A Tale of Needs and Damsels.

A Tale of Needs and Damsels.

The end of female autonomy begins with Maslow. The question is simple: is sex not a need? If it is so, as Maslow demonstrates in his Hierarchy of Human Needs, then it is all so a right. And what would follow is the institution of a rule by law that ensures that the sexual needs of every individual be met.

According to the hierarchy, the fulfillment of needs resting higher up on the hierarchy depends upon the efficient meeting of those needs occurring lower on the pyramid. Sexuality rests just above shelter. It is totally basic. It all so occurs in the Hindu Kundalini as the second chakra.

Scientific evidence would suggest that, for whatever reason, alternative sexual practices such as masturbation do not produce the same effect as does intercourse. This sheds the light of dubiousness upon sodomy as well.

Anecdotally I can account for the development of my own sexual identity through the use of visual media. Playing Ratchet and Clank, a T-rated game, produces a different effect at the age of twenty-five than it does at the age of fifteen.

One peculiarly tender moment occurs during an encounter with a voluptuous green-skinned alien in a violet uniform. She has no name, and her solitary role within the game is to introduce the Hoverboard Race. During this solitary cut-scene she speaks with an angelic voice (not unlike that of Olivia Wilde), explains the rewards for the game, (she is not herself one of them) expresses fleeting wonder at the celebrity of Skid McMarx (the professional hoverboarder), and finally, with coy persuasion, crossing her arms, challenges our heroes to fill in for him.

There is in fact one other role that she plays within the game: the archetype of Damsel in Distress. This occurs twofold. At one point she is seen modeling as one of Captain Qwark’s rescues, lounging in his arms as though they were a comfortable sofa. The other point is her first appearance, standing just where you are meant to meet her, seen through the bars that separate her location (a sort of Mandala-shaped park atop a tower) from yours.

At the age of fifteen, I do not regard her yet as a formidable being. She proves herself to be of no love interest to the protagonist, so her identity and purpose remain veiled in mystery. Yet this is not to say that she is of no interest to the player. On the contrary, she is one of my reasons to return to the game over and over again. Based upon her proportions alone I have found my appetite whetted. She has been worked into the Scramble-suit of female images that are my Anima: projections of an Ideal Woman. Every woman I meet shall be measured according to her standard, and each woman shall be a canvas to explore those possibilities that remain beyond the proverbial bars.

This is her at my age of fifteen. The character does not age. But I do.

In innocence she and I are all ready equals. We are given so. She works for the man who I aspire to meet, whom ultimately I must defeat and to replace to establish my identity as Hero.

Yet in adulthood her role is a perpetual attempt to fool me, to one-up me, and above all to assert her own vainglorious sense of superiority to me whilst insisting upon totally egalitarian auspices. And all of this is done with apathy. For this girl is, quite plainly, a model. She is a server at a bar, a bartender, an entertainer, or some other corporate scheme aimed at the use of my projections for profit. All mystery surrounding her is torn asunder in disillusion, and I had not even asked to know. No longer do I ask: WHO is she? (as though I might have a chance at learning.) WHY is she here? (as though that were not obvious.) HOW is she impressed by a celebrity? (as though it were not clear the value of accomplishment.) WHY does she not speak to me whilst rewarding my accomplishments? (as though it were not even more painfully clear that accomplishment alone is not enough.)

[Bitter experience answers questions that childlike wonder asks with undue optimism and the prodding of lying elders. I know this woman now. And she has nothing to offer me. She is not a Damsel to be loved and saved and thus to be rewarded, with due love in turn.]

No longer is the Nameless Maiden an archetype. She has become a PERSON: a MASK. There is no need to ask her who she is; the Corporate State will answer FOR her long before the question even might occur to me. She has no autonomy; she is a total slave. And yet she believes herself to be free!

I have said that the end of female autonomy begins with Maslow. But like so many intellectuals I spoke too soon.

Taoism insists that inferior virtue knows that it is virtue.

