I’d Rather Be Alone Than Assimilated

Assuming I am successful in my upcoming mission (because failure is not an option), I am exploring the possibilities of life without Axel but yet, with the resumption of my legal capacity to remarry, should I desire to have a relationship sanctified by the state (or should a future man so desire such with me for some unknown reason).

In my new home (assuming Axel’s final wishes for his live-in house slut are recognized by the courts), there are two seasons: Snowbird and Summer. Summer is not only lonely but economically depressed. Even the prices come down. Tradesmen who manage to survive generally do so by catering to the Snowbirds and then going into effective hibernation in the off season. Wouldn’t it be great if I could bag a combination Tradesman/Snowbird? Ha! I’d be willing to share him sort of like a human time-share with a northern woman. A woman willing to do such a thing with me would be quite the rare bird herself.

Axel’s death conjured up my blood sister supposedly to “help” me through this difficult time. She, it would seem, would like for me to believe that she has my best interests at heart in terms of reabsorbing me into the dysfunctional collective which is our family, and her female-supremacy notions of social order, “intelligence,” and truth. If I were to become destitute, I believe, she would be delighted to indenture me as her slave. Not that I resent her for the success she achieved with the aid of our parents as “the good daughter”, and which I would never have been able to fulfill because I am a lousy Dominatrix/prostitute, the notion of being financially dependent on her while pretending to agree with her on any subject whatsoever would be a fate for me worse than death. Our parents, on the other hand, should never have had more than one child given their social-climbing needs in relation to their income potential. They could only afford one if they thought they needed two as emotional blackmail in order to mooch off their own parents and use us as surrogates to prop up their dysfunctional marriage. Besides, I was supposed to marry “Prince Charming” and live happily ever after in that prison but for the social benefit of my parents. In other words, my sexually submissive nature was supposed to be put into the service of female supremacy to benefit better females than I. Fat chance.

Given that I don’t approve of my parents’ choice to reproduce once and certainly not twice, in a perfect world, I would either not exist or would have been somehow put up for adoption. Since I can remember, I’ve been attempting to be adopted in one way or another by a different family, that is, as different as possible from my own birth family in terms of psychology, beliefs, appearance, and inter-familial dynamics. Adults with happy childhoods or whose forgiveness of their family is fully transcendent are advised to seek similar families with which to meld. Meanwhile, becoming adopted by government would be as bad as being enslaved to my family, so that’s out. Ditto to be adopted by most allowed-to-expand mega-national corporations.

As a throwaway daughter, it is no surprise that I’ve been set upon by con artists, most especially my husband. However, given that there is now so little holding me to this world, I don’t predict that I’ll start engaging in less risky adventures for the benefit of other people’s notions of my own security. There is no security for women like me. That fate was sealed for me by all three of my immediate family members. Therefore there is no reason for me not to do what other women won’t and therefore I have no place in the Western female hive mind to include the well-meaning.

As I get older, and the pool of men who interest me contracts, while well-off divorcees/widows/surviving daughters effectively dictate social and legal policy, I become even more of a pariah than I was as a teenager. Feminism and liberalism becomes increasingly difficult for me to stomach. Popular culture becomes positively toxic. I become more and more “a stranger” to an enlarging pool. In short, my life experience is more like the average man, except I don’t have his physicality, rationality, or capability of productive output. This last is about biology not oppression.

Besides, if I were to return to being a career woman, my attractiveness to con artists will reignite. As a poor, middle aged woman, however, I am largely immune from con artists because the well is dry. However, merely appearing to be healthy and thereby “privileged” attracts them nonetheless. (How many male con artists prey on women for the purpose of enriching the nest of another woman to include his girlfriend, mother, wife, siblings, or daughters? Will the next one demand my hair on a platter?)

As an American citizen, however, with the ability to remarry, there’s an obvious asset I can exploit or that can be exploited by a foreigner looking for greener pastures.

Perhaps I can find myself a Foreign Snowbird. How to do so without becoming enslaved to his womenfolk who dictate the terms of all social connection? Perhaps he will have to be an Orphaned Foreign Snowbird.

Who is the Science Denier?

Liberal “warmists” say that anthropogenic global warming “deniers” are “anti-science.” Whereas liberal LGBTQ… advocates deny that there is such a thing as biology. Similarly, liberal Darwinists deny that evolution could have resulted in different outcomes across biological phenotypes, i.e., “race”. To disagree is to be “fearful,” “ignorant,” or “hateful”.

Fragile creatures who are unable to withstand criticism, second-hand smoke, perfume, cross-looks, exclusion, etc., call more stalwart sorts “haters”.

Strength and conviction itself is apparently at odds with increased scope of government to ensure outcomes for the weakest members of society, at the expense of the stronger, more self-reliant, and productive.

