FDOAMS: On Lifeless Streets

On the Issue of Brothels, Lifeless Streets, and Relative Morality Christians

On a cold Winter night in the city I took a tour of the streets between the hours of 8:00PM to 10:00PM. Snow covered much of the grass, and not a soul was in sight. Skyscrapers blocked the sky, and the myriad lights from those endless cubes of apartments only amplified the loneliness which I sought to escape. Normally, in those days, I’d waste away alone, staring at the ceiling in my one-flat apartment. However, envy’s a particular mistress. She knows how to best gut the heart of man showing what others have, what one lacks. So, when I left my little flat, leaving behind my phone and hat to put myself under the shadow of the multitudes of so many people who had what I lacked, what was I looking for? Well, I was looking for an escort, and on my part I hoped for a run-in with that mythical courtesan, but it appeared an outer force has robbed me of the company. The most I found of my desire was a building that used to be a brothel. I guess it was a sign of the times, the transition from a state sensibly evil to one insensible.

Does anybody remember the days when man ruled over woman? Maybe not. A lot of men in so-called modern societies dream of kneeling before their women. Though the parodies on Earth can hardly be compared to what’s found in Heaven, it’s a shame that most of them haven’t been exposed to the real wonders of patriarchy. In patriarchy, the girls entertain men, not the other way around. Gone are the hoops, and gone are the games. Gone are the fake flirting and that fake chivalrous romance. In patriarchy the woman entertains the man, and the man has no need to put up with much. A disobedient wife? Why put up with it when one can have their concubine?

And I know the gut response of most people who never knew anything else besides their King Arthur fantasies. They would all say that it’s wrong to take concubines because God’s original vision was one Adam and one Eve. Well, to respond to that, they aren’t wrong, actually, but I think Eve was a true help to Adam even after the Fall. It just so happens that in disordered societies, when wives begin to bargain like harlots, only then can one understand the value of a brothel, least so one can measure by a standard of Hell what a wife ought to be. Truth is, if copulation, material pleasures were the only thing worth gaining from the way between a man and woman then God would have made an Earth where free-trade of human bodies was the norm. However, this, after brushing with Hell, brushing with the harlot woman, we may understand what God intended for man. We aren’t animals. The devils whisper about a “natural need,” but what they call a natural need in regard to copulation is in reality a cheap act that can only be made rich through spiritual gifts. For example, in the streets of Kiev, for the price of bread or a day’s wages one may have for himself a full night with a most beautiful woman of his taste. Yes, she’s a prostitute, but the question ought to be begged. What makes a wife different from a prostitute, or rather what should?

In this, I answer the spiritual gifts, that which God intended from the beginning between man and woman. A prostitute offers her body, so does a wife, but unlike the prostitute the Eve of every Adam is the flesh of his flesh, bone of his bones and vice versa. It’s not good for man to be alone, so the wife is a comforter against loneliness. She shares in her husband’s burdens, and through whatever means necessary seeks to help him. There’s tenderness, earnest desire to please, and perhaps most importantly, a willingness to love her husband her Lord, as God. Then on Adam’s part, he must die for his wife as God had died for him. In sum, the relationship between man and woman is a reflection of the relationship between God and man (and woman). For this, whoremongers and adulterers until they repent have no place in Heaven, for it is their practice to abandon those they make promise to die for.

But why even make this note for myself? Well see, in the so-called developed states there are many romances, many relationships, many giving in marriage, but like the clothes which adorn their flesh, their glass which pretends to be glass, it may all be built from plastic foundations. What is the difference between the whoremonger who buys and the whoremonger who plays, the harlot who runs from relationship to relationship and the harlot who runs from marriage to marriage? From each class of sinner, they all seek the same things, material gifts. They only have different methods of acting upon it.

What’s worse—I will never understand how we got to this point—but made apparent through the lack of brothels in tandem with the promotion of which a merchant may call the profitable business of fornications: marriage, holidays, rings, jewelry, perfumes, and so on… we live in a model of Pandemonium where man may boast about sin which may so easily be outperformed by the whoremonger in Kiev. Woe to them who find sport in sin! God may we pray that all should repent! Yet more woe, for repentance shall require good shepherds, and what worse shepherds than the timid Christian!

They have Scriptures pure, unadulterated. They praise the great men, great women of old, yet put in no part to model ourselves after God’s chosen. To them, the fashions of God are malleable rather than eternal. The people pick and choose the Scriptures to fit their time. They let Pride whisper “grace” when they wish to sin, and “Leviticus” when they wish to punish. Then, like a slow-acting poison, the devil offers them all manner of idolatrous fashions. He whispers, “It’s what’s on the inside that counts. Only the heart matters.” Then it happens that over time, the Israelites, the children of Abraham, their daughters dress like prostitutes and their sons dress after the rich man who barred Lazarus from the gates. They assume upon God that their cups are clean, but inside and out their cups are unclean. They take pride in being more clean than sinners, and for that they are content with keeping uncleanliness though Heaven casts its eyes upon them. They are the dim-sighted leading the blind. They call themselves modest for wearing clothes in the orgy. Their morals are relative, and for having knowledge of the law yet shirking the law they are an abomination under Heaven. They accept every excuse which Hell offers them. On this, I can only accuse because I once was. I’ve known the law because I broke it, so oh God help us for being so timid in our convictions! Make us worthy of your promises, and may thy workings within us be as a light to poor lost sinners who have no shepherd to lead them in this world of lies!