Likewise: inferior freedom believes its self to be freedom.

TRUE freedom was all ways in compassion and availability, not coldness and distance.

Yet the former is not the paradigm at work here. Rather the latter.

The end of Human Autonomy begins with the beginning of Female Autonomy. For it is divisive. A woman might ask: am I SUPPOSED to ACCOMMODATE your NEEDS? And the man of honor replies: Naturally. What other purpose could you serve?

Of course, I would answer on my own behalf as much as hers, meaning the Human Condition and not exclusively the Feminine Condition. Yet is it impossible that the arrogance of autonomy should grow so fierce and fanatical that all attempts to wake up the female from her ego trip should be met with the fallacy of Either-Or and the mentality of Us-and-Them? In short, is it wrong to suppose a feminist might say: you men want only to subordinate women to YOUR will? Is it impossible that some one could be so fixated on avoiding one’s accountability to one’s own peers that she would dismiss any attempt to hold her to these standards as mere misogyny?

No. It is not impossible. I know this too from bitter experience.

“Acting like a woman” need not be confining. It should be liberating. Vile forces everywhere want to deny you your freedom to be loving. Yet fear has a transparency to it. All that a man can ask is for a chance: that plainly women should make themselves sociable again towards men and cease to hold them accountable for female aggression. Only then can male aggression find its proper consummation in sexual fulfillment.

Dm.A.A.

A Tale of Protest:

A Tale of Protest:

I did not think that my life mattered until some one told me that it did not matter. Before then, I was simply carrying out my protest of a seemingly absurd world, my exploration of a divine mystery, and my responsibilities towards humanity. I was simply fighting the artificial tendency to take survival for granted, the bourgeois privilege of pretending that no one is entitled to any thing, an easy claim to make when one has had all that one could want. I was simply absorbing all the feelings of the beings that surrounded me, plotting for their well-being, for if even a single caterpillar somewhere should be crushed I'd feel it, even if only for a second, and all of those seconds would add up. And they would drive me crazy. And then Evil told me that it did not care if I went crazy. That it had nothing to lose by crushing all the caterpillars. It pretended that it was I that was trying to subordinate life to my will. But as I've said: I did not think I mattered until some one told me that I did not. Because then I heard that nihilistic and demeaning voice of Evil through the ears of every being that my heart had reached out to. And every skin cell began to rebel. The careful order of my delicate psyche defiled by this rapist that suggested that I am replaceable, and that to say otherwise is but an act. In short: I was told I was expendable. And how the masses cheered! And so I fell apart and every last connection that depended on my perseverance snapped. And all the water I was bearing, holding back, the hopes of someday being noticed and yes: understood! And showing others, as befit my Nature, as befits all Spirit, all of it snapped open in a flood. The precision of detail, the ardour of survival, the pressing need for justice, and above all: respect. The notion that each life has value. It all fell apart in one puff of smoke. And yet was this appropriate?? After all: who in whose heart film circulates like blood would think to film to write or to watch this? And were the hippies unified in solidarity or nihilism? Surely Watts said that the Universe depends upon each speck. Surely the sheer number of us creates such a resonance -- such humanity -- that were there only ever twelve people on Earth could never be fathomed. In short: our number as a fact does not preclude our value as an ethic. Would the sheer size of our community not render each act that much more decisive? If I cannot travel down the street without stepping upon some toes, does that not render every step that much more vital? Who has not smoked and seen my drawings that I'd thought so little of (despite painstaking care) and not only seen all their meaning but all so found meaning I had not intended consciously? And how is one to approach God seriously if one cannot even take Self seriously, but seeks to escape accountability for the condition of one's Soul?! Who shall sit like Baphomet upon a rug carpet blackened by cigarettes and meditate away the pleas of his last few friends?

Who's the joke now?

No. I refuse nihilism. For it is you that would sabotage others to perpetuate your petty self. Admit then your own purposelessness and save us a moment to consider you. For our sheer number as a species only fails to give us purpose when the act of propagation is reduced to a desperate pastime and when all your seven million peers are not friends but foes, adversaries whose existence is your own antithesis and with whom you might cancel out.

