Esther Vilar

All posts tagged Esther Vilar

[Well, it’s time I finished clearing my chest (of these last bits of nasty phlegm) and be rid of these subjects once and for all.]

Part Two

The Cult Of ‘Love’ (continued)

In her book, The Polygamous Sex, Esther Vilar delves into the nearly taboo subject of love—that is, the subject of love as a state in which it exists between social mammals (and probably other types of life forms that care for offspring); the stronger caring for and protecting the weaker, as well as the mere act and drive of reproduction to continue the species.

I need post a big chunk of it here, because she nails it right on the head.

How is it possible that an experience every adult must have had at least once in his life, a phenomenon thoroughly explored by generations of psychoanalysts, the favorite age-old theme of writers, composers, artists, can still be the subject of so much misunderstanding?

What is love?

THE PROTÉGÉ AND THE SEX PARTNER

If we are going to speak of love, we must begin at the beginning: that we live and find ourselves surrounded by life must be based on certain principles. Where there is life, in other words, on this or any other planet, there must be some process that tends to create life out of dead matter. Now if we mean, by life, the general principle of change — what Darwin calls variation and selection — then death, or destruction, must be part of the process, or else we would quickly run out of the stuff upon which change subsists. A living being must, accordingly, fulfill at least three ‘basic principles’ of life:

sustain its own life (self-preservation)
pass on its own life to another organism before death, so that life can go on (reproduction)
preserve the life of its offspring until it becomes capable of taking care of itself (nurture of the young)

A human being’s life depends as much as any other upon these principles of self-preservation, reproduction, and nurture of its young. Without them it could not exist.

The instinct of self-preservation is asocial, in that it is concerned only with the self. Reproduction and nature, on the other hand, are social mechanisms. Reproduction — sweetened by the sex drive, perhaps because it is not a sufficiently powerful motive in its own right — cannot be accomplished without a partner. And the breeding or nurturing instinct is also directed outward, towards others.

Those others, whom we need to satisfy our social instincts, are — depending on which of these two drives they serve — our sex partners or our dependents, objects of our protection, protégés, wards, whichever.

Clearly these two social instincts are the biological basis of love, since their most intense and lasting manifestation — the attachment to a sex partner or to one’s own child — is love. To have a lover or a beloved is happiness. The lover seeks out the beloved for the satisfaction of his sexual needs as frequently as possible, and says, ‘I love you.’ When the relationship breaks up, he-she suffers pangs of ‘unrequited love.’ This condition lasts until a ‘new love object’ is found.

When the love object is one’s child, natural or adopted, one protects it. The protector will risk his life for his dependent, will want only the best for him-her, will assure him-her of his love. To lose the ‘child’ means great unhappiness. It means to have lost ‘the thing I loved most in all the world.’

No matter which we are referring to — dependent or sex partner — we use the same word for what we feel: love. And yet the same word designates two radically different kinds of bond. To arouse the protective instinct, the dependent must fulfill certain conditions greatly at variance with the conditions that make the sex partner attractive, and vice versa. The specific characteristics of the other person determine the nature of our biological response. Ultimately they determine the kind of love we shall feel for that person.

Ultimately, “love” cannot be possible for the protectees, only the protector.

(By the way, check out her book, The Polygamous Sex, sometime.)

The protector only feels it because he needs a reward for all his hard work (protecting and providing for a family). Praise does cause chemical reactions in the brain that result in a type of pleasure—and the absence of shame is a form of relief from pain—but neither of these would last for long.

Similar to the pleasure center of the brain making us “feel good” when we have sex—as a reward for procreating, even if we have no intention of multiplying—the protector and provider gets a headful of yummy cvhemicals to keep him doing what he’s doing. Essentially, he’s getting high.

There are all kinds of chemical (the synaptic connections within our brains) reactions going on, from the first wiff of one’s pheromones, to neurotransmitters and Dopamine, Endorphins, Serotonin, et cetera. It seems that men and women receive different chemical rewards for what they do.

For females, the chemical that keeps them involved is oxytocin.

In February, 2009, PBS did an article called…

Love Is a Chemical Reaction

Young, a researcher at the Yerkes National Primate Research Center at Emory University in Atlanta, studies the neurobiology that underlies pair bonds — what nonscientists might call love.

In an essay in the journal Nature last month, he laid out evidence that scientists may soon be able to tie the emotion “love” to a biochemical chain of events, and might someday even be able to develop drugs that enhance social bonding — in much the same way that pharmaceuticals today can help regulate emotions like anxiety and depression.

But, Young says, it’s not a love potion. “The holy grail is a drug that might be able to enhance the social abilities of people with social disorders like autism.”

In his lab at Yerkes, Young studies rodents called prairie voles. Unlike 95 percent of mammals, prairie voles mate for life.

“They form a lifelong bond,” Young said. “They nest together, they raise a family together, they have another litter. So they have this really intense bond between them.”

In a series of studies, Young found that the hormones that produce that bond are the same ones that promote parent-child bonding in many other species.

For females, that hormone is oxytocin.

“We can take a prairie vole female, inject her with oxytocin, and she’ll bond with whatever male is around,” Young said.

I think the same thing occurs in human females, say, at a bar…after a few drinks, a toke, and a few moments of much laughter (which produces pleasurable sensations in the brain the same as any drug or mound of chocolate or sex act, just in slightly different ways and levels).

One concept that gets a lot of flak is hate. It is, evidently, “negative,” but can anyone prove that? If it leads to things that are negative, maybe I can see it then—but “love” leads to as much negativity, pain and “heart-ache.”

If “love” is just another drug, then what is “hate?” Something that makes you feel bad? If “love” is chocolate, then “hate” is nasty and strong whiskey…that does not get you drunk at all? Can you get high on hate? Motivated perhaps, like anger, but I see no evidence that hate can get you high. Perhaps through adrenaline levels, but that’d be it. It is hardly a high like morphine…

Well, whatever “hate” is, it is not the opposite of “love.”

The Value of Hate

No, I am not “pro-hate.” When I speak of “hate,” I’m not talking about racism, or the kind of popular notions of hate that suggest that it is a strong dislike for one group of something.

If I nearly drown as a child, I might a have a fear and strong dislike for being in the water—it doesn’t mean I’d hate all water. I’d still take showers or have a bath, and I’d still drink water…but I might sneer when gazing at the ocean.

If I am stung by wasps, I might grow to hate wasps. That “hate” is simply strong dislike based upon fear—fear of being hurt or injured, obviously stemming from a previous experience.

In that sense, this type of “hate” is helpful—due to it, I will avoid all waps and situations in which wasps may sting me again; thus, I am protecting myself from future injury by hating that which has caused me harm or pain.

Pain is, after all, just a simple mechanism the body employs to notify you of injury—the secondary feeling of anger is meant to motivate you to stop the pain and-or prevent it from happening again. “Hate” is therefore just an intense, extreme version of anger or mixture of anger and fear, though it appears to be a different and more complex species altogether. If anger is just a reaction to pain and fear, a motivating element to an organsim, causing it to act to preserve itself or others, then hate must be similar.

When I see a logging crew cutting down a forest, I do feel hate—not at the loggers…I understand their ignorance and denial regarding what they think they’re doing; they feel they need money, and they do it for a pay check. No logger goes off in the woods in his spare time to cut down trees for no reason and no currency. He only does it for a bit of money. So I can’t blame and hate him for trying to make his living, as misguided and destructive as I reckon it is. He is merely a tool being used by a larger, more sinister beast.

No, I hate the corporation that ultimately profits and cares not in the slightest about the carnage and its after-effects; and I hate the governments that authorize the corporation to castrate Nature for only greed, since governments profit as well; and, finally, I hate the greed, since that is the underlying motivation for all this destruction for profit.

To me, it is murder—wrongful killing—and unnecessary; the lumber is not needed. There is enough wood in the world right now that we never need to log again if we use and reuse what’s lying around. Moreso, there are other building materials we can utilize that are not as destructive to world ecosystems and devastating to the planet in general.

It is no different than killing a baby to sell its body parts to someone, and I would hate those who took part in this murder, and the greed behind it.

So? Does this hate have value?

Well, that depends—probably not so much on its own, as it is, but if it leads to constructive, positive, or destructive (to the evil forces at work that seek to wipe out Nature in order to get richer), then of course, yes, it does have value.

If, due to this hate, I join a radical group that interrupts the activities of loggers, saving several acres of frontier forest somewhere, and-or help fight evil, raptorial corporations who restlessly and ruthlessly exploit the world’s “natural resources,” then of course hate has value.

(What something does or does not do is the only determining factor as to whether a thing is “good” or “bad.” Not many things are “good” or “bad” simply as they are, doing nothing… As it has been argued—correctly—a gun is not “bad.” According to our laws and general social norms, of course, killing someone with that gun, not defending oneself or others, is “bad.”)

“Hate” gets a bad rep, and is consequently underappreciated as a strong motivating force.

As much as “love” exists as a chemical reward for procreation and the rearing of offspring, “hate” exists for a reason.

It has a function. It is also just as necessary therefore.

In conclusion, “love,” in my opinion, is merely another form of control and another species of slavery—like an addiction. Being “enslaved by a drug” is basically no different than being enslaved by a mate; in which you “miss” the mate when they’re gone, in which you keep returning to the mate because of the “feelings” involved, even if you don’t particularly “like” the person (on an intellectual level or for whatever reason).

At the heart of any cult is a series of chemical reactions in the brain that keep it all going; it’s a slave’s reward for remaining a slave…

But at any rate, I am wrapping up this subject, since this is the perfect theme and segway into…

Part Three

Happiness

Happiness is not a cult. It is not a religion, although those who “believe” in it can behave very much like religious zealots. It is simply a drug. A state of being high.

Last year I spent months in treatment for drug addiction, and I learned a lot. One of things I learned—on my own—was that those wanting you to get along in your life free of drugs essentially encourage you to replace your chemical dependency with another, more ‘natural’ one. The literature I read seemed to want me to do things to produce the necessary chemical reactions rather than applying them myself, directly. So: manipulating events and circumstances (and in some cases, people) so that I can “get high” without drugs or alcohol.

“Happiness” was brought up a lot. But I’m never been a believer in happiness; like any drug encounter, there are predictable patterns, same as happiness. In short, what goes up must come down.

In long, the drugged out feeling of joy (euphoria) is pleasurable of course, but without exception it is followed by a crash. What is a “crash?” Picture an airplane spiralling towards the earth and hitting the ground.

(The “crash” of “happiness” is known well as “unhappiness.”)

Better yet, if you’re not a visual person and not a drug user, go buy the biggest slurpie/slushie you can find, and drink it all. You’ll be buzzed for a while…then, eventually, you will crash. Your ‘mood’ will plummet, your energy level will drop, among other slightly less noticeable effects.

