manipulation

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Saw a post of something over on Mullet’s site—here’s the link to the text—that made me chuckle, and then I did something stupid. I started thinking about it, and here’s my apeshit reply below (yeah, crazy shit alert; don’t even bother reading it, seriously).

Heh.

I’m impressed by how accurate that basically is (except that agriculture came first, then beer).

The original liberals were the gatherers; the women. The original conservatives were the hunters; the men. The conservatives were kneeling and praying before the hunt, and painting the struggles of life upon the walls of sacred caves (initiation caves). The liberals were carving stone statues of fat women, who they figured were divine figures of fertility; they were also carving the first tenants of the fertility cults to come.

(Of course, by the time the liberals were able to seize power and create the first city built around a temple, the conservatives had been subdued and were now doing all the stone carving; here is the birth of the Masons, and then Freemasons later. It was said that the Freemasons differed greatly in a few key ways, such as they got paid and had some rights.)

What it is not included in the above version: twenty thousand years ago, the liberals started naming everything and began to observe the constellations (the conservatives dug Orion, who they envisioned as a heavenly portrait of Sky Father, a figure out of the Great Mystery, the Creator, who they felt keenly during the long fall hunts; and they dug the North Star, that was about it), but, in true control-freak fashion, the liberals began making up stories about stuff to do with how the sky moved—soon they started erecting monolithic blocks of rock in certain spots, in certain arrangements, and then made claims of knowing the future.

The conservatives were more interested in the simpler things in life—music and an occasional mushroom vision with the shaman to gain insight into themselves and their place in the world. They had already mastered fire, and the bow, and saw no need for all the rock grinding and shiny-stone-seeking. It was thought among some conservatives that chasing game all over was pissing off some of the liberals, since their stone ritual crap required a stationary sort of lifestyle, and the liberals argued that they could plant more seeds and catch animals, fence them in, so you never have to chase them.

But the conservatives stood firm: they had to keep moving, keep after the herds, along side the lions and wolves. Besides, sitting in one spot too long—they knew too well—tended to exhaust too many resources too soon. It lead to starvation and death. It ended with great holes in the world. Plus, it was not honourable to cage a beast for meat, or for any reason; in the hunt, the game has a better chance of escape than the hunter does of feeding his tribe that day. They’d decided; they would not sit still anywhere for long. And the conservatives were respected.

Perhaps it was only a gesture of goodwill that the conservatives let the liberals make jewelry out of the mammoth tusks from their northern hunts (the conservatives, artists themselves, saw it more as a craft than art, but that was okay, it kept them busy), but after a while the liberals wanted more jewels.

It also leaves out the part where the liberals somehow end up suckering all the conservatives into doing their work on the farm, too. When the liberals convinced all the people that a great disaster was coming, and then it was confirmed (say, a comet slamming into a hill on the day it was predicted) by the elders of far away tribes, the people grew afraid and began to side with the liberals more and more.

Soon there was an agreement to enter into a semi-nomadic way of life; the liberals domesticated cats and dogs, and began planting much grain. Populations grew as never before.

Inevitably the liberals carved themselves a stone goddess and built temples (then stone towns near rivers) and surrounding farms,  eventually forcing the people to offer up their male sons as sacrifice to their goddess. (Astarte; Ishtar—Inanna, Dianna, Isis, etc—which is where the word, “Easter” comes from). Some boys were castrated for blood sacrifice; in some places they were thrown into the fire, and “Sign” was read from their screams and writhing; other sacrifices were also burnt offerings (wicker cages set alight with the males within).

This liberal empire spread from Arabia and Mesopotamia to Persia and India, then to Egypt and Greece, around the Black Sea; diluted versions reached the shores of Germania and Spain, North Africa, China and Japan. Later, strange versions spread back down into Africa, to the edge of Australia, and other versions reached Scandinavia and Russia, and then the British Islands. Some believe (and there is evidence that) it even reached Mesoamerica, where the Aztek (Olmec) liberals established an agricultural system of temple-centric city states, and continued the torture and sacrifice of the children and other captive Natives from the jungle.

At the heart of it all, in Asia Minor, the liberals grew rich and made a great Garden, and more and more the people worked on this Garden, taxed, and having to live in squalor. But the small ruling group of liberals grew arrogant and wanted more shiny stones; they held the secret knowledge, and began to see themselves as superior to these drones which they could order about the farms. Society grew decadent with excess and waste, and the conservatives suffered great poverty of spirit, and stranger and more violent rituals came about. And there were more sacrifices when droughts got bad.