To simply be accountable for one’s own choices is thought by liberals to be “oppressive”.

I suspect that people with bad parents believe that they themselves can create good parents by seizing power in government. The government becomes the good parent in the fantasy image of the abused child. Not a thought is expressed that perhaps those with poor parenting examples which formulate the parental archetypes in the mind of the now-adult abused child are less than equipped to model good parent.

Imagine a world where people who attested that their own parental models were inferior declined to reproduce. I suppose that’s mere fantasy brought about by projection on my part. If the grown-up abused child, like an infant, believes him or herself simultaneously omnipotent over and helpless toward his or her caregivers, power becomes that grown-up infant’s drug of choice. Power addicts, perversely, are generally those least equipped to wield power.

Feminism tells women that they are powerless against “Patriarchy;” therefore, they seize power disguised as infantile “powerlessness”. However, the Dominant in any healthy reproductive heterosexual relationship is the infant.

Why exactly do homosexual relationships or relationships between individuals of whom one or the other denies that his or her sex determines one’s gender insist on the right to reproduce or adopt children, be responsible for them, and direct their outcomes? Is it about power over the next generation such as their doubtlessly abusive own parents exercised over them? Is it about indenturing a responsible and accountable servant to care for the parent in the parent’s old age?

How is that working out exactly?


I was asked recently, by a younger man (I don’t generally pursue romantic or sexual relationships with younger men Edit: but am seriously considering branching out for the right individual) what I look for in a romantic partner. Since I’m obviously a social outlier, perhaps my attitudes could represent future trends in the young women coming down the pike. Or perhaps not and that may be just as well.

Continue reading

The Crossroads

Now that Axel is finally free of his pain-ridden body and I am free of my position, there are a few possibilities as to the course of my life going forward.

Axel never wanted me to go back to Venezuela as part of the process of claiming what is mine. It is too dangerous and I might not ever return—not an indictment of my feelings for him but rather a realistic assessment of the very real physical dangers involved and risk of failure besides. However, toward the end he realized that without him, I had very little reason to care for my own person except to a) get back what is mine; b) keep the banks from getting it instead. He therefore released me as my Dominant in terms of directing my own future outcome.

Axel would have preferred, had circumstances differed, to merely hand me off to a worthy Dominant who would look after me and otherwise impede me from getting into too much trouble. However, I am not so optimistic that there will ever be anyone again with Axel’s powers over me. I can hope but it is not as if at my age and with my baggage that I am prime stuff. Moreover, my highly eccentric value system limits as to what sort of candidate would even get past that gauntlet. For example, I must insist that such a man be a tobacco enthusiast. Not just for me but for him. If he doesn’t smoke any tobacco-based product, chances are we won’t have all that much in common and it will be a dreadful exercise in futility for us both. Consider it “tobacco culture” or sort of the tip of the iceberg of my own “sacred” and relationship to God.

As for other attributes? What sort of man would even be interested in a woman who, barely “widowed”, goes right out and publishes cheesecake photos? It is not as if anyone can truly understand what it is like to have cared for a sick and dying man who effectively “left the building” as far as him being the man I knew and loved for four years. He had a series of strokes at which point he was no longer that man. He was my patient and responsibility, and out of love and honor for the man he once was I did my utmost to preserve what I could of his dignity while keeping him as comfortable as Nazi nurse allowed me. While there are some things I could have done differently, in the final analysis, I did my best.

A financial planner however might have some strong criticism for me for how I have conducted my affairs the last six months (or the last four years). Meanwhile, my “boss” was way too under the weather to be the one in charge in the end but I was loathe to take any official action in that regard. My “boss” was Axel. I knew going in that I would have to move fast, in whatever direction that was going to be, upon the moment of Axel’s death. In my view, my trip to Venezuela has the highest probability of positive outcome. Second place would be finding myself another Dominant who wants a house frau with no driving careerist ambitions.

In Axel’s honor, I shall herewith go through the motions of finding someone to “look after me,” particularly given it is quite possible that I will never raise sufficient funds to complete the Venezuela enterprise anyway. However, in this day and age, it would seem that having some sort of dowry would help more than hurt me. What do you think, dear reader? Will a man be happy to have eccentric, past my sell-date me as his mere kitchen and household slut/travel companion? Or will he expect my significant financial contribution? The way I see it, going to Venezuela is worth the risk given that without the love of Axel what is the point of mere survival? Settling? Feigning regrets at my childlessness? Getting a dose of other peoples’ religion?

(I fully intend to get as far as the Venezuelan Consulate in Washington D.C. no matter whether I receive sufficient contributions or not even if I have to sleep in my car. I will depart just as soon as I settle the estate—such as it is—or after Axel’s memorial service/scattering of ashes, whichever comes first.)