(Apparently, glucose in the blood stream causes the pancreas to release insulin, which is a hormone helping the body’s cells to absorb sugar from the blood. Tryptophan (is the reason you get sleepy after eating too much turkey, and) is produced during the absorption, and it’s transformed into serotonin. And we all know what this it. Too much sugar and you’ll get a “happy rush,” followed by the sugar low or crash, which seems to be the onset of hypoglycemia. And this will cause you to be tired, lacking energy, and it will depress your mood.)

But everyone knows what such a crash is like. Everyone has experienced a high (the stimulation of the pleasure center of the brain by whatever factor), which we call “happiness,” followed—sooner or later—by the rapid downward slope of this feeling.

Thus I began to view that which I was reading as…inhernetly flawed. Or at least simply not completely honest. What? The Government wasn’t being truthful?

Well, from a governmental perspective, no, they don’t want you to use drugs—you can drink, as long as it isn’t too much; consumers are better when they do not have brain damage and are thus unable to work and pay taxes and bills; plus there are asocial side effects of too much alcohol, not to mention a burden on the health care system—since they do not profit from that. They want you to be “high on life.” Which means “high on a lifestyle.” Very few of the highs they wish you to experience come from things that do not make someone somewhere some amount of money…

So, if you’re feeling good due to an object (a new car!—a chocolate bar!—the latest iPhone!), social situation (fun time with friends at a movie!—sex with your lucky lady!), or series of events (water-skiing, rollercoaster ride, et cetera), chances are that someone is profitting from your “happiness.”

What? How can someone be profitting from having sex with Cupcake? Well, what things need to be in place before that happens? Unless you’re a smelly, hairy hippy (and so is she), start naming all the products you buy each month—your clothes, shaving devices, stinking liquid and deodorants and hair-care stuff, including haricuts, skin care products, from showering gel to nail clippers. And there’s more, but that’s just you.

What about your apartment, or house? What’s in it that was not there when you were single and playing World of Warcraft alone? What’s changed since you got a girlfriend? What did you buy to make yourself and your dwelling appealing or just acceptable?

Many men like to maintain the illusion that nothing changes when they get a chick, for a while, or that they don’t take great care and exert massive effort in trying to get a girlfriend in the first place, but the fact is that almost all of them spend a lot more money—because chances of getting laid only improve with the material state of him, his appearance, his grooming and hygiene, and the type and value-status of his automobile, and (very important) the type and status of his nest (where he lives).

In many cases his clothes and shoes, for example, need a vast upgrade to be acceptable to the female. And I’m not even getting into money spent on flowers and others gifts—the bribes they demand—or money soent on dates, dinners, occasions, movies, trips, and all the gas burned taking her here and there for this and other stuff…

Mind you, I can’t blame women for this wanton materialism, shallowness, and greed…it’s just the way they are. Remember, women account for 80% of every material thing purchased on this planet. Which means the shelf space in stores are devoted much more to women—an 8 to 2 ratio with men—because 8 out of every 10 objects bought in the world are purchased by women or for women.

Nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine times out of a thousand, he’s just thinking of getting some pussy—but she’s thinking of a lot more, and everything about him (more than what he does: what he has or can get (for her)) is on her mind. He’s being measured and gauged as a provider as well as a protector. He’ll go off with his friends and maybe tell them what a nice ass she has, but she’ll go off with her friends and discuss if he’s going to be making enough money in a few years to support a family and buy a house, and an SUV.

Anywhat, it’s a no-brainer that guys wanting to get laid will spend a truckoad of money if they need to, and that couples spend a lot more money than singles who are unattached to anyone. Married folks spend the most money—this is (one reason) why large corporations have often been so overtly conversative—yet I think this has been changing over the last little while.

There are not many things you can do (that make you feel good) that do not profit somebody.

they appeared to me grave and almost sad even in their pleasures

“In America I saw the freest and most enlightened men placed in the happiest condition that exists in the world; it seemed to me that a sort of cloud habitually covered their features; they appeared to me grave and almost sad even in their pleasures.”

–Alexis de Tocqueville, from Democracy In America.

I read that book in my early twenties. Perhaps it influenced me more than I was ever aware. That’s probably a good thing—the book was a masterpiece.

It is a strange thing to see with what sort of feverish ardor Americans pursue well-being and how they show themselves constantly tormented by a vague fear of not having chosen the shortest route that can lead to it.

The inhabitant of the United States attaches himself to the goods of this world as if he were assured of not dying, and he rushes so precipitately to grasp those that pass within his reach that one would say he fears at each instant he will cease to live before he has enjoyed them. He grasps them all but without clutching them, and he soon allows them to escape from his hands so as to run after new enjoyments.

In the United States, a man carefully builds a dwelling in which to pass his declining years, and he sells it while the roof is being laid; he plants a garden and he rents it out just as he was going to taste its fruits; he clears a field and he leaves to others the care of harvesting its crops. He embraces a profession and quits it. He settles in a place from which he departs soon after so as to take his changing desires elsewhere. Should his private affairs give him some respite, he immediately plunges into the whirlwind of politics. And when toward the end of a year filled with work some leisure still remains to him, he carries his restive curiosity here and there within the vast limits of the United States. He will thus go five hundred leagues in a few days in order better to distract himself from his happiness.

This was written in the early 1800s. Savagely amazing.

Death finally comes, and it stops him before he has grown weary of this useless pursuit of a complete felicity that always flees from him.

One is at first astonished to contemplate the singular agitation displayed by so many happy men in the very midst of their abundance. This spectacle is, however, as old as the world; what is new is to see a whole people show it.

The taste for material enjoyments must be considered as the first source of this secret restiveness revealed in the actions of Americans and of the inconstancy of which they give daily examples.

He who has confined his heart solely to the search for the goods of this world is always in a hurry, for he has only a limited time to find them, take hold of them, and enjoy them. His remembrance of the brevity of life constantly spurs him. In addition to the goods that he possesses, at each instant he imagines a thousand others that death will prevent him from enjoying if he does not hasten. This thought fills him with troubles, fears, and regrets, and keeps his soul in a sort of unceasing trepidation that brings him to change his designs and his place at every moment.

Since his observations, it does not seem that much has changed—except that perhaps it is so much worse.

One last big quote…

If a social state in which law or custom no longer keeps anyone in his place is joined to the taste for material well-being, this too greatly excites further restiveness of spirit: one will then see men change course continuously for fear of missing the shortest road that would lead them to happiness.

Besides, it is easy to conceive that if men who passionately search for material enjoyments desire keenly, they will be easily discouraged; the final object being to enjoy, the means of arriving at it must be prompt and easy, without which the trouble of acquiring the enjoyment would surpass the enjoyment. Most souls are, therefore, at once ardent and soft, violent and enervated. Often one dreads death less than continuing efforts toward the same goal.

Equality leads men by a still more direct path to several of the effects that I have just described.

When all the prerogatives of birth and fortune are destroyed, when all professions are open to all, and when one can reach the summit of each of them by oneself, an immense and easy course seems to open before the ambition of men, and they willingly fancy that they have been called to great destinies. But that is an erroneous view corrected by experience every day. The same equality that permits each citizen to conceive vast hopes renders all citizens individually weak. It limits their strength in all regards at the same time that it permits their desires to expand.

Not only are they impotent by themselves, but at each step they find immense obstacles that they had not at first perceived.

They have destroyed the annoying privileges of some of those like them; they come up against the competition of all. The barrier has changed form rather than place. When men are nearly alike and follow the same route, it is difficult indeed for any one of them to advance quickly and to penetrate the uniform crowd that surrounds him and presses against him.

The constant opposition reigning between the instincts that equality gives birth to and the means that it furnishes to satisfy them is tormenting and fatiguing to souls.

One can conceive of men having arrived at a certain degree of freedom that satisfies them entirely. They then enjoy their independence without restiveness and without ardor. But men will never found an equality that is enough for them.

Whatever a people’s efforts, it will not succeed in making conditions perfectly equal within itself; and if it had the misfortune to reach this absolute and complete leveling, the inequality of intellects would still remain, which, coming directly from God, will always escape the laws.

However democratic the social state and political constitution of a people may be, one can therefore count on the fact that each of its citizens will always perceive near to him several positions in which he is dominated, and one can foresee that he will obstinately keep looking at this side alone. When inequality is the common law of a society, the strongest inequalities do not strike the eye; when everything is nearly on a level, the least of them wound it. That is why the desire for equality always becomes more insatiable as equality is greater.

In democratic peoples, men easily obtain a certain equality; they cannot attain the equality they desire. It retreats before them daily but without ever evading their regard, and, when it withdraws, it attracts them in pursuit. They constantly believe they are going to seize it, and it constantly escapes their grasp. They see it from near enough to know its charms, they do not approach it close enough to enjoy it, and they die before having fully savored its sweetness.

It is to these causes that one must attribute the singular melancholy that the inhabitants of democratic lands often display amid their abundance, and the disgust with life that sometimes seizes them in the midst of an easy and tranquil existence.

In France one complains that the number of suicides is increasing; in America suicide is rare, but one is sure that madness is more common than everywhere else.

Those are different symptoms of the same malady.

Americans do not kill themselves, however agitated they may be, because religion forbids them from doing so, and because materialism so to speak does not exist among them, although the passion for material well-being is general.

Their will resists, but often their reason gives way.

In democratic times, enjoyment is keener than in aristocratic centuries, and above all the number of those who taste it is infinitely greater; but on the other hand, one must recognize that hopes and desires are more often disappointed, souls more aroused and more restive, and cares more burning.

Tocqueville was especially boggled by this (North) American concept: “the pursuit of happiness.”

He saw that the people here, just like today, engaged in the futile striving for prosperity, another name for which is “happiness.”

Forgive the long quotes, but this is another dimension of the concept of “happiness” beyond pure chemical joy.

When someone asks you, “Are you happy?” the person is not interested in knowing how many opiates are flooding your brain, such as what happens when “fun” is encountered; the person is more interested, for whatever reason, in your general station in life and how you feel about your lifestyle overall. Perhaps it is asked so that the asker can gain some insight into his-or-her own level of contentment within his-or-her own lifestyle. Perhaps the asker actually only desires to talk about his-or-her own lifestyle…which will create more chemical reactions in his-or-her brain.

(Often people will ask a question not for want of any answer but rather for an opportunity to speak about themselves.)

I think Tocqueville understood that “happiness”—a state of contentment with one’s life, in general—can only occur when it arrives…meaning that pursuing it, chasing it, gathering material goods to facilitate its appearance…is ultimately impossible.

But I would never use this silly, simplistic and childish word to describe something so elusive and so profound as a general state of feeling meaning in one’s life.

I would use “purpose.” The “sense” of accomplishment and satisfaction in doing what you do is not a chemical reaction…it is not physical, not physiological, not material at all. It comes from somewhere deeper. I hesitate to say “spiritual,” yet what other word works? Intangible, profound, deep, and immaterial. You pick the word then.

