On Sebastian Horsley

I am quoted from a ridiculous article “The Brothel Creeper”, from the Observer, by a horrid man Sebastian Horsley, who died recently.

He liked to collect prostitutes, considering it his way of making of art by pouring his “genius” into whores.

His words and attitudes was what triggered me to write my last post.

He was an arrogant john, who wanted whores to be grateful that he was abusing them. He saw them as dirt, but pretended he was placing them into high art.

No, he was no artist just another john led by his dick.

“I am a connoisseur of prostitutes … I can take its bouquet, taste it, round it my mouth, give you the right vintage.”

That is the prostitute is not a human, just some bottle of wine I will drink and spit out.

This language was the language of so many arrogant johns that had me – I was not human – I was the muse they had to fuck and beat and treat like shit, to reach their depth of  their genius.

The artist-john will pour inside the prostitute all his hate, rage and worry that he is inferior. It will not matter for she has no feelings or is not even alive.

The artist-john will collect whores, for they are all the same but slightly different. They are all just holes and hands waiting for his great presence to give them a purpose.

I know that language – it is poison inside my soul.

“The great thing about sex with whores is the excitement and variety … But with brothels there is always the exhilaration of not knowing what you’re going to get.”

Wow, what complete and utter bullshit.

He will get whatever he ordered and made demands for.

The hell of working indoors prostitution is never knowing what the john will do and for how long it will last.

Rich bastards like Sebastian Horsley are given full permission by the sex trade to do any and all their porn fantasies. They have the money to be as violent as they want, to keep the whore as long as he likes.

She will be his property.

So to stay safe or just to come out with her life, she will perform the happy hooker. That is what he is paying for.

Men like him put terror into me, men like him made me convince that I would be murdered.

And they call it art.

“The worst things in life are free”.

What like real human emotions, ability to feel compassion, to see other’s pain, to recognise terror – to be a person that could think outside their own ego.

“A prostitute exists outside the establishment … She deserves our respect, not our punishment.”

Typical bullshit of the artist-john, he is punishes her on a regular basis by pouring his hate of women into her.

He will rape whores, and say it a gift he is giving them. He will make be his living porn-doll, making out she is his living canvas or muse for his writing.

For her it will be torture, a life-and-death experience. For him it is deep respect of the true outsider.

“The whore fuck is the purest fuck of all.”

Man, you arrogant bastard.

So glad your mighty dick had such a spiritual moment – no matter you put death and terror into the prostitute.

God, rot in hell.

“Brothels make possible contracts of astounding physical intimacy without the intervention of personality.”

Well, I suppose that is the closest that Sebastian Horsley got to being relatively honest.

He wanted the whore to be a dead object that he can fuck without any consequences. He can do everything his porn-fuelled imagination could make him do.

No messy real woman who could complain, could say no, could ask for what she may want to do, could feel fear, would be injure – no messy personality.

Wow, what a charmer.

“Anyway, crime and risk are the texture of life”.

Showing your privilege or what.

He can get a buzz at fucking whores in dodgy brothels, he can pretend he reaching into dirt and the low life.

It will his route back to his genius, his Hyde to Jekyll, his understanding of Jack the Ripper, his dragging out of his animal spirit.

It is a game to him – for the artist-john will always walk away leaving behind his destruction.

He leaves behind his rapes, his battery, his forcing prostituted women and girls to lose the ability that they are full humans.

There is no risk to the artist-john, only a frisson of danger. The prostitute has real danger and risk.

She can be raped, she can be sexually tortured, she can get serious injuries, she can get sexual diseases, she can lose her sanity and so much more, she knows she could be murdered.

It is a game to him – it is terror to her.

I hate the artist-john, for their arrogance makes believes that whores like me should bloody grateful to be fucked over by them.

Well, we are not grateful – we just hold all those bastards in contempt.

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