Axel wrote me a couple of beautiful letters of reference—vanilla and D/s versions—which are available in the course of serious inquires, if any. He also—inexplicably at the time, in the middle of the night—took me out for a photo session in our retirement community in Florida. I recently came upon the pictures on his computer and determined that they were intended to be used in service of soliciting a new protector for me who would distract me well enough to keep me in this country. OK, Axel, I shall post a few of them. Doing so won’t keep me in this country but it could at least offer some choice diversions.

Perhaps it will even make my trip to Washington D.C. a bit less grim.

Pretending to Putt

Caprizchka pretends she can putt

Just a bit feral

Caprizchka stands in a tree

Caprizchka stands on her own

Caprizchka stands on her own

Backed up to the illuminated fountain

Caprizchka leans back

Yes, I realize it is an unseemly for a woman of my age to wear such a short dress; however, I was wearing shorts underneath, which doubtless add to my…hip breadth. But what do you want that I should have gone to the gym instead of looking after the love of my life? And it was late at night. I am normally far more decorously composed, when outdoors, and there’s a possibility some Vanilla might see me. Naturally, I am also quite capable of letting my freak flag fly. I am also capable of getting back to the gym. However, realistically, I’m always going to be a better cook than a model, in my advanced years.

In that vein, I think that this older shot that Axel took of me captures my better attributes:

Sourdough Pizza in a Fifth Wheel

Sourdough Pizza in a Fifth Wheel

So there you have it. Perhaps this post shall inspire women in my demographic to contribute to the fund to get me at least temporarily removed from the domestic dating pool.

Then I’ll get my money upon which I’ll either have a better field to pick from (perhaps in a different country!) or I’ll be preyed on by the next international con artist. Will I ever learn?

If I fail and make it out alive there’s the matter of that small estate which, in theory, I can keep up with a part time job. Perhaps I’ll apply at one of my favorite cigar lounges. There are some nice ones around here.

Da Jooz Etc.

In my lifetime I’ve had more Jewish friends than Christian ones with “friend” meaning someone with whom I have at least shared a drink, smoke, or laugh. That’s mostly because of circumstances.

Growing up in a “mixed” Protestant family, meaning that my mother and father attended different churches—acoustics and choir director vs. charismatics, respectively—while moving every two to three years, resulted in the effect that none of the denominations I was exposed to resonated with me for very long. They included: Methodist, Presbyterian, Baptist, Quaker, Pentacostal, and some other sorts of Charismatic Evangelicals of no particular brand. Meanwhile, my father, an ordained minister who was frequently named an elder, deacon, or substitute pastor in the various churches, given his credentials, served as the pastor of our family and thereby represented himself as the conduit to God, Heaven, and morality. While buying into this wholly until I was about seven, which is when I decided to stand up to him as a means of protecting my sister from him, in the end he taught me that rhetoric does not trump actions.

I have had friends of every color of the rainbow and most nationalities and creeds. The only White Anglo Saxon Protestants I came into contact with on a regular basis as a child were either members of either of my parents’ many churches over the years or my family members. As an adult of course I had WASP coworkers but not many in my social sphere except those “broken” ones who found their way to the BDSM subculture as either passing through or well-immersed.

When my family finally moved to our first lily white neighborhood, just after I hit puberty, I was such an oddball among my peers as to be cruelly persecuted for it. Teenagers and preteens recognize “difference” even if the wrapper resembles theirs. Adults do too but are less inclined to be cruel about it only that they tend to sense something “odd” about me if they can’t necessarily put their finger on it.

Of course it was the BDSM subculture where I was to meet and fall in love with Axel, predominantly of WASP persuasion, with 1/4 Navajo blood from a grandmother he had never met.

Although I have never had my genes analyzed, it is possible, as a distant relative of Alexander Hamilton, that I do indeed have some Jewish blood, and moreover, it is probably matrilinear. Since I do not believe that “Original Sin” is inherited—or even if it is, I’ve paid with interest—my interest in my own genealogy doesn’t include any sense of debt from the activities of my largely humble and agrarian ancestors: a.k.a. “Peasants;” along with “Educators,” and The Trades. That lack of sense of debt of mine is irrespective of those of my ancestors who owned slaves and who were apparently either gracious enough or not so horrible such that today among those with my family name, the descendants of those slaves outnumber those of similar phenotype to mine. I can suppose that retaining this name signifies the lack of trauma associated with it. At least one Scottish indentured servant is represented in my family tree as well.

I believe that the only possibility of a relationship with me not being “mixed” in some way would be for him to convert to my own religion or for me to swallow my pride, honor, and disdain for language that doesn’t apply to me and convert to another religion myself. I do not have a cultural identity—not even Axel’s “biker” BDSM one (which in his view no longer existed as a culture by his standards; but then again he was a curmudgeon, which is a compliment in my view.)