Whatever it’s called, true contentment is something not many of us have actually witnessed. We have heard rumours of it among Tibetan monks or whoever living in a hermitage on top of a mountain or wherever, but it’s all vague and tangled up in such lofty and impossible religious terms such as “enlightenment” and we don’t understand it. And we don’t really want to—it’s too hard and complicated and we wouldn’t want to bother even if we understood a fraction of it. We don’t see it, we don’t experience it, we don’t know what it means. There are no examples around for us to run into. It’s a myth. All we know is what the TV and the Internet tells us—material this and tasty that, and whatever’s “hot” and sexy for the other. It’s a tidal wave of bullshit that smashes right into the Ego, and the Ego loves it and wants more. So that’s what we do: serve the Ego.

And so we go back to our old habits, and go back to work, and set up another date with “Jennifer,” and go to another movie, and pull out our wallets, hoping to purchase another fleeting, barely satisfying feeling—“they appeared to me grave and almost sad even in their pleasures.” And we feel empty afterwards, and there is a pain somewhere, when we begin to crash.

A state of non-happiness is obviously the answer to the horrible cycle of the drug addict. But how possible it is to refrain from feeling good in any way? Who would even want to try?

Chasing The Dragon

It is not possible—chemical reactions exist for a reason, they are inherent and cannot be controlled or removed and should not be.

The point is that gearing your life towards obtaining some “state of happiness” is exactly the same as what is called, “chasing the dragon.”

The first high you receive from your brain, however it’s achieved, is the best and can never be repeated or duplicated—this is the curse of “the first time.” The first drug, the first set of parted thighs and the feeling involved with all of that experience, the first of anything that produce pleasure—it’s all the same action in your head. It’s the first high.

And the striving to regain that feeling is what they call chasing the dragon—because dragons do not exist and you cannot catch the tail of something that does not exist. You run after an illusion, a mirage, and never, ever, reach it.

The first high is what happens in your brain—I forget all the technical jargon, but essentially it just means that your brain is altered after that high, and no other high will feel the same.

In Vancouver, I witnessed crackheads chasing the dragon—not to get the first high (ever); but the first high of the day. Like I probably said (or will say), time away from the drug seems to reset the brain a little bit. Eight hours’ sleep and by early evening, the crackhead can get a decent high, the first one of the day. The next one is not so good, and it’s really all downhill after that. But he tries and keeps trying, until he’s out of crack and crawling on the floor looking for the fabled white lump that must have fallen somewhere…

(Now, I’ve never tried crack; I’ve only cocained it up for a few months as a youth, and have observed crackheads now and then. So, I don’t pretend to be an expert here. Yet I have been addicted to codeine for 18 years, and I do know a few things for sure.)

The more you get high, the more your brain changes. You also build up tolerances and it takes more and more to feel as you once did.

Ever have a lot of sex? I have. More than once a day, every day? Same thing…it gets boring, the feelings get dulled. More will not help. All that will help is staying sex-free for a while. Some people try getting into kinky stuff; however, it is a form of extremism that ultimately does not work. You can only get so extreme, then what? Boredom is back. Stopping is the only answer…but addicts have trouble stopping.

Ever snort a lot of coke? I have. After a while, your tolerance level increases, and it takes more and more white powder to get you high. All that can restore some of that glorious high you used to feel is to quit it for a while.

Ever smoke a lot of weed? I have. You will build up a tolerance. I smoked so much last year that I needed a few bong-hoots just to achieve the high I had gotten from a tiny bong-hoot. I needed two joints, chain-smoked, to achieve the same high I got from half a joint. The only thing that helps is to lay off weed for a month or, better, two or three.

Your brain chemistry begins to return to normal. The same thing actually occurs with drugs that are legal—including anti-depressants. You become a pharmaceutical junkie, and you brain gets re-wired.

Such is “happiness.”

Some, including myself, no longer seek these chemical reactions, no longer manipulate circumstances or people, no longer seek out the events that get us high, and of course no longer directly cause these chemical reactions (using drugs).

When these chemical reactions happen, they happen. Enjoy them, but let them leave and learn to not miss them (withdrawal). It requires ego-work, since the ego is all about what feels good, especially material goods that bring about chemical reactions in the brain.

Like the feelings, as waves from the sea, that come and go; they don’t need to be named and studied. Or talked about. Feel them, unidentified and mysterious, and enjoy them, no matter what they are, and let them go. The “bad” ones will go away on their own; they require no management or “help”—if they rarely leave, then it’s your life that probably needs a radical alteration, since something is obviously not right. And 99% of the time it has to do with your physical state, trying to adapt to your environment, or the deeper sense of purpose and meaning to your entire life in that environment.

We live with a lot of contradictions and falsehoods—and one of the biggest is that your environment is fine…the problem is you. The truth is the environment is synthetic, abnormal, and polluted and diseased and utterly toxic to your soul or “spirit.” It is a poison cage wtih pretty decorations and lots of toys. Whatever troubles you are having will almost always be due to where you are and what you are doing.

But that’s just my opinion. So, carry on…

And the “good” feelings? When they go, don’t mourn their passing. They’ll be back.

That is the trick. Seek nothing. What comes to you will come to you. Sometimes you need to be quite patient, but it always comes. Like I learned regarding weather: do not wish or hope for a certain type of weather, simply be patient, and endure what’s there, and whatever you want will eventually arrive. In its own good time. Your ego will hate this—and that’s a good thing. What your ego hates is good for you and your overall state of health.

Your ego is just the infant in you that never grew up or went away; it is the selfish, self-preserving, self-absorbed, self-serving, want-need confusing, greedy “me! me! I want! gimme-gimme!” little brat within your mind. It wants stuff, and when you get stuff, it wants more stuff. New stuff. Stuff like that other kids has… And everything it believes is yours. Like an infant—it’s all mine, mine, mine, and so I stuff it all into my mouth.

Surrendering your ego is denying your ego, and it is a form of suffering. Hence the wise saying: when you’re hurting inside, the only thing in there that’s in pain is your ego.

Once your ego has been obliterated, there is no more internal pain, no “heartache,” no misery, no agony of the soul. You will even stop “missing” things and people to a large extent. And when you lose something, there might be a momentary feeling, but it fades quickly and “oh well” will be the signal to move on and let it go.

Ego loves being attached to objects—denying it that means reducing the amount of objects (material goods) you possess, and overall not being preoccupied with them. Loss is often reported to be a defining moment in adulthood, and loss is about ridding us of attachments or having them stripped from us. Ego loves tasty food that’s bad for you—and it loves getting flattered and praised and complimented. Ego loves attention. Ego loves comfort and security, and warm fuzzy faces smiling in a friendly (accepting, inviting) way.

I think the ego is the worst enemy a human being can have or will ever have. Long ago, we were initiated and moved into an adult world as hunter-gatherers, a world that did not revolve around that which feeds the ego but rather that which starves the ego—the big baby within. The big baby wants a plump tit to suck on and wants to be covered in soft blankets, stroked and soothed, and wants to just feel good…and it screams when anything interrupts its hedonistic lifestyle…growing up means getting along in the world without a pathological need for comfort, security, pleasure, things that taste yummy, things that makes us feel good. Growing up means battling our egos and giving up on the shallow, hopeless pursuit of fun and happiness. It is the stuff of infants.

Seeking out things to make us feel good = feeding the ego = the commencement of addiction, not adulthood. Pride is ego; self-esteem is ego.

We are memetically infused with bullshit that does not profit us in terms of our health and sanity, our minds and souls; it all profits others, but we have been conditioned through memes to believe anything they tell us—and of course judge and dismiss shit like what I’m saying, or what many others have talked about…

(Yes, I’m quite aware maybe a handful of people on the planet will read this and not think it’s bullshit, either because they already knew it or because they’re minds are more open and less infected with memes. But that’s okay. The truth is frequently unpopular and hard to accept.)

I think we are still children. What once happened to make us into adult beings has been severed somewhere back among the ages, and now we’re simply large brats, oversized infants, pretending as best we can to be ‘grown-ups,’ while the powers that be, the evil rulers and the rich custodians of all systems, laugh at us and make a killing from our blind misery and endless labour.

But that’s just me. Back to the subject before I end this…

People often comment that “good things” come to those who wait. It’s true. They always tend to say that they get something awesome when they’re not looking for it. And that is the point, that’s it in a nutshell.

I suppose, it takes, in addition to patience, a bit of faith; some belief that all will work out, be in balance, and that forcing it won’t work. Trying to control it won’t work—trying to control how you feel is how addiction begins.

Hence, surrender your ego.

“Love is a fog that burns away in the first light of reality.”

–Charles Bukowski.

“Love is what you want it to be,
“Love is heaven to the lonely,
“Show me what you want me to do,
“Cuz love is what I got for you.”

–Alannah Myles.

“Love doesn’t come unbidden; you must work for her.”

–Roman saying.

[March, 2012 edit: I began writing this back in early 2008, back when I was with my ex-girlfriend and we were “doing well.” It was one of those “doing well” times in which one feels as though he’s going to be with that person forever, and I certainly felt as if I could spend the rest of my life with her, and have kids, all that. I’d cared more about her than I had cared for anyone else, and felt I’d had more of a “connection” to her than anyone I’d ever met. I never thought about all this much—what is between a couple shoukd be done and not talked about…when it’s being talked about much constantly, it means nothing is being done, nothing is developing, growing; “talk” is not sharing or understanding or communicating (there are better ways to communicate—talking is just a clumsy left-brained way), is it dissecting, controlling, using words as tools and words to rip minds apart.

At any rate, it was the perfect time to write about “love” since, if I’d used such words, I would have said I loved her. And thus I could be taken seriously without being instantly dismissed as someone bitter or hurt or (“You’re trashing love just because you don’t have it and want it!”) *whatever* knee-jerk attack or whichever label is used to judge and dismiss someone writing about “love” with anything but a glowing, smiling, glorifying attitude. To be sure, one who is alone and speaks unkindly about “love,” well, obviously we tend to examine motives rather than look at any potential meaning there. “Love” is definitely a cult; we go through it religiously and respond to attacks of our “Faith” with viciousness, coldness and brutal cruelty. Its followers are more terrible than those batshit-crazy religious zealots, more pigheaded than any Flat-Earther. The deeper we are a member of the cult of “love,” the less we will look at objectively; the more we are a slave to the one we “love,” the less we will see and wish to see, the less will understand or want to understand. We long to remain oblivious, blissful in the chemical reactions entreating our brains, being validated and accepted and praised by another, being freed—if only temporarily—from constant shame…and we don’t want to face reality, hear the truth, or lose this drugged out feeling; we certainly don’t wish to hear about what fools, liars, and slaves we are, how “love” is the most horrible lie ever perpetuated, how we are all willing servants to its ongoing stranglehold on human consciousness….]