The ruling class of liberals became inbred, trying to keep their royal line pure, and maniacs and human abominations slithered out of the human gene pool. They became more and more cruel, brutal, vicious; diseases sprang from them; and when they had all the power and wealth they craved, they entered into more and more extreme perversions, and extreme experiences. Obesity, hedonism, bestiality, and vice reigned among the aristocracy. They drank blood; they enjoyed raping children and listening to them scream, sob, and plead. This was the perverse, mutated and putrid form humanity had taken that is written about in a large collected work (see: Noah) to follow, same characters, same event, same result, different names, different messages.

And then the Flood changed everything. Entire towns were being wiped out, and the liberal oligarchy could not stop it; hell, they didn’t even know it was going to happen—and they were supposed to know; they held some “divine light of knowledge,” didn’t they? Weren’t they enlightened, illuminated?

The people started not to think so; the world seemed to be ending, and they lost faith. There was a great uprising. The people were told later that the gods were angry with the filthy, cruel, evil oligarchs and the flood was their punishment (one of the liberal oligarchs laments that she should have concerned herself more with living beings rather than riches and objects and pleasure). Later still, in a great book, the people would be told that the Deluge was the result of a wicked, sinful, greedy, evil-doing populace. Actually, both reasons were true.

Good thing the conservatives built the Ark and saved one town—when they resettled the Fertile Crescent later, they would start building large walled cities, to prevent any future flood from destroying their great works.

Around the time of the—last—Flood, 5600 BC, the conservatives took back religion and some degree of freedom (the world’s first civil rights movement) and entered into a covenant with the ruling liberal aristocracy, which was a matriarchy, all of which brought about the age of Kings (Sumer). Gilgamesh was the first; he sold out his conservative brothers to a large degree, but things had improved for a while. Nevertheless, the Kings that followed increasingly became cruel and violent, being swayed by the ever-growing court of liberals around them. Members of this court would grow into a shadow government.

By this time, resources had run out in Mesopotamia (over-farmed; devoid of trees; top soil gone due to pastoral herds eating roots everywhere for many centuries—and the Arabian desert was born), so the ruling liberals began using temple prostitutes (and beer) to draw in the sweaty, hairy, hunting conservatives from nearby woods, converting them into a soldier class, to protect the liberal King’s wealth and to be used as an armed force to conquer neighbouring tribes (and stealing their resources). They would tell their people that bad monsters lived there—demon creatures who must be destroyed—like what Sumeria first did to Lebanon (for timber, since Sumer had none), making slaves out of the vanquished. It was the invention of propaganda and set into motion a pattern of tyrannical, raptorial foreign policy that every nation since has copied (and Rome perfected).

Another condition of this covenant was marriage. It was still based upon husbandry (the domestication of wild animals—which is of course where the word “husband” comes from; old Norse hus = house + bondi = dwell, build, cultivate), but the conservatives were being treated a bit better than they had been before the Deluge, what with the third class status and their slum residences located away from their mates and offspring and all. Parts of this old covenant remain: the ring, a smaller symbol of the golden crown of ruling liberals, and the genuflection (kneeling, which is what commoners do in the presence of royalty, the old liberal elite) upon proposal of marriage.

The fashion of the era changed dramatically for conservatives: before the liberal invention of agriculture, they had long hair and beards, wore leather pants and shirts and coats, as well as furs; and after agriculture they were clean-shaven, perfumed, donning jewels if they were of high enough standing, and they all wore dresses like the liberal aristocracy had stipulated. (The lower in society, the lower the skirt; the priests and others wore the longest gowns. They still do to this day: see judges and the Pope.) It would not be until the early settlement of the Americas before conservatives started wearing pants again.

Some time during this, male cattle replaced male children in sacrifice (even though men were still being circumcised and made into eunuchs); this is why in many places the bull (or ram) is revered, and in India it’s actually held as sacred and not killed (yes, they will eat beef if someone else kills it; it was never “sacred cow;” it’s in fact “sacred bull”), which is common knowledge. Vegetarianism began not as any sort of “healthy lifestyle,” nor was it about eating meat at all; it was originally about what the gods/goddesses of the liberals of old were eating.

However, even though boys stopped getting their balls chopped off for Astarte, male sacrifice continued in a more subtle form: seasonal warfare.