While I don’t personally hold to the notion that we’re all supposed to have universal acceptance of one another it would seem that Jewish separatism is about the only white separatism that is socially justifiable today. That’s ridiculous! All groups have the right to remain closed. I can say this even knowing that any closed group in my experience requiring my conversion to their ideology before entry would exclude me. Thanks in advance for not wasting my time. I realize this stance puts my very survival in jeopardy.

I understand that the Jews feel themselves to be persecuted while taking no responsibility for their contribution to that dysfunctional relationship. In the same way that a woman with “Battered Woman’s Syndrome,” rarely takes responsibility for the choices in relationships she makes, and bed she makes to lay in. A “Henpecked man” is the same albeit our Feminist culture of today lionizes the former while ridiculing the latter.

I suppose an “Amazonian” (Germanic) WASP blonde with a reasonably good education has no reason to call herself “persecuted” except I was, and have even gone “wandering” to look for my “homeland!” I’ve been the figure on the dartboard for a host of aggrieved groups merely because of my appearance and my vocabulary. I’m capable of dumbing it down in the necessary circumstances, but why should I? I’m a self-made former teen-aged runaway. I admire self-made people. What’s the point of wallowing in victimhood unless one is merely looking for a handout? Not something I enjoy doing, but I have. I can say with some authority that I know that being hungry and not having a roof over one’s head can change a person. However, in terms of a balance sheet, my record of giving completely overwhelms the money on the charity-to-me side but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember how it feels. The position of patron is a far more comfortable one for me if out of reach in my present circumstances.

So, I invite Jews who would like the privilege of feeling both superior to me and self-righteous to donate to my worthy cause. While you’re at it, all Black women who have never had their eye nearly gauged out of jealousy, had their teeth knocked out, or set on street, or who have lived in a “hometown” most of their lives are also welcome to feel bigger than me and donate. All women who either married well or divorced well are welcome to feed me a dose of humble pie including those who are fat, short, or whatever else makes them feel especially victimized. Men who are not crippled by alimony, child support, or punitive taxation are also welcome to contribute. If you are surrounded by family and community with whom you have a sense of commonality, then, by all means, own your privilege and donate.

If you are merely curious as to whether I will prevail, and live to tell the tale, that’s OK too. Click Here.

When Prejudices Combine

Only compliant or degraded people should be allowed to reproduce. Non-compliant persons who are not yet degraded must be degraded. A non-compliant person, who is not yet degraded, is exemplified by a scientist who denies anthropogenic global warming, a white person who dares to smoke, a policeman who arrests or shoots a nonwhite person, or a man who refuses a woman anything. These are the new “undesirables” targeted by today’s Brown Shirts, who also, incidentally, are products of the Prussian style school of “educating” children. Obedience is “smart”. Disobedience is not just “undesirable” but “evil”.

Frank Davis

Breitbart UK:

British government officials are urging all low and medium security mental health units to go ‘smoke free’, effectively forcing patients off cigarettes. Clinical experts warn that making patients quit against their will is illegal, contravening the Mental Health Act and setting a precedent that could see all sorts of health procedures inflicted upon mental health patients against their wishes.

I would imagine that a smoking ban in mental health units might be very distressing for patients who are already deeply distressed. Furthermore, getting them to stop smoking means forcing upon them a form of ‘treatment’ that might run counter to psychiatric opinion. It’s a bit like requiring hospitals to sterilise patients (q.v.)  at the same time they perform unrelated operations on them. The additional intervention may increase the likelihood of complications.

None of this matters to antismoking zealots, of course.

Ms Yates also appeared on the Jeremy Vine…

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Inspired by:


I reproduce my own Disqus comment to the piece here:

I can understand how different individuals and cultures may be pro-circumcision–including female circumcision-lite a.k.a. labioplasty and even more dramatic procedures. Could it be possible that certain genetic types and/or residents of certain geographical or cultural areas might have more advantages doing the procedure than others? Some foreskins practically disappear with an erection and others have to be skinned back (thank you, Little Feat). I have a hard time believing that there is one-true-way that applies to all people everywhere, which, by the way, is in opposition to the various international human rights bodies who prohibit it without exception for women.

The reasons for circumcision for females are similar to those for men and different in other ways, specifically, it reduces certain disease risk and changes sexual response. Naturally, some circumcisions are better than others and done under more hygienic conditions than others.

Not all traditions are bad however to say that a tradition should be mandatory across the board is equally absurd.

As a woman, my preference for the state of a male’s anatomy? Clean and healthy smelling, cut or uncut.

Further reading: http://www.avoiceformen.com/male-genital-mutilation-2/milo-yiannopoulos-a-mutilated-penis-is-a-sexy-penis/




Andrew DeLaney on FGM and MGM