On Rape Culture, Amanda Palmer, and Disappointment

An open letter to Amanda Palmer,

I have adored your music for many years. When I was sixteen and dealing with abuse, depression and self-harm, your words spoke to me. I was the Girl Anachronism, stuck in a prison of her own skin; I was the Perfect Fit, always nowhere, never belonging; I was thrown around in a sea of turmoil, desperately trying to make sense of this sensless world. 

As I grew older and learned more about you, my adoration turned to admiration. You were unashamed about your sexuality, about your feminism, your body hair, your belly. I have tried in vain to capture just a small piece of that self-confidence. 

You spoke of topics others wouldn't dare to touch; rape, abortion, sexual abuse, and you did it with upbeat tunes, humour and a twinkle in your eye. It was shocking, confronting. It worked. You forced people to stop and pay attention. You made it work. 

And then there was Katy Perry. You raped her. You found a look alike, played her song of confusion and empowerment, and raped that look alike on stage.
And I have to ask why.

You've told the world how hard it is, to be a popstar and a woman. A woman like Katy Perry, perhaps?
So why?

Why did you decide to simulate rape? Why did you feel the need to violate her like that? Aren't you aware that many of your fans are rape and sexual abuse survivors? Aren't you aware of the impact this might hav hade on them? The impact it has had on some of them? 

I support your right to using shock and humour to discuss difficult subjects. Hell, I love it. You give your fans a way of talking, you empower them. 
But this? It was scary, triggering, worrying, and sickening. It made me cringe and cry and twitch and shake. This is not shock and humour. It is rape culture. And it makes me ill.