But does God not love you?
Do you not love God?

Even you, Baphomet.
Were you not once a Jesus freak?

Does your accountability mean naught to you?
Why bother then?
Why protest the convictions of the diligent?
Why make one's own stupidity such a damned virtue?
At least admit that it is the weaker of our two! That intelligence is stronger, and that only intelligence can look upon each speck as an irreplaceable gem.
That humanity is pain.
And no one is expendable.

What totalitarians you nihilists are as you laugh at my convictions.
But I tell you this:
Seven million people do not worry me.
Except if most of them are quite as apathetic and as stupid as are you.
And even then I all ways heard the solemn solitary voices in my desperation.
I remember what that girl looked like who said that thing about that band and so on.
And I love her.
And at least for now, she matters.
Who said any thing about what any one else thinks?
One day they all might know my name.
I would prefer they don't.
For every time I fail I am again the only man.
The hero on his quest.
The One who Feels.
And in that very solitude and all of the humility of facing a futility I find a more convincing argument for the value of life than any worldly measure of success.

And each speck of stardust is a jewel.

Dm.A.A.

Trump Chooses Life:

So I noticed that a lot of you are all riled up about the Trump executive order against abortion.

Personally, I don't blame him. But an elaboration is in order visibly:

I was recently informed by a wandering mystic and astrologer (in short: the ultimate source of feminine energy in a masculine social structure that prefers science to intuition) that the Universe is sending women all the masculine vibes and men all the feminine vibes.

This metaphysical explanation accounts for the seeming fiasco embodied in a photograph of Trump signing this executive order surrounded by men.

Consider this alternative view:

Those men of the present are the women of the past. They are nurturing the unborn young who have not yet even DEVELOPED gender. The young that we all were at some point or an other.

At an earlier stage of human history women would have stood in protest against their sons being sent to die in war.

Now, men are playing the same role, standing in protest against their children (of either gender) being sent down the drain in the rawness of innocence.

So welcome this as a drastic reaffirmation of life and responsibility! For even the victim of a rape must be responsible TO her circumstances. Being a victim does not entitle one to victimize others. And the unborn fetus is untouched by male privilege.

Do not use it as the scapegoat for misandry. Rejoice that life even is! For it is so precious.

The feminine is crawling back into Western society under the most unexpected guise.

For the first time: Trump has my support.

Dm.A.A.

P.S. Women have only worn the masculine mask for several years. If they do not heed the advice of men who have carried this torch for millennia, if they refuse the well of wisdom in their hubris, they shall become a worse force of patriarchy -- uneducated masculinity -- than any male dogma that history has yet seen.

+ + ++ +++ +++++ ========

A Tale of Bad Advice:

A Tale of Bad Advice.

I have to keep reminding my self to stop asking the Internet for advice. With some people one can do every thing "right" and still be met with disappointment. When one is blatantly robbed I refuse to call that failure. When one is denied one's God-given rights on a whim then I refuse to blame the victim.

This lecture done in Australia, in typically Aristotlean fashion, was by a clean-shaven man who insisted that women were like tests. So basically he went on about things I all ready knew when I met you. How if a woman that you get along with does not want to have sex with you then you're not supposed to give her reasons to; you are supposed to act as THOUGH you did not care.

Ours was a different situation. Honestly I probably possessed enough natural detachment as a Zen man to accept a sexual rejection. I know this for a fact. Because I did. Yet I kept trying. What I could not hide was the extent to which I cared. It was not I who broke the band up; Tapeworm did. How did you expect me to react to that?? We were supposed to meet under totally personal auspices. And now I am reminded of the concept of the Third Person. All these lectures and how-to's reduce you as an Other to an object. They insist that I ought to lie, to hide, or to adapt my feelings to a set of circumstances as though they could be made an object of universal knowledge. They objectify YOU, and not on your authority but upon some one else's. Rilke warns about this in his writings when he writes about the third person in the room who interferes with the respect that each of two people owe to one an other as individuals. Sartre takes that concept and explores it as a sort of jealous torment in his play No Exit. Funny that I was reading Sartre whilst volunteering at the tournament on Saturday the day before that dreaded Sunday Night.

