K. Morris's Blog, page 829

Book Review: Pimp: The Story of My Life By Iceberg Slim

A couple of weeks ago I was browsing the Kindle store when I came across Iceberg Slim’s biography, Pimp: The Story of My Life (see http://www.amazon.co.uk/Pimp-The-Story-Life-ebook/dp/B005GK7LPG) which tells the story of how the author became one of America’s most notorious pimps. Slim ppulls no punches. The book is a no holes barred account of how Iceberg entered pimping, the people he met and of how he controlled his girls. I flinched as I read how Slim punished his first working girl, Joyce by whipping her with a wire coat hanger. The whipping had (from Slim’s perspective) the desired result as Joyce returned to the streets to sell her body.

Slim was brought up during the era of racial segregation which had a profound effect on his view of the world. As a young black man Slim saw pimping as being one of the few opportunities open to him to become rich. His mentor, Sweet Jones hates white people as a result of his father having been murdered by a white lynch mob and his mother having been raped by the same mob. Sweet tells Slim that black pimps where the early heroes who turned the tables on their former slave masters by becoming prosperous in pimping. It is ironic that Sweet and Slim fail to see that they themselves are slave owners of a kind and are perpetuating the practices of the former plantation owners (it is Sweet who recommends to Slim he keeps his girls in line by the use of practices including whipping with coat hangers). The slave holders of yester year would, no doubt have been proud of them!

As a child Slim’s mother has relationships with a number of unsuitable men including with Slim’s father who, at one point throws the child against the wall. The exception to this rule is the gentle Henry who dotes on both Slim and his mother. However Slim’s mother leaves Henry for another man, had she stayed with Henry who Slim clearly adores it is very possible that I wouldn’t have read Pimp as the author wouldn’t have entered the world of pimping.

On reading Pimp one wonders why the women Slim controlled put up with their treatment at the hands of Iceberg. Fear goes some way to explaining it, however this is not the only explanation. Working on the streets and frequently unobserved by Slim his ladies had many opportunities to escape. One or two of them did but many others did not. Ironically a number of the girls “loved” Slim and convinced themselves that their feelings where reciprocated which explains why they remained with him. In particular one girl sends Slim money while he is in prison (she could have stolen it but chose instead to sell his car, on Slim’s instructions and send the cash to him).

In the end it is the fear of dying in prison rather than any moral revulsion which leads Slim to exit pimping. There is, so far as I can see no wholehearted moral rejection of his former life but I haven’t read any of the interviews which he gave subsequently so perhaps I am wrong on that point.

If you want a comfortable bedtime read then Pimp by Iceberg Slim is not for you. However if you want to try and understand why a man might enter the world of pimping then this book makes a fascinating read.

The Ice Maiden

Ice cold girl, aloof in your superiority you face the world. Impeccable manners, frosty and correct does a heart beat within your chest? Does secret passion burn within or are you frozen both out and in? Could the right man light a spark, kindle love within your heart? I made you laugh, there lurks within, more than ice beneath your skinn.

Boxes

This tree lined street, this gentle breeze, the box like cars passing me. People in boxes afraid to be free, unwilling to escape their own banality. Nature is all around, we choose not to see, people in boxes will never break free.

It Must Be True

It must be true, it’s here in black and white, celebrity raped by martian in the middle of the night.

It must be true, paedophiles are everywhere, innuendo and suspicion fill the air.

It must be true, immigrants are stealing are jobs, I read it in that organ of truth, The Daily Slob.

Look at that couple on reality TV, he watched while his girlfriend had sex with is best friend’s wife, but what has that got to do with my life?!

Underneath

Velvety soft skin enough to make a man sin. Firm young breasts beneath your dress. Sweet perfume fills the room and, underneath it all death.

Ball Games

A large brindle lab retriever cross you stand on the sun dappled grass your eyes fixed on the small round prize in my hand. I throw and the rubber ball already deeply engrained with the many maulings it has suffered at the hands of strong canine jaws flies threw the air hitting the garden fence. You bound joyfully forward to secure the prize, the ball is soon secured in your soft mouth.

You come to me your tail wagging furiously inviting me to take the ball. I reach forward but you withdraw circling me that tail dancing in the summer breeze. I give chase laughing as you keep the small round prize just out of my grasp. You growl the sound belied by that waiving tail. Happy Trigger without a care in the world your universe is this small green patch of grass and me. Your thoughts in this moment fixed entirely on this joyous game.

The sunny garden receeds into the background. Mechanically I continue to frolic my brain elsewhere remembering my previous dog Drew. I recollect the day. You where full of life in the morning eager to take me into the office on your harness. In the evening you started to pass blood. We of course took you to the vets but it was all to late. You died leaving me with memories of a thumping tail, a cold wet nose and a tender spot in my heart which still aches for you.

The game over Trigger rolls on the grass paws waiving in the air begging to have his belly scratched. Lucky Trigger with no conception of death or concerns for the future, you exist in the moment my fortunate four legged friend.

A Suburban Liverpool Street in Springtime

Wind chimes swaying in a gentle spring breeze, birds twittering in the trees. The scent of roses fills the air, the sound of lawn mowers a distant purr. Smell of hay warm and sweet, I long to feel it under my feet. but other people cut the grass, their garden gates I may not pass.

break

I will be taking a break from blogging while visiting my family but I will, like the proverbial bad penny be back!

Girl and Man

Young lady older man, is there love or a cunning plan? Middle aged man with younger girl, does love exist in this world? What thoughts pass through your heads, as you lie entwined in your bed? Girl are you there or far away? What holds you, makes you stay?

“Oh my darling man why worry? enjoy me while you can. Life is short, I am sweet. Give in to lust then let us sleep”.

Birds

 Birds singing bringing to mind you, their song tearing my heart in two. Birdsong expressing what I can not express, my inadequate thoughts on life and death. Unaware of their own mortality, birds sing wild and free.