -  but maybe this praxis shows us something more terrifying in our social  sphere than in a metaphysical space.

The week after those wanting to see me increased from 6 to 27 -  Mostly in Canberra and Brisbane - I also get offered 10 toilet rolls for a blow and go - I wonder if this is the new world, or at least the start of a weird movie, like that guy who swapped a paperclip for a house - The whore who swapped a bj for 10 loo rolls, which are now so inflated in value, what could come next? A 100 avos of toast? I decline the offer - ending this straight to tv movie idea.

I do a google image search for my ads, and find that my ads are no longer really my ads. My photos and phone number are still the same, but the text is different -  I’m much nicer in these ads, they have removed my bossy tone and replaced it with a few simple lines. I am available to be your girlfriend in many cities. Which feels very different to the real me.  I’m not in the same conversation with my body in this non-work time. A winter under the blankets and I don’t know what is happening underneath..  Nothing fancy. Or maybe the vessel is all always fancy. [3]

There are some other ads with my pictures but different numbers  - like this holographic version of me has moved on from being a one-phoner, so smart, like I am building a whole workforce of myself..  I see myself reflected and replicated  over and over. I wonder if I will ever be able to work in the ways of the old world.  I wonder if these  holographic versions of me will keep evolving, I wonder if these versions of me are also chronically ill - Is this version of me in pain in the same way that I am in pain? I often think that when my body is asking me to remember it, to be with it.  If I am a digital version of myself, who will decide what to remember and what to forget? [4]

 - or if these versions of me dont bother with that sort of palava- what kind of super whore will I become?  We are all becoming new things. We are re-learning sickness, although for many this has been learned over and over, re-learning to wash our hands, that our touch now holds the question of sickness and contention. For many it is not new that care is  messy. Many of the outbreak sights  are signs of care. In the height of the AIDs era, when there was no effective treatment beyond prayer and massage - when sharing bodily fluids, even saliva, or even touching a person with HIV brought on hysterical fears. What spaces does our fear now occupy?  Will we re-learn touch, in an act to unpack fear about the body?

In a movement of how we inhabit we have churned through a century where hospitals for infectious disease, old mental asylums  became replaced by  clusters of luxury apartments and offices. I think of the conditions of care that existed in these spaces. When we talk about dirty work, we are rarely talking about care work. Our leaky viscous bodies pour into each other [5]. The work of tending to another’s body that is weighty like few others. The expectation of who will  undertake these tasks out of love and obligation, has fashioned a  legacy of understanding the work as “natural” part of feminized labour . We can see how the role stigma played in HIV/AIDS care, how it created an  Intersection of Care and Activism. Care is messy. So many of the COVID-19 outbreak sites have been sites of care. I did not have to learn to understand that the trace selves of others stick; they cling to us. I did not have to relearn that I should rub my hands together, using one hand to rub the back of the other hand and clean in between the fingers. Then repeat with the other hand. I have known about the microorganisms found on one’s skin. I know about the normal flora (how cute does that sound).

These floras are usually deep-seated in the epidermis, are not readily removed and do not readily cause infections. But the transient microorganisms, those little travellers—they are the organisms that are not part of the normal flora and represent recent contamination, usually surviving for a limited period of time, and which includes most of the organisms responsible for cross infection. They are easily removed by a scrubby hand washing technique. I think of how others shed their microorganisms, as I rub my hands together, cleaning in between my fingers and bidding farewell to lube, piss, blood, spit, cum and/or other liquid that may have been a part of my activity.

 In stage 4 lockdown, what are the new categories of what things can be - Thinking of all Buildings as shelter, a blurring for past categorisation.  Compensating state failure as we try and work it out. But maybe language is not where this get works out.