    Peace, Love, & Happiness

Part Two

The Cult Of “Love”

    Intro

Yes, El Nordo finally worked up enough thought power and courage to tackle my least-favourite subject. (I’ll park this in my Politically Incorrect section and suggest that any feminine individuals should really, seriously stop reading now—nasty words and a big meaty, cylindrical ego-slamming is coming up for you, my little smooth-skinned, sweet-smelling, precious, gentle readers, …so leave now and you won’t have to think. Stay safe!
***winks and cuddles*** )

Why least-favourite? Because one can only talk “openly” and “honestly” about love EXCEPT in some popular or positive (or mystical) manner. That’s the truth, folks. As a concept, it’s as religiously defended as Catholicism still is today.

As far as women go, anyway; guys usually don’t do that with other guys who talk of “love;” they at times shame them in some way to never talk about it again (it’s kinda fruity, I suppose, in some people’s minds, to discuss subjects that are entirely feminine, of course), but when they do talk about it, it’s far different and less prosaic than the way women talk about it. It’s less cliched, perhaps. I’m not exactly sure.

The moment you say anything negative or even truthful about love (because let’s face, nothing is 100% “good”—not even “love”), you’ll be picked at—your “love life” will be dissected along with your character to find out what personal reasons you have for such a belief. (In effect, you’ll be seen as a lost sheep whose run astray from the Walmart-Smilie-Face World of the “relationship herds.”)

[Now…out of that little beginning light-herded onslaught, I said three heavy things—1: it’s like a religion. I believe this is so for most people, most women in particular, and their notions of “love.” Get to that later. Second and third coming right up…]

See what happened there? (2) Unless your thoughts on love are the usual ooie-gooie-sickly-sweet variety (or at least neutral, scientific, which is ignored most often anyway—no one wants to hear what science says on love…that’s like a politician talking about art—monkey pooh), you’ll basically be labeled as something (bitter, biased, angry, or some other, similar short-cut to actual thinking, that invalidates everything you say and think and leaves it all at the floor of modern pop-psychology, as meaningless “problems” of yours, unsolvable except through submission to or agreement in some doctrine or common theory—which is not scientifically based at all—psychology = another religion), and it’s something that female armchair shrinks enjoy like nothing else (save shopping, masturbating, and eating), “debating” with men on subjects like love and attacking them and not their points, for what you think, feel, or what you’ve observed over the course of your life matters more to them than what you say—which they don’t listen to at all, merely hear and strike like a tennis racket back at your head. Yes, you have “problems”—that’s why “love” smells like a box of Fecal Hoax Flakes to you. It’s all your fault, sir.

No, it’s not. Don’t listen to them. They probably know less than you do, which is why they’re being so dismissive in the first place. I mean, think about it—how many feminists are happy or in “healthy and mutually satisfactory relationships?” (How many people are in general? How many are actually honest about what they have with the person to whom they’ve bound themselves?

“Things are fine!”

Right. Until you spend some time with them and their “significant” other and you begin to see; their phony public facade can’t be kept up %100 of the time; they dismantle it at home, albeit partially when company is over. But it always comes down eventually and the truth can be seen. Every single one of these “relationships” are “dysfunctional”—because female-male “relationships” have not functioned for thousands of years and cannot function in this setting, this environment….But that’s another story. Point is, we’re all grand liars when it comes to “love.” Like any religious person, we have to lie to ourselves to keep the bullshit rolling along and “be happy.”)

Taking a serious position on love means to unravel its “mystery” also, and that’s another unrecommended thing to do. It basically depends who you discuss/debate with this stuff; women seem to feel they invented love and know all about it. (They do—by the time they’re in their twenties to early thirties, most women fancy themselves as experts on love, especially if they’re single and hip on women’s magazines and the usual generational books that shares with them all the mistakes of their mother’s generation, which they promptly repeat.) They don’t know “all about it,” and they didn’t invent it of course, but it’s typical, I find, that they need to build themselves up into something more than they really are (and I understand why, so that’s not really my point); but that’s more deception. Women don’t know more about “love” than you or any man does; they just act like it. They convince themselves and each other that they are, but even the most blockheaded male hesitates to trust a woman especially if she claims she so adept in love. Why? Had she been so adept, she’d be in a 60-year marriage or “relationship” or common law. I’m sure some do, and are in healthy, so-called “loving relationships.” But most aren’t, hence most know little of love.

(Did you see what also took place higher up?—3: “in some people’s minds, to discuss subjects that are entirely feminine, of course…”

Yes. Whatever notions exist today of love, we seem to know or only care to know the female side (as usual—this is entirely a female world, so “love” shouldn’t be excluded from the list of things they ultimately control or strive manically to control, in every possible way); meaning that a question needs asking: what is the “masculine side” of “love?” Yet even that question is too soon to be posted.)

It’s a tangle—to get into or discuss. I’ve already insulted some women, a few times, and everyone in general just getting into what happens when you start talking about “love.” People who gear most of their adult lives to “love” are obviously going to be insulted if someone comes along and brazenly calls them “fools.” But after a few “relationships” they already know what fools we are all. But I wonder if they know what a religion “love” is…

Biases must be revealed with this subject. And it must be approached in some manner of structure, so I’ll start again…

1. What is “Love?”

This seems to be the most important question, the most relevant.

Seems to me that everything begins with that. It seems there many types of love. Everyone knows what love is—we do, but what we know is hardly ever expressable or even understandable (I can spend twenty years buying various items, tucking away bits of rope in my trunk, a few years later finding a knife and cleaning it, sharpening it, all the while living my calm and productive life…and suddenly use these items when something “clicks” in my brain and take an airport hostage and get twelve people blown up in a premature bomb explosion. Just an example—the mind works in unconscious ways only the most aware can see—and still not completely understand.) There is so much we know but only fractions we ever understand, by the time we’re dead.

Love, I think, is one of them. “Love,” I should say. What the fuck is it?

Let’s check the dictionary…

love “luhv” – noun, verb, loved, lov·ing.
–noun
1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend.
3. sexual passion or desire.
4. a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart.
5. (used in direct address as a term of endearment, affection, or the like): “Would you like to see a movie, love?”
6. a love affair; an intensely amorous incident; amour.
7. sexual intercourse; copulation.
8. (initial capital letter) a personification of sexual affection, as Eros or Cupid.
9. affectionate concern for the well-being of others: the love of one’s neighbor.
10. strong predilection, enthusiasm, or liking for anything: her love of books.
11. the object or thing so liked: The theater was her great love.
12. the benevolent affection of God for His creatures, or the reverent affection due from them to God.
13. Chiefly Tennis. a score of zero; nothing.
14. a word formerly used in communications to represent the letter L.
–verb (used with object)
15. to have love or affection for: All her pupils love her.
16. to have a profoundly tender, passionate affection for (another person).
17. to have a strong liking for; take great pleasure in: to love music.
18. to need or require; benefit greatly from: Plants love sunlight.
19. to embrace and kiss (someone), as a lover.
20. to have sexual intercourse with.
–verb (used without object)
21. to have love or affection for another person; be in love.
—Verb phrase
22. love up, to hug and cuddle: She loves him up every chance she gets.
—Idioms
23. for love,
a. out of affection or liking; for pleasure.
b. without compensation; gratuitously: He took care of the poor for love.
24. for the love of, in consideration of; for the sake of: For the love of mercy, stop that noise.
25. in love, infused with or feeling deep affection or passion: a youth always in love.
26. in love with, feeling deep affection or passion for (a person, idea, occupation, etc.); enamored of: in love with the girl next door; in love with one’s work.
27. make love,
a. to embrace and kiss as lovers.
b. to engage in sexual activity.
28. no love lost, dislike; animosity: There was no love lost between the two brothers.
[Origin: bef. 900; (n.) ME; OE lufu, c. OFris luve, OHG luba, Goth lubō; (v.) ME lov(i)en, OE lufian; c. OFris luvia, OHG lubōn to love, L lubére (later libére) to be pleasing; akin to lief]

—Synonyms 1. tenderness, fondness, predilection, warmth, passion, adoration. 1, 2. Love, affection, devotion all mean a deep and enduring emotional regard, usually for another person. Love may apply to various kinds of regard: the charity of the Creator, reverent adoration toward God or toward a person, the relation of parent and child, the regard of friends for each other, romantic feelings for another person, etc. Affection is a fondness for others that is enduring and tender, but calm. Devotion is an intense love and steadfast, enduring loyalty to a person; it may also imply consecration to a cause. 2. liking, inclination, regard, friendliness. 15. like. 16. adore, adulate, worship.
—Antonyms 1, 2. hatred, dislike. 15, 16. detest, hate.

Blah blah blah. There we go. Essentially, it could mean anything. Any fucking thing! I love garlic shrimp, and I love dogs…but not in the same way. Context, levels, personal experience.

Conclusion: the word is simply and completely meaningless.

That’s why I don’t talk often of it and why I cringe when I see people use it as a name—such as: “Well, Love is great.”

Sorry, but it’s not a person or such. Hence: “I don’t ‘Love Pizza.’ I don’t think pizza is divine and so do not capitalize it, or ‘love.'” You can see tell a lot about people by which (and how many) words they capitalize. The resolve to make something a big deal—a bigger deal than it is…think about about twenty years of putting that extra effort into capitalizing a word, one word that you type, what? A few times a week? A day? Say, it was “Day.” Every Day, typing and capitalizing that special word, “Day,” each and every-Day, even ThursDay…

(I will sometimes capitalize “Nature,” for one reason: it’s the total sum of all life on this planet. If one capitalizes “John” because he’s a living being, why should we not capitalize all Life on the planet? That’s my point here, merely. Even though “Nature” isn’t a deity, not “divine,” nor is it a person or female figure or dude with a goat’s head or bird’s head. Nature *comprises*—like All comprises, except Nature does it in small, “Life’s Franchise on Earth,” for our planet and was around far longer than humans and thus has *nothing* to do with us. Masculine and feminine are not human inventions either. That’s biology, too—Biology even. Big “E” on evolution even; these are massively old systems, part of a far older one called Life, in which we’re only recent and very, very minor members. That’s what I reason, anyway—so get a grip, I say, on this bloody ego-tripping where humans are concerned…)

You get the point; so, the more you write, the more accumulated effort goes into that extra effort to make certain words “divine.” Deification, objectification. This is religion in operation and nothing besides religion …

(A million tiny shift+”D” add up, yunno, so consider a million people doing that for a thousand years, every Day, and we now have an accumulated “extra effort” that equals an avalanche crushing clean the side of a mountain, don’t we? Eventually, we do. I’ve seen religious types write about God is this way: “GOD is great!” I’ve seen people capitalize nearly every word in every sentence they write. Anyway…)

So, we’ve established that “love” is many things. Generally, I see human love as no different than love in nature…let’s consider…

2. “Natural love?”

