Women in Italy

Unemployed, precarious, whore, virgin raped, minister promoted for the appearance, for the bum, but even the mouth helps, obliged to accept advances at work, subject to the wishes of parents and delinquents, killed by uncles, husbands, lovers, former partners, thrown into the street by a pimp, introduced into the beds of the powerful like a bit of giftware to get their condescension. Underage females from outside the European Union, thousands of them, almost children, fresh flesh on the streets of all the cities, easy conquests for fathers of shit and families to the total indifference of everyone. Miss Italies who show off their merchandise in the early evenings, lasses whose smile, eyes will not be remembered, but only their breasts, the hips, the hollow of the thighs, showgirls with dental floss between their buttocks in all the TV programmes, semi-nudes even on Christmas Eve, scratch-card merchandise to fxxx, available to the Italians, unknowing hopeful prostitutes of the small screen. Underpaid, red-light quota, residual, marginal, excluded from the choices, from politics, without civil rights unless blessed by the sacredness of marriage, without a pension even though they are common law wives for all their life, without nurseries, without green spaces for their children, because almost always the children belong to the women. Body and not person, hole but not spirit. Object of vintage modern with lips like a boat, in old age similar to a madam of the ancient brothels. Moulded by necessities and by the triumph of the male member, lord and master of her life. No longer a person, but an object, that can be used, loaned, strangled, possessed. A mass transfer has transformed her from a living being to a thing of common availability, accessible, who cannot deny herself, she no longer has the right. Private property but also public, to be strangled if there’s a refusal, on the common stairwell, just above a blow-up doll, to be possessed even after death (last news about the murder of a your girl,yesterday), because a thing is neither alive nor dead. It’s just a thing, a woman, nothing but a woman.

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