At the beginning of the year, I wrote about something I referred to as "The Project." Right around that time, I launched Letters from Johns and later Letters from Working Girls, but neither of those was the Project, although, I suppose they were related, tangentially. In either case, I got to a certain point with the Project that I'm in a stage of waiting in relationship to it. Suffice to say, control freaks do not like to wait. So, we'll see. In any case, I'm really happy to say, even if that sounds strange to say, that I've launched these side projects along the way. As I've written in the past on this blog, I spent a lot of time around the sex industry and dealing with what I saw there by dissociating or identifying with the men, who, more often than not, inhabit positions of greater power than the women. The real subject all along was the girl, though. There is nothing so riveting as oneself reflected in another, is there? I spent so many years in a split state that I failed to testify truly as to what I had seen there. Does anyone out there know what I mean? Maybe. Or maybe this is all sound and fury, signifying nothing but my own puny inexhaustible voice. Maybe, from the outside, at least to some people, Letters from Johns and Letters from Working Girls seem salacious. Maybe they are. Maybe they aren't. To fail to bear witness to what one has seen is a sin, isn't it? Like I said a long time ago, this is my contrapasso. And theirs, too.