What is the quintessential difference in social behaviour between humans and other mammals? Let’s review the three major differences between human animals and non-human animals, for that purpose. There are only a few key differences between homo sapiens (sapiens) and our common (extant) ancestor, chimpanzees, in no order…

A. Humans have written, spoken, and symbolic language.

B. We are fully bipedal, housing a large neocortex which has grown large under such locomotion.

C. We have opposing thumbs. (Tool-making, manipulating matter in environments.)

That’s it, physically. Metaphysically, the biggest different is consciousness, self-awareness, sentience—“being aware that we’re aware” and for all we know, other mammals have this too—and we know we’re going to die…as far as we can discern, no other animal comprehends its own mortality, not actively. But here is the problem because we barely understand consciousness—because humans are only barely conscious, newborns, themselves. So we don’t know an animal’s dreams…does a dog dream of dying? Does he fear it? Probably fears the dark, the end, pain, injury, bad smells, disease, death, all the things in symbol and sense form that point to its demise; but there just isn’t any good evidence that a dog, or chimp, is aware of its own death.

Hence only humans kill themselves?

There are more similarities between human and non-human animals—and the similarities are all subjective: we simply do not and cannot know what other animals think, dream, or conceive.

And love? What differences…?

Let’s look at similarities. Every mammal species that I’ve studied, every social species, like mice, dogs, have similar behaviour to that of humans. I see no distinction between “love” in dogs compared with humans.

1. Both care for young. Each mother and father of both species is capable of great affection towards offspring (as for dogs, they actually display *more* “love” because there are no orphans in wolf species, for example; the same cannot be said of all human cultures).

—Humans also harm their babies, infants, at far higher degrees than other mammal species; the abortion rates in humans are far higher than any other ape species or any mammal species (reptiles seem to be more like us, or vice versa, but they lay enormous numbers of eggs and only a fraction make it—predators take them and parents, like crocs and gators, don’t guard them for very long once they’ve hatched; no, human female mothers seem much like insects, actually: spiders are the only other (natural) example in nature of a gender of a species which kills its own offspring at such high rates).

(For example, do a bit of research into non-abortion deaths of children—a wholly female crime, you’ll see, in nearly every country on this planet; into the high 90s percent-wise, female to male ratios tipped asburdly in favour of mother murderers. Every year, we see infact mortality rates in humans at levels higher than it would be proportionate for other species with our numbers. Mice probably out-number humans, on Earth, and only here have I witnessed (as with rats, other heavy-breeding, large-litter mammals), yet they have predators to naturally curb their ever-growing numbers, at the lower of the food web. I wonder if domestic mice kill their young in greater numbers than do wild mice? Domestic mice have no predators…

With humans, our “love” notwithstanding, our treatment of our children, collectively as a species, is enough for any thinking person (who has studied most other mammal species or has at least a vague understanding of how dog and mice and wolf and alligator parents behave in their environments—if not, the person might think humans all oh-so-superior here “too”) to wonder if the differences between how humans love and how animals love…might be lopsided, not in our favour (but then again, I wouldn’t want to put forth any radical ideas here…).

—Humans abuse children. Period.

(This doesn’t occur naturally in other mammals; where it does, it is extremely rare and linked to an extraordinary set of circumstances (a father lion may kill cubs that aren’t his—this is not evil, or abuse, though: this is ensuring that his genes get passed on and that he’s not wasting resources caring for children that aren’t his; females “sleeping around” in nature is widespread, actually, and males do it too, but not as much; it’s “normal;” human females don’t, either, nor males, take naturally to monogamy, which is not that common among mammals. Only in social mammals does it get into couplehood, and even then, as in humans, a (very) kindly estimated 30% of all fathers, human male fathers, in the world are raising kids that are from another man, and their wives didn’t tell them.) But as far as abuse, no other species is so barbaric with its young.

Fathers abuse, yes, but mother abuse their kids (especially boys) moreso as infants; I can’t understand why this isn’t a bigger issue—abortion has a nice politcal built-in excuse, I get that, but I cannot tolerate mothers getting away with murder and sexual abuse and physical, and psychological, abuse with their kids, while all the vile negativity gets spewed at fathers, fewer in number than abusive numbers, who give all fathers a bad name. It’s gotten worse over the last three decades in which we’ve observed 50-60% divorce rates and 50% fatherlessness among boys and girls. I judge a species when I must on one basis: how it cares for its children. This is not “love;” this is politics, cruel feminization, social engineering, and clear evidence that animals in natural settings know more about “love” than we could ever dream…

So, I’m not too impressed with “human love” thus far. Let’s continue…

2. Both have sex—consentual?

—Saying that human animals and non-human animals both do the funky mombo is a no-brainer, sure, but what’s the difference? We both screw—“lust” is what it is, of course, naturally, the hormonal and chemical attraction betwen genders that Nature set up to continue the various species. A big difference is that it works very well in nature, and it worked (past tense) very well in humans…until we started farming and overpopulating—then it got managed like everything else got managed. Marriage.

—Hunter-gatherers had three things modern humans do not have:

i. Social balance. (Men kept to their strengths, women kept to theirs. In Inuit societies, men switched roles regularly with the women—girls were given the exact same education as the boys, initated as hunters away from moms, got. Boys were given domestic training—how to sew, skin, cook, and such.)

ii. Interpersonal freedom.

iii. Lower numbers, of course (which, for one thing, increased flexibility overall, and let smaller tribes move around freely with little crime and war, compared with civilizations, naturally. The more nomadic, the less war. It’s as simple as that—the more farming, the more “civilized,” the more war (whose root is materialism—the more want for “more”) and hence more barbarism. Less troubles all around in society and inbetween men and women. Strange how we got that backwards…)

(Am I saying we should bo back to hunter-gatherer life? No, I’m simply pointing out that “love” seemed still natural to us long ago. North American nomads are among the most devoted to family, community, and are children-orientated as well—there was no common term for “orphan” in northern North America before Eurasian expansion.)

But even women in hunter-gatherer groups controlled sex. Or it was mutually arranged or settled into, and it became tradition.

In the natural world, sexual consent is not a communication piece; females use chemicals and body signals to display to males when they’re ready to breed, mate, pair up, whichever. “Make love.” Fuck.

Scientists are discovering more and more that other mammals have a better system going for them—males don’t “rape” because females aren’t in conscious control and their bodies tell the males when it’s time; when it’s not time, the females fight off, aggressively, advances and the males back off. It is not to their advantage to fight for something another female can offer, if he wants it bad enough. So, he leaves her be. That’s how it works in nature. Females have teeth, but males don’t seem to force the matter anyway—there’s “tail” around other places, and his feet work, I guess. If he’s an Alpha male or not, it seems he won’t risk injury, the way some mothers won’t risk themselves to fight off a predator who’s going after her infant; she can always have more and will often let the predator have it. Nature plays by some cold rules, but humans play by downright vicious ones.

Even sex has become moronic among humans, and it’s no one’s fault, really—it was the cost of bigger brains and “civilized” lives. Men are pretty much slaves now to the whims of women, and have been since dogs were first domesticated, then us—why? They control sex. They control its advertising, its distribution, its access, and everything that follows intercourse. Mainly, it’s not sex at all that enslaves men; it’s the potential for sex that women use to get us to do all sorts of things, as we all know and don’t discuss that much, because there is nothing we can do but resist, ultimately.

(It’s no secret the human female controls whether a human male “gets laid”—she’s the gatekeeper, right? He, the keymaster, awaiting orders. He’s got to pay her price to do what his biology drives him to do, but she’s pulling all the strings. She’s replaced former chemical signals with her own conscious rules—and now we have approaching 7 billion humans on the planet.

He has no birth control pill to prevent his seed from getting her pregnant…so, guess what? He has to trust her, with that, as well… once more he must trust a gender who’s track record with the truth, is, well, not as good as his, to be mildly kind here.)

Men, we can only scratch our heads and wonder, ultimately—there’s no chemical signals we can use to determine when she’s (really) in estrus, if she’s faking it, if she’ll change her mind halfway through, if she’s been drinking too much (and if he has too, and if he’ll be charged with rape, jailed and then really raped, where dicks really aren’t supposed to go), or if that other kid is ours or not (and why it’s becoming illegal for us to check through paternity tests, as if feminists really want ‘female ethical oblivion’), if she’s really taken that birth control pill.

She can always kill it, in utero, or smash its head in when it’s born and cling to a “depression” defense, and get off after a year in therapy, after which she’ll likely do it again—stats show, anyway.

Lipstick? No, that might not mean she’ll take an equal role in sex, guys, it could mean something else entirely (“I wear it for me!”); the clothes, perfume, hair, bras and thongs, finely polished appearance? No, they’re not at clubs painted up and air-humping for you, pal, that’s for some other reason they can’t talk about…

A smile and batting eyelashes? Hair twirling? No, there’s lots of guides about female signals, but no good ones—they’re all pretty much useless as much as they’re good info, because it “all depends.” It’s a game, her game, and it’s all deception, innuendo, flirts and winks. Kid stuff, I say, but that’s only an educated opinion.

It’s a world of female rules and games, “modern romance” is, but we were talking about “love.” Not social groups of dubious intentions. In other mammals, it takes a fraction of the time and the males don’t end up paying so much to be “so blessed” by female companionship.

That’s what I like about Nature—a wild dog can walk up to a female, wag his tail, sniff her ass, and find out her entire story, how healthy she is, how many kids she’s had, how long ago she’s eaten, had sex, all that stuff human males have to ask about and filter through their various “bullshit-o-meters.” A wild dog can cut through the shit and there’s nothing hidden from him—no lies he must wade through, no books he must read. He just knows, and she can hide nothing from him. It’s all truthful, simple, and out in the open. That’s what we’ve lost, guys—truth and openness.

And now we’re trimming our hair and shaving our faces and spending all our money on products and clothes and cars and crap to impress females…confused and wondering and hoping. We are now idiots. Dull slaves with no clue what we’re really getting into anyway…

Nature is honest when it comes to love. A black widow male knows that hideous sexy black bitch is gonna rip his head off and eat it if he doesn’t fill her up (I’m sure he caught the joke sometime about the praying mantis…), pay the price for her “love,” her presence and companionship, such as it is, and the future offspring after the fleeting moment of copulation (and the offspring’s perilous plight away from her indiscriminately hungry, web-flinging digits); mostly he’ll get away…if he doesn’t love her too much and stay—if he runs away, he’ll live.

Think about that.

Why? A black window female is intensely feminine—that is the primal “feminine made flesh” in Nature, in small, going way back to simple arachnids that crawled onto land from the sea (from simple crab forms over 75 million years back to 70-80 million spider species worldwide, today, in every ecosystem, on every continent, in nearly every climatic zone or terrain region or nearly every elevation you’ll find one type; an average Boreal forest has hundreds of species in a given square foot of underbrush—these species are far more adaptable, of course, is what I’m getting at, but they don’t “love,” obviously…).

