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joanna carlos
joanna carlos EVERY WOMAN wants to be beautiful and wanted; this is different from a man, who might not ever be concerned with either, which therefore implies that men and women are different in significant ways. A man is purer and capable of total self-accomplishment, something a woman can never achieve, being hampered by the lower-strata segregation complex, the end result being, there, done, almost made it, which sounds far from, success. While I was watching from the passenger seat driving around Pampanga, which is littered with prostitutes, I came to think that women should walk bow-legged, as though they were bagong tuli, their lives are sex-encircled, they subconsciously cannot stop thinking of intercourse, their lives are patterned on whether or not, given their phyical attractiveness, they can behave like prostitutes, if they think they can win a man over with a pout or a sudden grasping at the hand at the sight of a pretty girl, or if they play low the sex game by donning another stance altogether, the man-hater. Women want sex, and men are tired of their devices; beware then the woman who claims she is satisfied from a life of debauchery she needed not have stepped into; she cannot keep her feet within her house and hangs off the gate railing, still, even now, eager for attention and the power Mary Wollstonescraft Shelley lied about in A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. These women are prostitutes; they know nothing about the art of pleasure nor the term, "sleep with," which is known only in the higher echelons of society, the elite, which they were never part of. All they want is sex and the opppurtunity to brandish their poverty as a harrowing, attractive attribute, which only works on the stupid male. But these men use the women when their devices feel strongest, the power relies on how much satisfaction is wrenched from paid conversation.

I am a woman and not a man, but had I been born a man within the same demographic I'd have laughed at all the unoriginal documents I have read about women being sensitive, even if they really were, or equal to men, which is untrue. What I have discovered, much to my chagrin, was that the love between a man and a woman, in Pampanga, only works because the female prostitutes here are impacted greatly by the bow-legged manner, which reveals their natural prostitution, given the enhancing scenery, and nobody's ability to be during the session. I have mercy on them; I have not personally known any prosititute but I have seen the entrances for the lighted gentlemen's clubs, and then I think that I should just leave them all to sin, and wonder if they still would wallow in lust and false affection in Hell. The prostitution is something I understand and their respective disgraces; when faced with debilitating poverty I would enter a convent.

I have realized that I am disliked by people for appearing difficult when I am quiet or rotten when I am temperamental, but that is their loss, and if the neighborhood whore rings the bell asking for a night's rest, would I turn her away?


[About the author. Joanna Carlos considers herself Kapampangan, having grown up in an atmosphere in which the dialect was distributed freely among locals and expatriates here and abroad; thereby she ingested it like the smell of dying sampaguitas, the sound of cicadas by moonlight, and the sight of lanterns, ablaze in the sun, that decorate the city. She is dedicated and compassionate, and is interested in many things. After leaving the KSA, she has then immersed herself in the folkloric society of Pampanga. Joan is kindhearted and generous. Yet she has her pet peeves, her Lilith moments, so don't be a "cold-hearted capitalist" and irritate her, because even then you wouldn't realize who you are up against. Her writing was honed throughout the years and so has she. Joanna, then, is an amalgam of the child and the present, accepting, just..]

-Posted: 12:18 AM 11/23/12 | More of this author on eK!
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