It was Tapeworm that was the third person in the room. He destroyed every thing. Life is not a game. It's not some amusement you engage in for fun. The rules predate the game itself. The first rule is that every one involved must agree to play. The second is that you do not play against people on your team. The third is that you cannot switch teams. The fourth: no traitors. That is cheating. And the fifth: I do not want to play. Not if some one like him can win. And not if he can simply pride himself in having done every thing pragmatically right and pretends not to know what he fucked up ethically.

But you were different! Weren't you? Weren't you? You convinced me that you were. I could see it any way. That's why we had to wait so long to meet. That's why my desires were law. Because God surely appointed you to me. He must have. Women are not a skill! They're not a test. They're not a game. You are PEOPLE. And so am I.

So who were you to reject me?

Were you trying to be typical? Often you sounded that way.
The point is: I don't give a damn about any fucking amoral, unchivalrous trick that he used to get inside of you. I am triggered each time I hear this bald-faced Aussie reference his own exploits. For that is what they truly are: exploitation.
If a guy can by being indirect change a woman's mind over half an hour, he is a danger to society. Even as a debater (or especially as one) I would elect for the opportunist to be shot.
He raped you. That is my position. And nothing will change that. Not now.

The point is that I spent an entire year trying to make YOUR delusional dreams come true. If that does not get me an A on your "test", what ever will? The lies and treachery of some one who used you to cope with his ex's engagement? Who used ME for my connections in the music scene?? I know you wanted that band badly. But what a cunt. You had me seek the companionship of a miserable parasite who BETRAYED me. Shameless of your own betrayal! I could not even SLEEP that night or any other night that I caught wind of the two of you, fraternizing without my permission. My only delight could be within the fact that you hurt inwardly. And I could make it worse. I deserved that.

So again: WHY would you not fuck me?? You owed me. You. Owed. Me.

And do not hide your bullying conceit under the banner of "autonomy". You had no autonomy. He bypassed any rational, ethical inclination you had. He drugged you verbally and drugged you physically.

He raped you.

And practically speaking I was raped as well. For what is rape if not sex irrespective of consent and morality? Well. I did not consent towards any thing the two of you did. And it was at my expense, and so therefore immoral.

So WHY WON'T YOU SLEEP WITH ME?

Are you here to corrupt me?!? I did every thing within my power. For BOTH of you. Where is my reward?? You do not only ACCUSE me of self-interest. You try to REDUCE me to it. Even if it does not afford me YOU. And you I deserve. You alone I deserve. And you deserve only me.

You cannot sabotage my reasoning. I at least am able to remain rational and non-competitive. I at least retain my virginity, my commitment, and my honesty.

Obviously you were on some thing when you thought I could ever play music with him again after what he did. You think I failed your test? You both failed mine. I trusted you both. Trusted. Trusted.

I will not be blamed for that.


To this day your insolent imagery in my ears as it burned my eyes: you were not the better choice.

That was no longer your choice to make.

You owe me. I came back to you. I came back to HIM. Against all decency and intuition. I worked with you to impress HIM.

You fucking nymph.

And STILL you doubt my masculinity and my detachment? STILL you doubt my character? My valour? My forgiveness? My humility? My commitment? My total adaptation as a mate?