And of course by the time of Jesus, with all the “I am the lamb” stuff, the “I am the sacrifice” stuff, well, this doomed the liberal cult of Astarte and her ilk. The next true conservative social movement began, and the practice of almost all forms of animal sacrifice faded away (although some forms of plant sacrifice remained—ever offer your sweetheart some flowers?—you’re carrying on an ancient ritual of offering life to the idols of the liberal aristocracy).

Male sacrifice crept back under the Catholic Church (once the Eastern Roman Empire absorbed the conservative movement of Jesus, the castrati was eventually formed: the practice of castration of young boys for the Church choirs), with no doubt much liberal infiltration to bring “Mary” (the pig goddess Astarte wearing a nun’s costume) back into observance.

Things started looking grim for the conservatives again, but then Martin Luther came along and another religious revolution took place—and the Protestants were born.

The conservatives did alright for a while, although the devious liberals were at it again. They had begun a secret society called the “Illuminati,” a much more organized and connected organization than the other types they’d tried before, and came up with a plan for overthrowing the conservatives and their pesky Elohim-type one-god stuff; lingering in the Pagan shadows, they had continued their religious rituals and practices, but now they were gaining new minions fleeing persecution from the out-of-control Catholic Church, which they had also infiltrated to a large extent.

After discovery in Bavaria and further persecution, plotting their revenge, they proceeded to infiltrate the Masonic organizations, then later the banks. After all, they had invented money as another tool to draw in wild, good-hearted and hard-partying conservatives out of their forested places and into the cities. And enslave them there doing something called “work,” which remains a sub-religion to this day, now more specialized as a “trade” or “career.”

And we all know the rest—things have come full circle: the conservatives are once more under the cloud of liberal tyranny, whose scientific collaborators have brought the entire planet within their grasp, and they are pressing hard and gaining ground fast as they implement their “New Secular Order.”

There. Just filled in some crucial gaps…okay, but his was funnier.

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Nihilium: “Now what?”

Gornok: “Huh?”

Nihilium: “What’s your problem?”

Gornok: “No problem. Why?”

Nihilium: “Just looking at the title, thinking you’re about to rant about something…so obviously something’s wrong.”

Gornok: “Nope. Doing well. Satisfied, content, fulfilled, for now. Just been thinking.”

Nihilium: “About…?”

Gornok: “Life.”

Nihilium: “No kidding? What about life?”

Gornok: “Why? That’s what about life.”

Nihilium: “Awww…you depressed or something, pal?”

Gornok: “No. I just said everything’s great. I just don’t understand life.”

Nihilium: “What’s to understand. Life is life.”

Gornok: “Maybe, but why?”

Nihilium: “Why what?”

Gornok: “Why does life exist?”

Nihilium: “Sounds like your questioning life because you’re really questioning your life…”

Gornok: “Why is that when people question something, other people have to search for ulterior motives or attack the person on some psychological grounds?”

Nihilium: “I dunno. So, get to your point…”

Gornok: “I’m not questioning being alive compared to being dead, I’m questioning being organic matter compared to being inorganic matter!”

Nihilium: “Come again?”

Gornok: “Why be a tree or a mouse when you can be a cloud, or a mountain?”

Nihilium: “Ugh, I’m not sure. It’s just the way it is.”

Gornok: “That’s no answer.”

Nihilium: “Well. What do you want me to say? I never thought about this shit before. Life is life, non-life is non-life.”

Gornok: “Life just seems to be a useless dumb mess. Think about it. Life is a sloppy, stinking, slimy, goopy, sticky, disgusting mess. A greasy, noisy, smelly, cold, chunky, mushy, invasive fucking mess. A futile, screaming, scraping, clawing, slithering, shambling, lumbering, bloody, oozing, horrifically painful mess without any meaningful point whatsoever.”

Nihilium: “Enduring and getting stronger is the object—”

Gornok: “To what end? Just to die?”

Nihilium: “Okay…well, I still don’t get it.”

Gornok: “Every day is an absurd ritual of stuffing crap in one hole, squeezing out crap through another. What’s the point?”

Nihilium: “The point of Life is to eat itself, fuck itself, in order to give birth to itself. It’s all designed to make more Life.”

Gornok: “That’s my point. Why? Why make more? Why go through all this trouble, this revolting and detestable effort? Why not make less? Why not…don’t make any at all?”

Nihilium: “But then life would go extinct!”

