The Complacency of Men and Feminism

My late Dominant, Axel, didn’t fully understand my anti-feminist fury. He was largely indifferent. After all, he had so many women throwing themselves at him that he could afford to be indifferent. They did what he told them to do or they were shown the door. Simple.

It wasn’t until his final months that I came to see just how much that complacency cost him (or me). It seems that his previous common-law wife either took advantage of his delirium or that he was taking out a misplaced revenge against his sister against me. I, on the other hand, was loathe to micromanage his interactions with these women given our history. I had taken a largely hands-off approach to his satellite relationships (including his family) except when he had cause to complain about them in which case I’d offer a sympathetic ear or my opinion as solicited. As far as I was concerned, this gem of a man didn’t deserve any bullshit especially considering what he would put into a relationship in terms of his time, energy, passions, etc.

Perhaps if I had been more of an interference in his life during his final months I wouldn’t be a pauper today. However, knowing myself, I don’t think I could have acted against my nature even for my own remunerative benefit. I suppose that means that I would rather be a pauper than a sexually manipulative woman. After all, no matter what transpires, I still have to live with myself, my convictions, ideals, and self-respect.

I have received an interesting offer from a man who is only slightly younger than me, and who would appear to be somewhat of a pauper himself albeit a pauper who owns a small farm. It is unfortunate that the farm is quite far away whereas I am just starting to enjoy my first Fall in Southwest Florida. Should I desire it, I could help him and serve him, and in return he would house me and give me that which I desire on a more intimate bent. I’m seriously considering it even though it would mean icy winters and snow (because I don’t actually believe in “Global Warming”). However, there is a whole lot that one can do to keep warm if one is in a satisfying intimate relationship. He’s obviously very intelligent albeit suffered a brain injury. In a way I have also suffered a brain injury albeit it is a different injury and a different sort of intentional infliction. There could be some synergy there.

Meanwhile, on a more local level, I’ve had a few pleasant meetings with pleasant men who obviously just don’t get me. I can’t blame them because I’m a tough nut to crack, albeit Axel figured me out rather quickly. That’s a tough act to follow.

It would seem that my passions for anti-feminism, tobacco, and against socialism, universalism, and therefore, “Global Warming,” are obstacles toward the sort of intimacy I desire. Anyone as passionate and verbally combative with detractors could not possibly be a low-maintenance “submissive”, right? Those men who have not had a reason to be suspicious of feminism could well be “the good guys” who “women like” and therefore, there’s no reason for them to deal with a “challenge” such as myself.

Whereas men who do have reason to be suspicious of feminism and gynocentrism and have been severely hurt by women tend to look at me with either suspicion or opportunistically. I seem to present myself as an easy target who will stay still while they exercise their frustrations on me. I’d like to think that I have learned from experience so as to protect myself from such men albeit realistically it would seem that even my beloved Axel misplaced his final angst onto me. I’m having a whole lot of trouble dealing with that. What I focus on are those of his final moments where he told me that he loved me and apologized to me even though it was apparent he was highly conflicted and suffering from incredible pain, intense narcotics, a resumption of a previous dependence on alcohol, and sleep deprivation. Combining those things with the feminine manipulations of his former common-law wife and sister was a devastating combination.

Just to make things worse, his former doctor/play partner ended up going psychotic on him. I had trusted Axel’s judgment in turning to her for care upon his initial diagnosis even though I didn’t personally trust her (she was out of her mind thanks to excessive estrogen patches, experimental cannabinoid therapies, and perhaps an organic childhood-origin psychosis as well.) She started sending him some bizarre letters which Axel took the effort to respond to exhaustively albeit it was extremely emotionally taxing to him.

Given that I believed that his activities of his final days were his choice to make I didn’t interfere albeit suggested that I be the one to write to “the doctor” such as to spare him but, he wouldn’t hear of it.

Eventually however it would seem that he was so embroiled in the pathology of these three women that he mistakenly took out his frustrations onto me as a convenient target. Fortunately, he left me with a home, a car, and otherwise a small fraction of the wealth that I invested in him when we first got started together, and then moved to California in order for him to start up a new business. More importantly, he wrote me letters of reference and even read one aloud in the presence of a hospice nurse, which I recorded. I also have the letters he wrote for public consumption on his FetLife profile and the testimony of persons who remain in my life because they didn’t entirely think of Axel as a mere icon but as also a warm and unusually inspiring flawed human being. (I’ve been slowly divesting myself of his hero-worshipers.)

My interest in anti-feminism was ironically largely inspired by Axel’s experiences with women to include his mother, sister, ex-wife, daughter, and a string of pathological girlfriends. My own experiences as well figure prominently. Before either of us came to understand that Axel’s mysterious (but reportedly “non-contagious” according to various doctors) skin condition, that he had when I met him, was squamous cell carcinoma, I was concerned about his psychological pain especially when it came to his daughter. The choice to essentially emotionally abandon an adult daughter is a terrible one to make. However, nonetheless he made himself available to her by telephone not trusting her to be in his physical presence (because she had tried to seduce him for drug money).