Its nature is wholly feminine but at an older, much more streamlined level in terms of evolution. All the base, primal things in Nature that helps “the feminine” survive (as one half of whatever gender) can be found this non-hunting (non-masculine) species of spider. Reptiles and amphibians have this insectile feminine, too, and so do human females—on the left sides on their brains, I expect. That said, males have “half” this nature as well. Not all mammal males are hunters, and not all human males are, either. (In case you’re wondering, an example of a “masculine spider” species, well, any hunting one that doesn’t ensnare with webbed traps; a scorpion is an arachnid that is extremely masculine…it hunts, hides, ambushes, runs after and attacks with an extra digit (a phallic one, of course), a stinger—which is a poisonous spear. A ranged killing arrow, entirely attached and organic. Masculine hunter, that one. A black widow spider is feminine…it sits in a cozy web and waits for dinner to come, not see the trap, get stuck, signal her to come and cocoon it. A feminine spider passively manipulates objects to bring it what it needs; a masculine spider actively chases its prey, runs it down and eats it. No objects, just spirit.

Sometimes, if she’s full, she’ll cocoon it up. It could sit there until the next day, paralyzed, slowly dying, captive food-in-waiting, a prisoner, before she comes to suck the fluids out of its body, giving it eternal peace.

So, she builds webs and ensnares prey. She lives alone and doesn’t play well with others—asocial insectoid, black widows are—it’s exceptionally selfish, self-centered, self-absorbed, and obviously very poisonous. Deadly. It attracts males with a bright red symbol near its sexual places…it wants children, but it doesn’t know why (it tries to eat them once they’re born, seeing them as food, seeing them not as children but prey of course—so, in this respect, in has little relation to higher mammal femininity concerning nuturing offspring, except where it does) of course, because it’s just a bug obviously, and doesn’t have an actual ‘developed’ brain—this has worked so well, however, that black widows didn’t need to get more complex or change much, or at all; hence this is primal behaviour, over 400 million years of evolution at work.

Even among the savagely brutal matings and “love” in the insect world, the rules are clear and everyone knows them—that’s my point. The females know, the males know.

But humans are mammals, so let’s look at a “masculine feminine” hyper-specialized and odd-ball mammal example—hyenas. It’s “oddball” because the males cannot dominate the females in any possible way—even the young are above the males in the heirarchy. Sisters run the whole show; they hunt and keep mangy males around to screw and that’s it. The males get scraps and look horrible. They’re smaller, less aggressive, and eat last at feasts or scavenging sorties. As for breeding, the females select a male and “allow” him to mate with her—she has a genital system that prevents penile entry totally, so only when she’s physically submissive can he mate with her. This is actually the most extreme female control over sex that we can witness in the natural world.

Not even a monstrous gorilla, Alpha greyback, will risk his standing and the social harmony by beating up a female of standing or forcing himself on her—if she’s not ready. Beating up women doesn’t happen a whole lot, in primates especially. Chimps are agreeable genderwise as well. Most cats and dogs and some other species (minks, ferrets, weasels) have the “scruff of the neck” that is used by parents and mating males on females. She’s ready to mate at any rate, but the male will sometimes get a good bite on that area while he’s giving it to her. Apparently, chomping that area releases some chill pills to the brain.

Yes, but humans aren’t like apes—females are not so submissive. We’re more aware and bipedal—sex is multi-positional. She can even rape the male—human females are like hyenas in their periodic extreme control over sex, aka Sumerians, Goddess-worshippers, Wiccans, Victorians and Christians, feminists, but they surpass them in the ability to have sex with the male when he doesn’t want to. In no other species can a female get a male drunk, take him to a room and mount him, stealing his seed and leaving, which happens in human society. It’s no big deal, as long as the male believes this is a good thing, to his advantage (losing his DNA, as a female would lose her egg if a man did this to her—so, as long as he sees this as “gettin’ sum” and not rape), it’s all fine. I only mention it as an aside on the differences.

So, let’s review.

Mammals and humans both raise children, both have sex and make more children (and handle over-population differently), and both have consentual sex for the most part. We do it in different ways, as I’ve blathered about above, so our ways of loving each other (3) on an interpersonal level is quite different too:

3. Interpersonal “love.” (One on one “relationships” and such; marriage, kids, love affairs, whatever. Romance, too, I suppose…shudder…)

I quote that because it’s new and I never did care for it. “Relations” are what go on between any two beings—a piece of wood crashing into dirt is having a “relationship” with that new environment and creatures there. You have a “relationship” with the person who sells you newspapers, or tea bags, or cars or food or anything. We have relations with others all the time. It’s a specialized word invented within the last 30 years and I don’t buy into it—same with “dating”—and other female names and games.

Men and women on intimate levels? Yeah, that’s more than some paltry and clinical “relationship” category—“bi-weekly mutual or nuclearly exclusive partnership?” Ugh…so tedious.

Women run this world, like I said, the world of “love.” They apply the meanings (“relationship” was a word that popped up in the feminist wave of the 1970s, for crissakes; before that, we were still “boinking” and banging and fucking and screwing and getting married—“relationships” and “common laws” replaced marriage, of course, over the last three decades), the definitions, terms, even the literature that women soak up in books and magazines and use as hooks to sink into single or married men.

What about “dating” is a guy thing? Do we go off on motorbikes for first dates? Do we meet around far away fire pits in dark hours of night? Do we strap on boxing gloves and have a sparring match with Cupcake? Do we do anything masculine whatsoever? Anything but sit and talk and sit and talk and answer her questions and fill our faces with some cultural snack, meal, or liquid, at a designated meeting area?

No, we go to school and learn what females want—everything their way. Houses and fences and gardens and safe streets, malls and shopping and comfort. *Of course* “love” is as feminine as anything else.

That’s why I snarl at it; it’s all hearts and flowers and chocolate, lying poetry and pink cards with fancy writing of empty, hideously untrue, flowery words. Rubbish. No soul. Just a bunch of words that evoke shallow recollections or cheesy sentiments. Emotional Twinkies; no meat there. It’s not working between men and women for many reasons (overpopulation is a big one), but feminine control, when unidentified, is a disaster. Look at the last thirty years of “whatever women want.”

Men aren’t getting married anymore—a good thing!—“Marriage Strike” is what it’s called, more underground really, across Western nations. What does that tell us? That men are not keen on marriage any more—and over 85% of divorces are initiated by women, so women don’t like it either. Each for totally different reasons? Some, yes. Anyway, what did marriage ever have to do with “love?”

I’ve “loved” all of my girlfriends; regardless of how long it was, or where it was headed, or whether we or I or just she wanted kids, or if we didn’t want any, or if we didn’t want to get married…none it made any difference, because each time love is different. Affection is a creation that is unlike any other type. I think it’s that individual.

One on one, what happens, in modern love? Dating, back and forth between flats, apartments, houses, rooms, dorms, boxes. Maybe we sneak arond, having more fun if it’s forbidden, or maybe it’s all by the book. Only “who wrote the book of love?” No one did. “Love” as an evolutionary “thing” has not been around long—Earth wasn’t “loved” into creation; it was pounded and violated by volcanic streams, violent tectonic activity—storms, floods, mountain ranges crashing together over thousands of eons, ice piling up and causing shifts in the planet’s axis—giving us seasons. This planet is not kind and gentle—“Mother Earth” and “Father Nature” and are teddies on pillows in a Disney theme. They’re brutal artists; creators and destructors, and they love nothing but that. They are not humans, of course.

So, how exactly do mammals love? And humans? Is there really any difference? Is “human love” so much overrated tripe when we really start getting into how other mammals relate and care for one another?

How can we tell? Well, look at the worst of non-human animals and compare with the worst humans can do to each other. I already covered murder, abortion, child abuse—and I have gotten into the equal spilling of blood in domestic violence situations (women growing more violent with weapons, and more likely to kill defenseless mates; read: sleeping). Then we have rape, which, in terms of the actual numbers of men who do this, is, as feminists tell us, about power—or, as evidence suggests, actually, powerlessness.

In Nature, non-human males do not experience anything near what human males experience in our society. Women are of course quick to pooh-pooh this, but I’m a bastard enough to enter into any subject with my trusty sledgehammer. So, let’s consider:

Picture a male dog in a pen surrounded by females in heat—say, twenty bitches. Here’s a kid in school. In school, boys are shamed because their hormones are flying and their sitting around chicks all day with budding tits and wearing lipstick and perfume and tight jeans. Hmm. A dog would go fucking crazy—even an expertly bred, “champion” bloody German Shepherd would be growling and trying to hump one of them—and if they fought him off? He’d go into a corner, and await another opportunity. But female dogs are not so cruel to tease that way—if they’re in heat, ready to mate, he’ll get at least one of them.

It simply blows my mind how utterly moronic the modern education system is, and I think this is a big reason—we certainly wouldn’t tell the girls or their parents to conform to some standard (their rights omg!), even a reasonable one, nor could we pull our boys out of school and give them the same opportunities. Home-schooling sometimes works, though, if it’s not the fundamentalist religious weirdo stuff. But that’s so passé…

And splitting the genders up is only done in private schools. So, why don’t women have any clue what it’s like for boys, especially teenage boys in the most inane invention of the last hundred or so years, high school? (What simpering hen conceived of “high school” anyway? Of all the needless, cruel, mundane, pointlessly tedious things to do to children…spoon-fed regulated info clusterfuck boxhood in a public middle-trash fashion-obsessed pop-culture cliquetry…we could have kids able to do anything in society by age 15, I mean, holy shit…we piss information into their brains, 90% of which they forget and never use again, over how many years? All so they’re suited to work at McDonalds and haven’t learned—experienced—a fucking thing about life by age 20, or 25? Nevermind…)

(No. I changed my mind: I guess women can never understand the problem because it’s all so very one-sided. Which feminine men attract a lot of females? Few rich ones, popular ones. Rock stars. Politicians. Doctors. Lawyers. Masculine ones do, too, but in different ways.

Imagine a group of horny teenage girls in a cage…surrounded by naked studs…wait a minute, not a fair comparison, because, as Vilar pointed out in The Manipulated Man, it’s just not the same deal at all. Women begin learning at a young age to control their feelings, grow cold, and suppress their sexuality. I’m sure not all do it on the same level, but they all do it to some degree. They have to.

Plus, sexual attraction is just different for women, who are not as stimulated visually.