Gornok: “So? Why would that be so terrible? No more creatures have to tear each other apart, risk their own lives finding a mate and fighting for the right to breed, suffer through falling meteors and earthquakes and drought and disease and hurricanes and bitterly cold winters…all to generate little versions of themselves who will repeat the process. It’s boring, monotonous, and—I think—fucking insane. The only point of life it seems is to be a pig and strive to replicate yourself. That’s it. No other reason.”

Nihilium: “What about evolution?”

Gornok: “What about it? All that means is adapting to an environment so you can be a better pig and make even more of yourself. Gosh, what a high ideal life has…”

Nihilium: “So, you think a mountain or a puddle of water has a better ideal?”

Gornok: “No. Inanimate stuff has no ideals at all. Maybe that’s better…”

Nihilium: “You’re crazy!”

Gornok: “I don’t think so. Crazy is a limited existence in which your level of success is determined by how much stuff you can shove into your face and turn into feces, to keep going and find another of your kind with a hole so you can stick your rod in it repeatedly until you squirt goo into the hole, which eventually creates a small version of you, which grows up stuffing junk into its face and turning it into feces, so it can keep going, find another of its kind, and so on, to create more of itself and perpetuate this senseless pattern. That’s fucking crazy.”

Nihilium: “Hmm. Since you put it that way, it does seem sort of silly, overall. But that’s not all that life is about; it’s about improving your species through your offspring.”

Gornok: “Improving them how? So they can be better pigs? So they can excrete more, pick more boogers, fart stinkier farts, piss stronger streams of urine, drool more saliva, take bigger shits, spew larger piles of vomit, bleed more blood, kill greater numbers of other life forms and shove them all into a toothy hole to be ground up and broken down with better acid? Just to do this all over again the next day? The next month, year, century? All so these better pigs can fuck more holes and create more little piglets and expand to more areas of the planet? What exactly does ‘better’ mean anyway? Seems to me it means ‘more piggish’ and that’s all.”

Nihilium: “Well…I don’t know what to say. Life is full of wonder and joy and other things you’re not talking about…”

Gornok: “Like what? Love? Oh, right. Slavery to another of your species and periodic bursts of chemically-induced ‘pleasure’ in your brain? Wonder—the moment of ignorance being shattered by chemicals in your grey matter. Joy—getting high off chemicals in your brain. What most of us think makes life worth living is in fact all about addiction and drugs—the drugs we produce inside our heads. These chemicals are produced biologically to keep us stoned and smiling, to reward us for doing the same things over and over, year after year, millennium after millennium. Why do you think sex feels good? Or eating? Or learning new things? We’re all druggies kept in a perpetual rut by biology, our built in drug dealer…Life…is nothing but a cruel junkie and a monstrous pig.”

Nihilium: “Wow. You are cynical.”

Gornok: “Don’t judge or dismiss me, just because you can’t allow yourself to think about this stuff. I thought you were a free-thinker…”

Nihilium: “I’m not. I’m a practical, rational thinker. A skeptic, and I had thought I was a cynic until I met you. But you got me beat. So you find nothing about life worth living?”

Gornok: “I do find life worth living, but only because I’m being manipulated and enslaved by Life itself, by nature, and by my own biology. Same as all of us—and by all of us, I mean every single living creature in the universe. I’m being fucked with and jerked around and made to do disgusting things every day. Every fucking day I need to generate energy, stop or prevent pain, take care of this part of me, wash that part, exercise the other part. And if I can’t generate enough energy to accomplish these mindless tasks, I degenerate, deteriorate, and suffer as a result.”

Nihilium: “It seems a little over-simplified.”

Gornok: “Perhaps, but that doesn’t make it incorrect. The next time you brush your teeth, think about how many hours, days, weeks, months, total, you’ve spent rubbing plastic inside your mouth…and tell me it makes perfect sense. And it’s all worth it. In twenty years, you’ll probably be dead…”

Nihilium: “Jesus. You’re dark…”

Gornok: “Dark, maybe, but honest. Maybe I’m light and not dark at all. Maybe God went insane from being alone for eternity—can you imagine the sheer terror of living forever in a nonstop, inescapable consciousness, neverending, watching the universe explode and contract and explode and contract and explode a zillion times, enduring perpetual boredom, suffering with the power to do anything amid the fact that everything means nothing, and there are no new things to do or know or see or hear or sense or taste or feel or create or destroy except the Totality of what has already been done a nonillion times, knowing All and screaming a deranged molten sorrow into the void of space because there is just no finality to this until the end of time, which does not exist?—entered into psychosis, and that’s what we are. What life is—a madman’s delusion. God’s nightmare. Right now God is gibbering and gnashing his teeth.”