Whereas some people may believe that I shouldn’t write about these things in the honor of Axel’s memory, this story, along with my own tragic life history, would appear to be my most valuable possessions today. By “valuable” I don’t mean that I expect to actually make money from these stories, because they are still too painful and I am still too emotionally embroiled in them to effectively tell them dispassionately, but rather knowledge and authenticity are the most valuable possessions a person can have. Love, as an experience, in my view, is not a “possession” but rather the light which is supposed to light us all.

If I didn’t fully believe that Axel loved me and that four wonderful years don’t overwhelm the loss of a little money, I wouldn’t still be alive today myself.

That said, I don’t think it is possible for me to discard my strong political convictions today just for the benefit of some fake “Love” which comes with some measure of financial security. That would make me far too much trouble for those men who accept and are accustomed to the manipulation of most women and thereby are taken aback at my apparent lack of those “feminine” qualities they have come to expect. Furthermore, if such a man expects me to be “happy” in a gaggle of women friends, such as the wives of his own friends, he is likely to be disappointed. If I am happy just conversing in a cigar lounge with a bunch of men (and leaving alone, always) or interacting with strangers online then obviously I am going to have to find a way to make a living doing those things. Will making a living doing those things preclude the possibility that I will find love with a man who is willing to understand and possibly even adopt anti-feminism but without simply dumping his frustrations with women onto me?

That’s the million dollar question.

I don’t think that I will accept the farmer’s offer because he has confessed to being an alcoholic. It is my conclusion from observation and research that high testosterone combined with excessive alcohol consumption leads to a particularly dangerous (to me) psychosis. Ironically, in my view, the source of that psychosis is the conversion of that testosterone using alcohol as a catalyst to a more estrogen-like derivative. I’ve already had enough physical, emotional, financial, and sexual abuse from women to last me a lifetime. I don’t need more of the same from a man under the influence of the same drug.

Here is an example of such research: Alcohol and the Male Reproductive System

As for another “recovering alcoholic” like Axel was until his final months (upon which point he transformed into an exuberant alcoholic), I think that this time I would have to insist on some sort of candida cleanse or whatever it takes to neutralize the internal “vat” of a “dry drunk” even though such was a rare issue with Axel, perhaps complicated by his then-unknown illness. Perhaps a better choice for me would be a successful moderate drinker who doesn’t drink away his frustrations with women but rather finds more interesting ways to exorcise his demons, perhaps even with me.

8 thoughts on “The Complacency of Men and Feminism

    • Fair question. What passions do you have? Do they get you out of bed and onto your day? All of mine have been ripped from me myself. When I’m not here posting/reading/commenting I’m swimming, dancing, smoking, cooking, and conversing with strangers. However, in terms of “passion” anti-feminism beats all. Moreover, wherever I go, whatever I do, I am bombarded with expectations that I find that I am unable to meet such that I “fix” other people. Ludicrous.

      • Ah, I failed to remember what extreme unpleasantnesses you have had thrown at you, given your outspoken presentation of your un-PC self. Flail away, and thank you for carrying the banner. My ‘against’ passions include stupid organizational management, brainwashing by advertisers and the media, and against those who would harm children.

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  2. Allure for the mature woman (MILFs?) begins in earnest for males at about age thirteen until about the mid-thirties or so. Self aggrandizing impossible delusions and hot tales to lie about, but never love. Run for your life.

    Alcoholic farmer…Say what??? Run for your life.

    My critique and disgust with feminism would take more time and bandwidth than you or I want to spend. Women are easily duped, conned and fooled by the ways of the world. Women require the protection of authentic men.

    You’re still in the grieving stage of loss, give it more time. It’s OK, you’re OK, things will work out. Never get angry, wait for the inevitable moment and get even.

    Thanks for the uppie at Taki’s on my “Dear Martians” piece. What do you think of my attempt at satire?

    • I’m actually not a bad runner. :D. It would seem to me that just about everyone is interested in doing something or other to their “mother” and keep mistaking me for being one. I’m not. I’m just a decent listener–in real life that is. Too bad listening to men’s problems doesn’t get my juices going otherwise I’d be in great shape with a whole field to pick from. At least I get a cigar out of it sometimes. I’m a little nervous about accepting a drink (got a Mickey once–thinking about posting the story on this blog but on my other blog it just got a lot of questions I didn’t feel like answering.) Young men seem like the only ones interested in buying me a drink. Older ones must figure I’m too “empowered” to accept such a gesture.

      As for your comment, I like it. I just reread it and determined that the reason that you are not on my Following list is because your Disqus profile is private. I’m glad that I’m not the only alien on this planet. Cheers.

  3. Pingback: Prosperity and Generosity | caprizchka

  4. Pingback: Ideological Punishment of Character | caprizchka

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