Still… You stimulate anyone enough and that’s just cruelty. Expecting them to restrain themselves in spite of biological impulses is not only cruel, it’s creating a future pathology in that “repressed” individual. That’s my point. That’s why women can’t relate—they’re stimulated only when they want to be stimulated. Men, especially young men today, are stimulated almost all the time. Females are an addiction, and hidden away it gets weird. Men get weird when they are forced to suppress their libido and are being constantly stimluated. And the ages of the sources for stimulation just get younger; not even feminists like that. (14-year-old? 13-year-old? 12-year-old?—just how young do we feel it’s okay to dangle this “jail-bait” around and expect men to adapt, always?) Ah, back to men controlling themselves…

Seriously, there are ten-year-old girls wearing make-up. Ten. Year. Olds. Eight years earlier they got out of diapers and now they are dressing like prostitutes. Apparently few agree, but I don’t think this is a good thing. But then again, I don’t see the point of make-up (or alluring clothing, or other “beauty power” flexing of the “weaker sex”—males are pussy-whipped quite enough), and generally think that getting young boys addicted to female sexuality by age nine is going to create more problems then whatever its initial point was…freedom? Rights of teenagers to become sluts? Okay, I guess, whatever gender sells the clothes; I say it’s cruel and absurd, but I suppose corporations and governments and women’s organizations know better than I do what’s best for my non-existent kids, and your children, our children…also, then again, my opinion and fifty cents won’t get me a cup of coffee, so I’ll leave that and get back to—“love…”

Well, it’s boring so far. Love means absolutely nothing. What matters is how one acts, right? What’s the function of love?

Protecting children, “loved-ones,” providing, caring, nursing, tending, tucking in and giving a kiss goodnight? Seems easy, but it’s not. Both men and women can do those things, and more, but often do not. Why? Not sure.

Perhaps what baffles me about “love” is that is means something different, because it is; it’s personal. I don’t see “love” as separate from “hate.” I see them as one and the same—two sides of the same coin, as it were, and not quite opposite, for love is seriously overrated and blurry. They are passion. How we use that passion, to create—and for what reason—or to destroy—and for what reason—determines the function of love.

What do I mean?

You have two children and one has the Plague; you live on an island in the 1500s and can’t save his life, say. What is a function of love here? To allow the small boy to go on suffering, as no doubt a mother would, trying hard to fix him, or put him out of his suffering, as no doubt a father would? Both parents use empathy and want to help the child in different ways—freedom from sickness, or freedom from needlessly enduring sickness.

Yet, out of context, it would appear that the father is cruel—but his love is no less for his son, and he’d make him well if he could. The cruelty, from the father’s point of view, is allowing it to go on. Sometimes the mother will spare the child, and this goes back to what I mentioned of abortion and infant mortality, two female-dominated past-times since before history; it, too, spares a life of suffering. But mothers who kill their children do not often do it to “spare” them; it’s almost always a selfish reason the mother has. Abortion is on a fuzzy line because it kills before technical human life begins; before consciousness of pain anyway, so it’s “humane” but it’s still a little tailed human cellular form, living and breathing and determined to be a baby…rights, right?

Anyway, I’m growing weary of all this and getting nowhere…I’ll leave off with a quote from Zubaty:

“Men are stupid to imagine that women think the same way they do, or even that they have men’s interests in mind. They don’t. That’s what gets us into trouble. When a man says “I love you” he’s thinking about what he can give her. When a woman says “I love you” she’s thinking about what she will get. It’s a perfect match, as long as you understand what’s going on.”

And three from Esther Vilar:

1.

“The majority of men prefer to subjugate themselves to an exclusive deity, woman (they call this subjection love).”

2.

“Man has been manipulated by woman to the point where he cannot live without her and therefore will do anything she asks of him. He fights for his life and calls it love. There are even men who will threaten their idolized female with suicide unless she accepts him. Not that this is much of a risk for them – they have nothing to lose.

“Woman, nevertheless, is incapable of living without a man. Like a queen bee, she cannot survive on her own. She, too, is fighting for her life, and she, too, calls it love. They each need one another, in fact, and it seems therefore that they share at least one sentiment. The cause, nature, and consequences of this sentiment however differ as much as do the sexes.

To a woman love means power, to a man enslavement.”

3.

“CODED:

“I love him.

DECODED:

“He is an excellent workhorse.”

And leave off finally with one last quote:

“Love is gay.”

–me, 1992.

[Heh. Well, that was four years ago. Weird how fired up I still was about many things—things that don’t really phase me today.

But my basic idea of “love” hasn’t changed much. As someone dedicated to truth, I can’t associate myself with “love” of course. Being alone and being free are one and the same, so, as with lies like “love,” I can’t go back to being caged up in some “relationship” obviously. “Love” is not something I desire. “Peace” is not something I want. “Happiness” is definitely something I will avoid—and thus avoid “unhappiness” as well.

For most of my life I was convinced I had to be “happy” and the only path to “happiness” for a man is to “get a woman.” And women are expensive. “Happiness” and “Love” are not cheap—you need lots of money. “Peace” is not cheap either—but instead of money you just lose your balls. Thankfully I’ve learned that none of this shit is true—that “happiness” is just another modern cult, another exalted lie, along with “peace” and “love.”

I might continue the third part of this (“Happiness”) in the next entry with some more of Esther Vilar, whose other book I’ve recently read. This will at least provide some more up-to-date writing on the subject of “love” in relation to “happiness,” since they are cults which are dependent upon one another.

Later, peeps.]

Esther Vilar, 1971. [Pinter & Martin Psychology. First published in Germany as “Der Dressierte Mann,” by C. Bertlesmann Velag, 1971. First published in Great Britain by Abelard-Schuman, 1972.]

This next part bewildered me for a while. I found myself throwing away much of what I thought I knew about women and why they do what they do. As much as I figured I knew, I see now how mistaken, naive, and silly I have been in so many ways. (Now I understand the bemused, smug little smirks I’ve gotten when I’ve told women a few observations I’d had about them, especially regarding their intentions. Christ, was I ignorant.)

Two reasons: I saw them as equals, and much of the information I’d had was based on things they’ve told me.

“Never, never, never believe what women tell you.”

Indeed. I shall always remember that.

“If women mostly lie, how can you be sure that Vilar herself isn’t lying?”

Thanks for asking.

I sense where a few things are coming from, but I’m not saying for certain or getting into that further, and it’s irrelevant ultimately; however, many (nearly all) of my lingering suspicions she’s confirmed (and I’m only halfway through it). The more I think about it, the more it fits. Each of her confirmations builds more trust in my assessment of her overall honesty (the fact that feminists hate her, wish her a painful demise, is evidence enough, as far as I’m concerned, that she’s very close to the truth). To say she simply hates her gender might be tempting (a) if you’re a retard, (b) if you haven’t read her book, realizing mainly that (c) she also has many unflattering things to say about men.

Anyway, she kicks ass.

Read and learn, my friends…

“a woman’s horizon”

P.31

“Whatever men set about to impress women with, counts for nothing in the world of women. Only another woman is of importance in her world.

“Of course, a woman will always be pleased if a man turns to look at her — and if he is well dressed or drives an expensive sports car, so much the better. Her pleasure may be compared to that of a shareholder who finds that his stock has risen. It will be a matter of complete indifference to a woman if he is attractive or looks intelligent. A shareholder is hardly likely to notice the colour of his dividend cheques.”

This is where I stopped and tried to get my head around that. Half an hour went by, searching my recollections of girlfriends, female family members, thinking, thinking…still nothing.

Could I still be viewing women’s actions and intentions as I myself would act, the reasons I do things?

Had to keep reading…

“But if another woman should turn to look — a rare occurrence, for her own judgment is infinitely more remorseless than that of a man — her day is made. She has achieved the impossible — the recognition, admiration, and “love” of another woman.

“Yes, only women exist in a woman’s world. The women she meets at church, at parent-teacher meetings, or at the supermarket; the women with whom she chats over the garden fence; the women at parties or window-shopping in the more fashionable streets; those she apparently never seems to notice — these women are the measure of her success or failure.”

This struck me. I recall one woman I lived with, Julie, who spent two hours painting and dressing and grooming herself (“For you,” she told me), but when I suddenly didn’t feel like going out…she got mad, implying that she had wasted all that time (for me) for nothing (?). She argued, offered some sex later (I wasn’t interested), and finally threw her arms in the air and called a couple of her friends. She went out with whom she wanted to impress after all (her girlfriends), although at the time I merely thought it odd that if she did all that for me, why couldn’t I appreciate her right here?

Heh. What a dope I was! Aw, bless their little self-obsessed, lying asses…

P.32

“Women’s standards correspond to those in other women’s heads, not to those in the heads of men; it is their judgment that really counts, not that of men. A simple word of praise from another woman — and all those clumsy, inadequate male compliments fall by the wayside, for they are just praises out of the mouths of amateurs. Men really have no idea what kind of world women live in; their hymns of praise miss all the vital points.

“Of course woman wants to please man as well; don’t let us forget, after all, that he provides the material means. But that is much more easily done. Men have been conditioned to react to a certain degree of differentiation: they expect women to conform to certain types of sex symbols created by make-up and other standard trappings: long hair, painted lips, tight-fitting sweaters, miniskirts, sheer stockings, high heels — all done in a moment.”

True. Some compliments I’ve made were greeted with what I figured were humble reactions—but ten minutes later, a compliment from another woman drew estatic reactions, squeals of joy, and random intervals of trivial, childish chatter and sycophantic ass-kissing.

(I doubt women really give a fuck if we notice their “new hairdo”—which looks roughly the same, anyway, or was one she had a few months earlier—it’s most likely only intended as the daily or bi-daily ritual guilt-trip, anyways.

Jesus, what truly shallow, useless, pathetic things they really are….)

“It is those living works of art that are beyond man’s comprehension — those creatures walking the fashionable streets of Paris, Rome, and New York. The skill of eyeliner and shadow expertly applied; the choice of lipstick and its application, with or without lipbrush, in several layers or only one; the compromise to be achieved between the pros and cons of false eyelashes, the matching of a dress, a stole, or a coat with the lighting — all this is an art requiring expert knowledge of which man has no conception. A man lacks any kind of appreciation for this. He has not learned to interpret the extent of female masquerades and he cannot possibly evaluate these walking works of art. To achieve perfection in such skill needs time, money and an infinitely limited mind — all these requirements are met by women.”

Heh. She had me going for a second upon first reading; I had begun to think she was describing all that “art” in a good sense—until the last sentence, at which point I burst out in laughter.

Her humour can be quite sharp and icy, without resorting to sarcasm of course. Great fucking stuff…

I recall my sister doing her make-up once, and I had asked why the hell she bothered with all that nonsense. “I have to look good…”

Another time she complained incessantly about her uncomfortable shoes—I was silly enough to suggest wearing footwear that was comfortable (how absurd!), and she went on a tirade about how the “man’s world” insisted that she wear certain kinds of fashionable shoes.

Christ, what a fucking liar.

Anyway…

P.33

“In fact, when a woman dresses, she considers a man to a slight extent — the extent necessary to hold him and to encourage him to provide (in the widest sense) for her. Every other investment is aimed at other women. Man has importance only as the provider.

If a firm wants to get hold of a specialist in some field, it will flatter and entice him in every possible way until he weakens. Once a contract is signed, his employers can relax. Their leverage over him continues to increase. A woman behaves in much the same way with a man. She gives her man just enough rope to ensure his preferring life by her side to breaking his contract with her.

“A woman may, in fact, be compared to a firm in a number of ways. After all, a firm is only an impersonal system aimed at achieving a maximum profit. And what else does a woman do?”