Forgive me, I’m going off topic. What about the sacred covenant of marriage? Yes, I suppose marriage is sacred. It is sacred. It’s so sacred that one could make it scarce and make a whole racket selling products around it. Marriage is sacred like gold, jade, and diamond rings. With such sacredness to it, it’s no wonder that so many profiteers find marriage so lucrative to sell. A holiday there, a holiday here. Gold, gold, gold, gold, gold. We own the means of it. We control the flow of it. Men and women are joined, and we get the cut of it. We sell the means for men to buy the very expensive harlot, on which so many material gifts shall be spent before a ring is put.

Love, that which is so sacred, so scarce that we profit billions just by selling it. Ah, what wonders a brothel may do. Least, in a society which sensibly sins it has the sense to keep sinners poor, but even then, suppose if the girl’s a Fantine, forced against her will by circumstance, what great a debt in Purgatory will the whoremonger rack should he not repent.

But Pandora’s Box is open. The boys have taken themselves to cuckoldry. They’ll do anything for a crumb. The brothels are closed, so they will pay for photos. Perhaps they’ll act at the same time as their fellow buyers, like a pagan ritual. Only God knows.

Bah, between having whores be rich and whores be poor? We really have to consider which environments are more conducive to godly enterprises! Who would care about porn when the brothels are open five minutes away? Two hundred dollars isn’t so hard to get. Why would a man pay for a subscription when he can just walk over to the red light? Want to lower porn use? Open the brothels again and watch the porn users drop. Or, I guess we could just let everyone know you can be entertained by pretty Slav girls in Kiev. Never underestimate the power of crippling poverty, corruption, and the U.S. dollar. On this, God forgive, I may sin implicitly by causing another to sin through this knowledge, but this knowledge may also help one determine once and for all what they’d like to see in their Eve, what really makes a woman beautiful. Because well, what shame for a man to be treated well by prostitutes, to increase the sin of both man and woman through perversions of the sacred covenant. What a shame to find a better chastity in an unclean woman than the clean.

I mean what a saint was Magdeline, who repented of her sins and forgave those who caused her sin or looked down on her because of it. On this, one has to wonder how the Pharisee knew what kind of woman she was. Was the Pharisee a prophet? Back on topic, by God if one only knew the reality of sin one should better race towards keeping the standard which our Father set. It's not, “Well done, my faithful servant, for keeping my commands better than your sisters and brothers.” It’s “Well done my faithful servant for keeping my commands.” There can be no excuse, but to do the work of God, for which out of love for God we may be like St. Magdeline who gave up all our sins as she did when she traded her ill-gotten wealth for the oil meant to consecrate our Lord. So a woman seeking a husband, and a man seeking a wife should find one who will best help them ascend.

Where in the world was I going with this thought? Praise God. I completely forgot that I was going to log my report of the city’s near-lifeless streets.

At night I took a walk from the flat and ran around by the river. It was like traveling across a desert of white snow. The waters were dark, and lampposts guided the path. I walked along the riverside and thought about jumping in. The thought of industrial waste in the water kept me out. Instead, I walked along the riverside, my boots crunching in the snow. Since I was simulating feelings of depression, at times I’d kneel down in the snow and wish myself to die for lack of companionship. It worked quite well. Nobody else in walked that snowy desert but me. Eventually, I walked away from the riverside and found a bench in the middle of the field. Perfect. I sat on it and fell on my side. I would have liked to have sat with a pretty girl on that bench, but as usual it seemed I’d have to have myself to be content with. I kicked my legs up, looked up at the starless sky, and asked, “Why?” I felt like there should have been someone there to kiss in the snow, but for someone like me perhaps God considered that too great a gift to bestow. No, perhaps He’d rather have me rack up the account of my sins rather than gift me that which should make the desires of my heart no longer sinful. Oh, if only I had been willing to commit lesser sins then I wouldn’t have ended up in such dire ends. If I committed greater sins, then I would have had lesser scars on this body sin scarred. Now, in the daytime I see Him in the Sacrament, I see the body of the Son on the tabernacle or locked away in a box. I pray, then comes the scent of roses, the wind down my back—perhaps it’s the Spirit—but then I quit, I get up from my prayers and leave without a spoken answer but the silent nod to suffer for what I’ve done.

Minutes passed, who knows how many. I had no watch on me. I kicked myself off the bench and returned to the riverside. The path broke to a series of large rocks covered by snow. I went through them. Sometimes I’d take a step and feel my boots sink between the rocks. Nevertheless, I trekked on until I came under the bridges. Below one of them was a firepit and graffiti painted on the great concrete pillar next to it. On occasion, the wind sounded, the Earth spoke, but secretly I prayed God would speak. Maybe He did, if the ringing outside my ear could have been any indicator. Eventually my listless meanderings led me to a park in the old industrial district. Much of the buildings surrounding it had been converted to apartment homes, the brothel also. One ruined factory had been converted to a museum. I climbed up the hill at the park's center and found no one there. There, I lay on a bench, wishing I were homeless. All around were high-rise towers full of people. Lights were on across all those apartments. Where were all the people? I got up to walk again. The most I found were a few people walking their dogs. I climbed down the hill and started roaming again. I took my feet through the sidewalks. I passed the museum and I passed the theater. I met a fellow, a white man in a blue sweater carrying a dog without its leash. I walked for a time, then I turned around to walk home.

Now here, as I returned to the park, I found it hard to put one foot in front of the other. Lazily, I walked, and slouched. The towering apartment building at my side shadowed me with its height, the light of each apartment taunting me with what I failed to have. My hands felt cold and numb but I appreciated this pain because it at least let me know I lived, but then sorrow crept back as I thought, why by pain could I only feel to live? I collapsed by the sidewalk into the snow, and why, by and by those little white sands made for an excellent bed.