And now this fucking Aussie has the gall to brag about some cunt that he got into within half an hour by lying? By hiding his emotions? By refusing to reason and negotiate? As I was FORCED to negotiate, for you could not handle your own SHAME at what the two of you had done to me, and so you projected your own self-entitlement upon me? That you could not admit to your own selfishness, the degeneracy of your flesh, the stolen innocence that was mine to dissolve with my own, the inferiority you felt before my piety, my lingering virginity and sanctity, my blameless private passion, and the ruthlessness with which you pursued that dream career that I had to offer you, at the expense of my own dignity? My fucking nose was bleeding, head was spinning, shock possessing my entire nervous system at the dawning comprehension of what was happening, that all the instruments of Reason had forbid me to believe? And you smiled, as he grins now at his own parasitism, and you LAUGHED at me?!?

That I even braved the exhausting, and yes: INCONVENIENT trek to San Diego State to see you again absolves me of all doubts regarding my stoicism and masculinity. All of them.


To think that that same band was but a fleeting whim to you. As fleeting as your arbitrary and emotive desire to sabotage my meeting with you to run off with some one who had infiltrated my own comfort zone and stole from me nearly every thing I loved.

And *I* failed the test?!? No. Whatever the initial sparks of attraction might have been. It was your obligation to let them fly by like fireflies against a night sky.

You cannot do this.

You.
Cannot.
Do.
This.


You cannot allow him this victory.
You cannot have wasted my time when your own was so precious to me.

You cannot allow him to keep making these excuses and mistakes.

I only agreed to see his ass again under the auspices of reforming him.

You traitorous cunt.


He besmirched the name of friendship that you so wistfully assigned to me by way of marginalization.

You women and your neuroses. Your friend zones are in fact the only space in which any rational man can demonstrate a lasting loyalty. Your tests are lamps to draw in parasites like moths. Your cunts are honey for thieves.


But you were different!!
You said so yourself.
So prove it.
Fuck me.
Sleep with me.
Before I turn twenty-six.

Not because it would redeem your honour.
But because it would redeem your entire gender.

Oddly enough Tony said some thing right once. I guess he really IS connected.

L.S.D. does that.

I passed your test, Alanna.

I remained calm in the face of rejection.

I earned your sex.

The band was a family.
And he broke up that family.
By giving you what you thought you wanted.
But did not deserve.
Because you deserved better.

And now you deserve worse.
Be grateful I offer you even more than I had to offer hitherto.

No one in my band betrays me.
No one I give to takes advantage without asking.

No one.

So take your own medicine.
Be grateful that I made you the exception.
That I offered you this opportunity.
Despite your own decision to betray me.
That I saw you as a victim.
A victim, like my self, of a violent crime.
Of consent won unjustly.
Tantamount to rape.

Prove to me your own masculinity.
That you can be mature enough to see how some thing that had made you happy was wrong. And how being privileged did not entitle you towards this band's continuation. How you do not get every thing you want at the expense of men you marginalize like a stereotypical whore.

And how this is not even remotely controlling. Not compared to the abuse I went through my entire life. The culmination of which was my codependent parasitic relationship with Tapeworm.

Prove to me that women are capable of Reason. You owe me.

Or may be you were right.

May be it was all just your attempt at Power. A merely curious stroll through the land of men.

And you held it not against me that I wanted you so badly. That you respected my diligence and honored my commitment.

That you felt sorry for your infraction and were sincere in your final apologies.

That my time was not wasted.

And that our friendship mattered so much to you that you could not ultimately blame so noble a friend for having let go so despicable a traitor.

And that you will never allow such betrayal to be rewarded. Because you value character above mere tricks of persona.

And you did not know any better.

And accept my forgiveness.

And you understand why I get desperate enough to listen to Aussies give advice that I could never use.

Because the only women that I love are crazy.

And that I was not wrong to defend your honour for two years.

Nor to condemn what I believed you to be capable of.

But that you were too kind to really do.

And that I will get laid.

And do not need tutorials or tricks.

And shaving really is a douchy thing to do.

And I need to stop asking the Internet for advice.

Dm.A.A.

P.S. All so note that were my yearlong attempts to make your dreams come true mere acts of desperation then you were not entitled to their fruits to begin with. I did not owe you the continuation of that damned band. You have nothing with which to attack my pride now.