Go shopping? Act like a spoiled twit? Blame the patriarchy?

“Without any emotion — love, hate, or malice — she is bound to the man who works for her. Feelings only become involved if he threatens to leave.”

Bingo. Give the woman a cigar. In my experiences that’s 100% correct; her “emotions” really come out when you’re about to walk out. (It happens in a lesser degree if you reject her sexually, too.)

(Tears will be last or second-last—sometimes angry name-calling is last, once she’s realized that nothing she says will change your mind, as does the threats, which are often not just empty threats…so watch it. A non-moral creature without conscience, who takes no responsibility for what she does, will rarely be held accountable for what she does (even legally), is extremely dangerous…she’ll suck your best friend’s cock just to get him to pound your face in, then tell the cops that he raped her, fucking you both over—it’s happened. Don’t think for a second that because she’s small, “sweet” and cute that she isn’t capable of giggling while she slices your throat, or—more common—scheming with another to have him do it for her.)

A woman fears not “being alone” but rather—or not as much as she fears—being without a provider, a sucker to pay for her endless shit. Doesn’t matter if she has her own “career;” statistics show that she will always marry up, always be looking for a man who earns more—for what other reason than to quit her “career” at some point and leech off him? Give it a think.

Meanwhile…

“Then her livelihood is at stake. As this is a rational reaction with a rational cause, it can be rationally dealt with and adjusted to. She can also place another man under contract. How different is her reaction from those of a man who finds himself in a similar position. He is racked by jealousy, humiliation and self-pity — but she is emotionless.”

“A woman would hardly ever feel jealous in such a situation, since the man is leaving her only for another woman and not in order to be free. In her eyes he is not improving his situation in any way. The adventure of a man’s love for a new woman is nothing more than a nuisance. She is seeing it all from the angle of an entrepreneur who loses his best worker to a competitor. As far as woman is concerned, the heartache involved is nothing more than a reaction to letting good business go elsewhere.”

Ouch.

More later…

Edit. More now…

“Consequently, it is quite absurd for any man to think his wife is being faithful merely because she does not go off with other men — men who, in his eyes, are more attractive. Provided he is working hard and is supplying all the things that really matter to her, why should she? A woman’s faithfulness has nothing in common with that of a man. Women are, in contrast to men, practically immune to the looks of the opposite sex. If a woman flirts with her husband’s best friend, her intention is to annoy his wife, whose feelings do matter, unlike those of her own husband. If she felt deeply for the man in question, she would never show her emotions in public.”

Well, I feel that has changed. Women are more liberal about cheating, and since laws have been changed over the years (including “no fault divorce” for example), they’ve become more brazen overall. With divorce so easy and so advantageous to women right now, she can grind him into the dust and when he’s had enough and complains, she can split, take everything he has, the kids, get child support, and find another sucker to financially milk in another marriage, while she’s still getting paid from the last one.

Good business sense, actually.

P.34

“In pluralistic sex practices such as wife-swapping, which has now taken over from flirtation as a pastime, it is the other wife who is the object of the attack. History is full of anecdotes about male potentates enjoying themselves with many mistresses at the same time, but there are few such stories about females potentates. A woman would be bored to tears with an all male-harem. This has always been the case and will remain so.”

I disagree. A glimpse into the BDSM world alone, for example, quasi-vicariously through my sister, reveals to me that some women would really enjoy male harems (my sister would…) so long as the men are tied up and subjected to physical stress, humilation and debasement, or out-right torture (what deluded, control-freak, power-tripping sadsacks like my sister calls “sex play”—along the same line of euphemistic thinking that inspires such mangina rulers in communist dictatorships to call their nations “Democratic Peoples Republics”—or haughty effeminate twats in the West to call this sickening corporate clusterfuck a “democracy”).

Two of my girlfriends seemed to genuinely love sex (my first girlfriend didn’t mind being called a slut—she wanted sex twice a day, at least), from what I gathered of their overall relationships (I recall one, a non-girlfriend from my teen years, Melissa, who unconsciously bit her half-smirking lip at the hypothetical prospect of being gang-banged). But, then again, who the hell knows—they were both liars.

I think most women generally downplay their enjoyment of sex, so that the man gets the impression he’s getting the better deal out of it (how hilarious!), but since they lie so much and believe their lies, or mix truth with lies, one really does not know what they like, or how much, or when it’s applicable, and I doubt they themselves do either—until someone (their friends, the TV, a man they respect (rare), a music video, a milk cartoon, or a horde of rich, prissy, privileged, scowling, moronic screeching fembags) tells them what to think or feel.

So, I disgree, but I’m uncertain to the extent with which I disagree, because women are rarely if ever truthful, especially regarding sex (the base of their power). Woman’s shameless and selfish libido has come out of the closet since the 1970s (expressed in boldly misandrist “fuck n chuck” shows like “Sex in the City,” et cetera, un-heard-of even in the supposedly ‘swinging’ decade in which Vilar wrote this), that’s all that’s really certain.

“If women reacted to a man’s external apperance, every current advertisment scheme would be useless. According to statstics, it is the female sector of the population who spends the most money — money men earn for them. Manufactureers do not attempt to stimulate sales by advertisements displaying handsome he-men. On the contrary. No matter what they want to sell — package holidays, detergents, cars, bedroom suites, television sets — each advertisment flaunts a beautiful woman.

“Only very recently have film producers realised that a handsome hero is not essential to the success of a film. Women are quite content with an ugly star — Jean-Paul Belmondo, Walter Matthau or Dustin Hoffman. And naturally men prefer them. With their sense of physical inferiority due to the fact that they only very rarely consider themselves beautiful, they find it easier to identify with an ugly star. As long as there is a beautiful female lead, a film with an ugly male star will be enjoyed by women as much as a movie starring Rock Hudson. For, in reality, they are interested only in the women in the film.”

With the expection of the very last sentence (women only caring about female characters), all that has changed since the 1980s. More effeminate men (like Johnny Depp, for example) became more popular, and then Brad Pitt and company into the 1990s. In Vilar’s decade, their were still movie-makers making movies with male audiences in mind; this is not so today. It’s extremely rare (save the rare Private Ryan type of flicks—masculine themed, usually revolving around WWII, sports—like boxing and football, or cop-criminal cliched tripe, et cetera, but usually with some romantic schlock tossed in to draw in the predictable and unimaginative gender) to find an actually masculine move these days. Fight Club was the last hugely masculine film to come out since The Thing in 1982 (which had an all-male cast and creation team—and which, even back then, received flak from fembags).

As for ads and commercials, well, there are men now in them, here and there, about the same ratio as when I was grewing up under the TV’s glow as a kid in the 1980s. With the exception of shaver and beer commercials, though, the men are typically dumb clucks, goofballs, or dorks, with a wise, sensible, and good-looking woman nearby to set him straight in some way, or to show how buying a lawn chair will increase your sexual chances, of course.

P.35

“The reason men have remained blind to facts like these for such a long time is that they have been misled by the attacks women make on each other. When they hear a woman make derogatory remarks about another — her nose is too big, chest too flat, hips too wide, legs crooked — men, of course, assume that they can’t stand each other or that women are not attracted to by another woman’s beauty.

Yet how wrong they are. Any businessman, for example, who spends his life praising his competitors in front of his employees would be thought quite mad. Before long, half his best workers would have moved to the other firm. It is the same game that politicians play. Of course they have to blacken each other’s names, but if the American President got stranded on a desert island, he would surely prefer the company of Castro to the much praised man-in-the-street who only elected him. After all, they have very little in common.”

Nicely put. Except for Dubya maybe—he’d be content with an intellectual equal: a feminist or perhaps a patch of lettuce.

Here comes a kick to the teeth…

“If women were free of financial cares, the majority of them would probably prefer to spend their lives in the company of other women rather than men — and not because they are all lesbians. What men call lesbian tendencies probably have little to do with a woman’s sexual drive. No — the sexes have almost no interests in common. Wht, besides money, can bind a woman to a man?”

Cannot argue with that. As we are seeing (relationships, divorce), women generally do not need men for much anymore, not that they’ve been installed in business and are earning their own money, even though many who are working would rather be sitting at home, doing nothing much except ordering crap over the phone while watching Oprah. Hopefully, this trend continues (you heard me) to such a degree that men will wake the fuck up and realize that their lives are a series of acts pandering to women; more might get a clue that they haven’t been married three times because something’s wrong with them (other than being pussy-whipped and essentially feminine thinkers) but rather because they’re being toyed with psychologically, MANipulated, only to be financially drained by counterproductive, avaricious, semi-brain-dead whores.

Or not. We’ll see.

At any rate, men need women about as much as they need us now—like a hammer needs a spoon. We have the means to breed more humans without them, so I see no other function they might serve. Except for early death and agony for men, global greed (MATER-ialism) and overpopulation, what practical purpose does woman serve humanity?

An artificially skinned, supple fembot, some sort of cyborg, could replace woman quite nicely, in every way (and would actually help out, work—yunno, like doing stuff). We could have mute buttons unstalled, or simply have them with software, shipping with voice or without…and then man can have a slave for a change and kick back a while (for the first time in 8,000 years). Our combined technological efforts should really be channeled into replacing woman—she is practically begging to be replaced, demonstrating her immeasurable redundancy and consistently historical banality, so this is one last thing to which we should say, “Yes.”

Give me one good reason why not. I dare you. I double dare you, fatherfucker. Just one. Anyone? Anyone at all?

(No, “because” is not a reason, kiddo.)

Until then, we can have a species divorce: separate the sexes and divide up the globe equally, with men on one side and women on the other (boys with us, girls with them—dogs with us, cats with them—meat with us, veggies with them). There. Let’s sort this shit out right and proper.

Christ, think of all men could accomplish! The combined genius of man, without distractions and nagging twaddle, and questions of whether we took the trash out (we could finally set off into the stars, for fucksakes), while women are trying to run their cities (made by men, along with everything in them) without the manual labour that, with not even so much as a single fucking ‘Thank You’ in return, men have generously provided for them over the eons, and hiring some grunting butch to kill spiders for the rest of them, eating nothing but cucumbers with bean curd dip after the microwaves stop working because of mass power failure due to the usual ineptitude…

Heh. I could go on, but I need a rest; looking at what women would have to face (what percentage of women in this Western society have done an honest day’s work in their entire pampered little lives?–huh?–3% at most?) in practical terms (doing all of men’s jobs, plus their own, plus keeping everything—that we invented—running smoothly and efficiently…is just too fucking funny.

“Women make ideal living companions for each other. Their feelings and instincts are retarded at the same primitive level and there almost no individualistic or eccentric women. It’s It isn’t difficult to imagine the paradise they would create together and how exciting their existence would be, even if the intellectual level was appallingly low. But who would worry about it?”

Aye.

But enough harsh, semi-humourous antics for now.

“Girl, don’t go away mad—just go away.”

—Motley Crue.