Nihilium: “Hmmm. I don’t believe in God. Sorry.”

Gornok: “Speaking of teeth…most of this energy I generate I have to put towards finding other forms of organic matter and grinding it up with those teeth and make more energy out of it. What’s the point being a slave? No form of life has any manner of freedom whatsoever. It’s all an illusion.”

Nihilium: “Freedom compared to what?”

Gornok: “If I were a cloud, I could just drift about. No one and nothing pulling my strings, utterly free. Within chaos. Nothing to do but piss down rain or snow or hail, or simply blow away, with no consciousness, no will, no ego, no desires, nothing. But no—every day I see or hear a member of the opposite sex and my chain gets yanked again, whether I like it or not. I’m manipulated by biology to be attracted to a certain type of my own kind and be driven utterly mad by it. It takes over my thinking, controls my life, and starts a burning desire in me that only gets stronger and stronger until I am wholly consumed in every way…driving me insane until it’s released through sexual stimulation. And the next day I have to go through this again. Why do we put up with this fucking meaningless, empty, senseless daily horror?”

Nihilium: “I dunno. I guess, like you say, we’re addicted. What you would say: we’re addicted to ‘happiness’. What choice do we have anyway?”

Gornok: “That’s just it. Slaves always have next to no choices.”

Nihilium: “Oh dear. Well, it’s been a slice. A headache-inducing, depressing slice…”

Gornok: “Why are you depressed?”

Nihilium: “I’m not—this topic is fucking depressing.”

Gornok: “The truth is a real bitch, eh?”

Nihilium: “Truth of what?”

Gornok: “Of fucking life, you git! You’ve had enough of truth and want to go back to your delusions, inject some more chemicals and pretend everything is alright. But, you know something, my friend: you are going to die.”

Nihilium: “Oiy. Yes, I know that. What matters is the time we have left—”

Gornok: “Time. Pfft. Gimme a break, dude. Time is how we measure motion, the progression from one event to another. All of these events are futile, and pointless. Life itself is pointless!”

Nihilium: “Maybe if you were living your life, you would not be thinking about life. Eh? Huh? Ever have a thought like that worms its way through your brain?”

Gornok: “Everything lives its life. So what? I’m asking why. Or do you mean, what if I were pursuing my career, and plastering the internet with photos of myself, feeding my vanity and trying desperately to fit in, to belong, to be accepted, to be loved, to be a little kid again? Then I’d be a superficial self-absorbed twat like every other human, wouldn’t I? Aww, poor little guy. No, I’m cool! I’m so sweet! Am I not beautiful, and funny, and nice, and productive? Marry me, Betty, we can multiply, go forth and then fucking die. Where’s my flag! I wanna wave it around and hoot some!”

Nihilium: “Jesus, calm down, Gore.”

Gornok: “I will not. I asked you a question—why?”

Nihilium: “I don’t know!”

Gornok: “Yes, you do. Why are you alive?”

Nihilium: “Ugh, because I am? I had no choice in it, it just happened!”

Gornok: “Why?”

Nihilium: “Because my dad and mom fucked and out her hole I fell—”

Gornok: “Why?”

Nihilium: “Because their parents fucked, and on and on back—evidently—and back to the first two cells somewhere who got it on.”

Gornok: “Why did they get it on?”

Nihilium: “No idea! Random matter combined—”

Gornok: “No, that’s not it. Why? What was the point?”

Nihilium: “Does it matter?”

Gornok: “Matter is all that matters. I despise matter. I loathe it. If it was those two cells forming and fucking, then that has got to be the worst mistake in the history of time, in this universe and all others, in any dimension of realm of existence or non-existence. Christ, there is just no such thing as freedom….It’s merely species of slavery, on all levels, everywhere, in all things.”

Nihilium: “Then go be a flash of light!”

Gornok: “If only…but I’d still be a slave to forces, wouldn’t I? Physics, rules and laws that govern matter and energy. Still, at least I’d be out of this disgusting, revolting muck of life.”