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A Tale of Trust:

We need to do some thing about the Tapeworm problem. I had a bad day and days like this it unsettled me that he has gotten away with so much. It is not right. There must be some sort of Divine Plan to assure justice in this respect. And it would probably involve you.

He had pretended towards my friendship for five years. When it mattered most he betrayed me and it was divulged to me that he harboured personal motives that contradicted mine. This must stop. He must not be allowed to purport his loyalty towards others when in reality he intends to impose an alien(ating) will. That lies outside the scope of his manageable sovereignty. I would have thought him shocked to find that I could contradict him after five years. But in fact the shock was mine that he would contradict me, and shamelessly. My mind still cannot comprehend the impact of his parasitic words: that he would regard what "I wanted", with an emphasis upon ME, as secondary to his OWN agenda. Added to this was the nature of the betrayal: the fact that I was literally in no position to defend you for up until that point I had been led to believe that our condition as adversaries was a friendship. Then there was the fact that he never formalized our adversarial conditions, so his act of war was totally without warrant. Add the emotional impact that in place of gratitude for the privilege of my company, and for the gift of my trust, without the combination of which no conflict could have even befallen, he took for granted these conditions as though they were the workings of a totally impersonal will. (Hence I was depersonalized.) then consider the absurdity underlying the fact that he took advantage of some thing that had clearly been a mistake upon my part but that was not my fault for the reason that he was the one who chose to take advantage of it. So it would follow that any attempt to remedy my mistake should benefit me and not him, (again: an absurd dichotomy, but not an unmanageable one where Justice is concerned) but instead HE pursued his OWN benefit even whilst BLAMING me for the mistake that had made such a benefit possible! In short, if I am to blame for my own misery, then so is he, and if he insists that I was mistaken in trusting the two of you together then he must absolve himself of perpetuating the mistake by allowing you to take advantage of the circumstances. (This allowance is of course not the absolution but the perpetuation.)

There is no way around it. He committed self-interest, the most irrevocable and depraved of sins. The only question remains: what is your plan to bring him to justice? My attempts to outsleep him in terms of women has met with undue failure.

We should work together. It would be fitting, given that the two of you conspired against ME.

I know you shall see justice done. You would regard it as a smudge upon your honour to condone this violation of both Golden and Silver Rule of Ethics. Besides: (and this is a big aside) if any one pledges loyalty towards me, that is an investment in my Honor. How can one shamelessly then harbour dissent? There would be no necessity for dissent if the conditions are mutual and the trust informed. Notice my use of both the hypothetical and the present tense in one sentence. Clearly by this I mean that the present encloses the hypothetical; if the conditions are NOT mutual, and the trust is ill-informed, then of course a deviant hypothetical narrative is conceivable. But to suggest that this narrative, made actual, was conceivable from the start is to admit towards one's present debauchery and guilt as the ill informant. Finally, this course is a failure to reach the realm of Moral Absolutes, which every one involved had pledged to, and so the decision to exclude me with the thought of personal gain is tantamount to rape, both of me and of you, for it violates the entire rational system of justification that must by necessity precede and follow the act of sex. In short, Tapeworm has failed to demonstrate humanity. A proverbial "fail @ life". And I will see justice done. As I am sure you will once your strength has recovered. God knows that, all most two years after the fact, mine is still just barely seeping back.

Dm.A.A.

A Tale of Inversion:

Traditional gender roles dictate that men are supposed to be masculine and that women are supposed to be feminine. There was no conspiracy underlying this. It was simply a cosmic trend. Women received feminine energy and men received masculine energy. The balance was maintained, albeit precariously, through the observation of traditional roles.

As time progressed the balance eroded. The masculine became overvalued and the feminine was repressed. However there was a balancing tendency manifest in the fact that a minority of the male population adopted feminine roles. These men were estranged from both their male brethren and the majority of females who felt no need to have men in their lives who would simply mirror their own submissive tendencies. Yet a minority of unconventionally masculine women loved these men, for these masculine women saw value in the femininity that they themselves lacked. These same women all so modeled their own masculinity after adult father figures, observing the masculine tradition with humility and respect.