Nihilium: “Yeah, the grass is greener on the other side of quantum reality, pal . . . Look, it is what it is. Accept what is or just kill yourself. Or go on driving yourself into deep dark holes of thought, and suffering without answers. I mean, I don’t have the answers you want, or seem to need—nobody does. We’re all…just…in this shit, here, now, and there is no fucking reason behind it all. Unless you believe—”

Gornok: “That some all-powerful being snapped its fingers and invented all this—all so we can learn and grow and obey, so we can suffer and die and follow orders and squeeze brown paste out of our asses and devour life forms alive, enslave them and cut their heads off and drink their blood and lay eggs in their faces, all to make more of ourselves, so we can suffer and die and suffer and die, until one day we get fucking judged for it all? By the very cunt who set it all up and cursed us for not being perfect enough slaves!? What the fuck! You’ve got to be fucking joking. And if we pass this barbaric, cruel, obscene, horrible test, we get to go to heaven and feel chemical rewards forever…is that about the size of this little scheme of twaddle? The smiling sensations of a Holy Drug Addict for ever and ever, amen?”

Nihilium: “Ummm. I guess. If you believe that. Frankly, neither point of view seems particularly meaningful, neither state is really appealing…I dunno, man. Can’t we change the subject…?”

Gornok: “Aye. Presently. Sort of… Well, sometimes I’d like to be some other form of matter—or maybe not matter at all. Can you envision existence as a lightning bolt?”

Nihilium: “No, not really. ‘Twould be a short life…”

Gornok: “All the lifespans of all life are so short anyway that everything might as well not live at all. What’s the difference? Who cares if everything dies tomorrow, or fifty trillion years from now? If a meteor comes and obliterates the entire globe, killing everything…what matter? What was it all for? It makes no difference at all, and it makes no sense whatsoever.”

Nihilium: “What if we’re meant to leave this planet and colonize—”

Gornok: “Yeah, yeah, ‘evolve’ and all that rubbish. You know, evolution is a crock of shit. Creationism is a crock of shit. So, okay, we leave the planet, and eventually our sun here blows up and destroys all the solar system. But we’re out there, hopping from planet to planet, solar system to solar system, on and on, exploding stars behind us. Then what?”

Nihilium: “We develop into—”

Gornok: “And after that?”

Nihilium: “We keep going.”

Gornok: “Until all the stars explode, and the black holes combine to swallow everything, and we all die. Again, what was it all for? What was the point?”

Nihilium: “Wait for the next Big Bang—”

Gornok: “So we can do it all over again? To what end? To whose benefit and what purpose in which function of what role of whose dementia are we doing this repetitive shit?”

Nihilium: “Jesus fucking Christ! So negative!”

Gornok: “Maybe…”

Nihilium: “Hey, maybe when we die we figure it all out?”

Gornok: “How? We’re dead! And you don’t believe that anyway…when we’re dead, we’re gone—you’ve said that before. And even if we aren’t, there is nothing to figure out! Knowledge of life would be wasted on the dead!”

Nihilium: “I suppose. So what then? I don’t know how else to look at all this…”

Gornok: “Well. Maybe we’re looking at it in our very tiny, narrow, detained life-form point of view. Maybe I am not complex—or simple—enough to really see what this is all about…but I doubt it. I’d still rather be energy. Lightning would be cool, now that I think of it. Maybe you come into existence every time there’s a storm. You’re immortal, intangible, but never alive at all. I think that would be cool. Its not death that bothers me, or even the needless, pointless suffering inbetween—it’s the inanity of life…eat, shit, breed, die, just to have your offspring be better at eating, shitting, breeding, dying, and on and on ad nauseum ad non compos mentis ad infinitum. It’s…fucking horror. Pure, indisputable pristine horror…”

Nihilium: “Evil?”

Gornok: “Indeed. Well…I just don’t see many people thinking about this sort of stuff…or discussing it.”

Nihilium: “There’s a reason for that.”

Gornok: “Yeah. Maybe.”

Nihilium: “Listen, man. Life itself might not have any purpose when you look at it the way you’re doing. All we have to do is figure out what has meaning for us; meaning—and purpose—for you. Just you. Meaning is invented by individuals, I think. Maybe it takes faith to do this. Belief in something that defies belief. Otherwise we all might as well grab an armful of rocks and jump head-first into the sea. It’s good to question shit, but when you get too deep into stuff like this, it can really drag you down and fuck you up.”

Gornok: “I guess. I’m too drained to think any more. So, that’s it then. I’m all finished here.”

Nihilium: “Okay. Chill, man. Think of something else—better still, just do something. Later, bro.”

Gornok: “Later.”

“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.]