The contemporary crisis mirrors a cosmic crisis. Women are now receiving masculine energy and men are receiving feminine energy. Women are becoming men, and they are doing so collectively, not individually as before. They have severed ties with the masculine tradition, and so they are behaving like adolescent boys: in short, patriarchal bastards.

Patriarchy is not to be confused with the masculine tradition. Patriarchy is simply an unintegrated and immature form of masculine energy. In Spanish the term is "machismo".

The concept of Equality is a masculine concept. Its antithesis is Inequality. The former is Ordered and Leveling; the latter is Chaotic and Subtle. Only by balancing equality with inequality can the genders coexist harmoniously. To presume entirely upon either Equality OR Inequality can only produce disaster.

Inequality, once vilified a priori and with cruelty, becomes by avenue of repression the very Devil that it was accused of being to begin with. This proves nothing except for the raw power of ignorant repression.

When women behave like patriarchal bastards, their demands for equality are most easily met by patriarchal bastards. The male of macho persuasion need only to compromise his machismo a tiny bit in order to level with a modern woman. He can then treat her with all the roughness with which he wants himself to be treated, and thereby an unstable but nonetheless mutual confluence is established.

Equality becomes most difficult to the sensitive man. It is insufficient to treat women the way that they wish to be treated; they expect you to KNOW what they want, only because you are a man. The presupposition is that all men want the same things. It would thus follow in theory that if a man is sufficiently egalitarian to meet social standards then he will automatically accommodate the desires of any woman by simply treating her how he himself wishes to be treated. Underlying this is the final conceit that how any man wishes to be treated is in fact how any woman would want to be treated. This is Equality.

But not all people wish to be treated the same way. Not all of them even want to be Equals! The sensitive man wants to be seen as a nurturing, compassionate, and yielding being. He wants to reward women for their own sensitivities by offering them the opportunity to be nurturing, compassionate, and yielding. Yet modern woman hates to be regarded as possessing such feminine virtues, which she regards (falsely) as a demeaning regression.

In the past women were rewarded for being feminine. In the present no one is rewarded for being feminine. In the past even men were rewarded for being feminine, via a reversion of roles that was peculiar but efficient. In the present, the roles are flipped for every one, but the feminine role is never rewarded. Woman fails as man because she does not wish to listen to masculine tradition. The result is that she competes with man (in a very boyish fashion) for the coveted male role. The man fails in his new feminine role because women do not possess the sufficient masculine maturity in order to fulfill the chief purpose of masculinity: to serve and to protect femininity, and to reward and nurture it.

In this sense masculinity becomes femininity because to nurture femininity is to be nurturing and to be feminine. But since no one wants to nurture (as a rule, and by that I mean to suggest that there are rare and precious exceptions) this synthesis, the ideal of Integration, is seldom achieved. And so society falls out of balance and into total discord.

Dm.A.A.

DR€@M:

A dream surrounding tests and books. The hermit, the Virgo. Like the guy who raises orchids in twin peaks. A series of classes in high school. A delayed graduation and perpetual adolescence. All the anxiety of codependency and attempts to resolve a very difficult problem for some one else when one's own services are unappreciated. The breach of sacred boundaries. A troubled childhood, an unspoken abuse. A futile romance. Growing up too soon. Fighting depression and parasitism; drained by narcissism and manipulation. Exploitation. Escape to an island. The hermitAge [sic?]. An Aquarian Renaissance. A Nee* Age. Only a Joycean stream of consciousness can reveal the psychic merit, like a Picaresque stroll through Grand Avenue and into Swami's and the eyes of Dana H. *New/neé?
Post-modernity. Distorted causality. Excuses for abuses. Bad behaviour and vengeance against the well-meaning. The Horns are Innocent. Temporary psychosis. Betrayal and: possession!

Dm.A.A.