Trust and Faith

If you have been following this blog for any duration you have likely learned that there is no ideology or institution that I trust, that I have no tribe, and that even my own family is suspect. If it weren’t for my memories of deep connections with some wonderful men, who, it so happens, were similarly outliers, I wouldn’t have much reason to live.

Lately it would seem that God and my convictions are my solace. God has been kind enough not to require an ideology or religion with which to reach him or Is, as Axel referred to the concept of God.

There are also some friends who, mostly, are connected to me through men who have died.

We are not always able to see things eye-to-eye.

I pray for a connection with another such male outlier, and not purely of the physical. However, Feminism has seen to it that every such connection is either a version of a tawdry “hook-up” or comes under the auspices of some religion or other that I don’t wholly take seriously.

I find that my own desire for sex, with another person, is significantly diminished given my investment in various world events. And yet I have taken some pains to restore myself to a reasonable physical condition, even though there was a period there, just before Axel died, where I had let myself go. I think that I am like a sea sponge such that when my world is toxic, I swell.

My world is still toxic but at least with a minimal social life there is not usually any reason for me to eat unless I want to, and so usually I don’t.

I have to assume that it is a gift from God that something that would appear to be a female rapist decided to make me into her project. I consider it a gift because the connection was purely virtual, that is, through the internet, and I have complete confidence in my own security.

I also have complete confidence that this particular creature is one that I am capable of killing, with either an implement, weapon, or even my bare hands.

Would such a capability make me ineligible for heterosexual love with a man who still holds a “sacred” for the concept of “femininity?” I don’t know.

It is funny because recently I was rejected for what the man had interpreted as some sort of “innocence” in me. That’s funny. Most men with the wisdom to fully observe me learn quickly that I have nothing in the way of innocence. My ability to trust and put myself in the hands of a man I love and God has nothing to do with innocence. Any man incapable of telling the difference is himself “the innocent”. I can’t afford at this time to take on a protege, regardless of his protestations of sophistication.

Meanwhile with no man to trust, and certainly no woman, I’ll keep my concentration on God. If God wants me to find or be with a man, he’ll make that a reality.

If instead I am to become a different sort of instrument, he’ll see to that too.




Fender Bender

I was recently in a fender bender that wasn’t my fault. The other car backed into me. It occurred during a date in which I was asked out to dinner but my date insisted that I do the driving. I didn’t object although this is not the sort of dynamic that tends to put me into a playful mood. If I am placed in the driver’s seat—whether literally or figuratively—I’m all business.

It is a metaphor for the population reductive nature of Feminism.

The distance to drive for this date was not great and there was no incident on the way to the restaurant. Besides, we were going out for steak, and I love steak, and so I was willing to see how things went even with an inauspicious start.

The accident occurred in the restaurant parking lot and I obtained the other driver’s apology and insurance information. Since then, I have had my car inspected such as to learn just how much repairing this unsightly gash is going to cost somebody. I have therefore already paid two hours of my time, gas, and even a bridge toll in order to find this out for an accident that I didn’t cause. I had pulled alongside the other car which had been parked, but then the driver of that car decided to suddenly back out at an angle into the adjoining space, where I was, rather than pulling straight back, or looking first.

I suppose I laughed a little inside to see that it was an Asian man and his American-of-European-extraction wife, of about my age. I had calculated that demographic math myself, back when I married The Han. There were not enough American men to go around, even when branching out to minorities, for women my age, thanks to The Vietnam War among other pressures adversely affecting the marriageable population of men. Dipping into the one-child-policy China seemed like a no-brainer, particularly given the high IQ of Chinese American immigrants.

Even with my exceedingly poor experiences, I would not eliminate the possibility of such a pairing today. In any case, such would be a fair improvement over selecting from the pool of White men who insist that White women who have not reproduced are damaged goods by default, even while single mothers are also damaged goods by default. If you guys don’t like women my age whether childbearing or childless, perhaps your mothers are to blame? I’m not her, but thanks for saving me the aggravation by making your bias clear.

The fender bender wasn’t particularly noteworthy otherwise even though as my date and I entered the restaurant, I noticed that my heart was pounding heavily. When the maitre d’ showed us to a table in the center of the restaurant crowded by other diners I objected. A booth not only feels safer and more comfortable but is more conducive to conversation.

My date, perhaps out of nervousness, then proceeded to subject me to a series of jokes in the restaurant, which I interpret as sort of a flirtatious defensiveness. Although he knew that I was not a Feminist he thought it would be funny to pretend to stick me with the check, because that’s a joke he likes to play on Feminists. It was only a momentary prank.

However, the combined shock of the fender bender plus being made the butt of several jokes for the benefit of a stranger, the waitress, caused in me an indigestion such that the delicious steak resulted in two days of intestinal upset, a vulnerability that I picked up as a result of my one-and-only-marriage from Hell to aforementioned Han.

I hadn’t had a date since Valentine’s Day wherein my (different) date had made a strangely hostile remark to the waiter, in the busy upscale restaurant, on one of the busier nights of the year. I did not find the remark amusing and was embarrassed for it, and so neither my date nor I got lucky for Valentine’s Day.

What is the point of taking a gal out to dinner if it is only to embarrass her at the least or induce emotional reactions incompatible with digestion or sex?

I had already cooked a fine meal for the latter gentleman, as a reward for his making the drive across the state the day before, stocked my place with groceries and beverages, and have thereby not made any sort of profit from that date. There was also the matter of laundry as it turns out I had made up the guest bed for him, and it was a fortunate thing that I had done so.

I understand that lots of men may be hurting and I am sorry that they are hurting however I do not believe that this obligates me to either cater to them sexually or be the butt of their jokes, in addition to my willingness to provide room, board, and chauffeuring services.

For what it’s worth, both of these men gushed over my attractiveness, which, is a dubious compliment if it inspires such rude behavior.

Some time back, through this blog, a man offered to come visit me, but he did not give me enough notice, and I had a scheduling conflict, and so I was unable to make the meeting. Since then, I’ve been given various semi-public warnings of his displeasure, which, of course, makes me feel lucky that I had had a scheduling conflict (even though that other event was cancelled after all, but it wasn’t my doing). I do not need to be made the frustration punching bag of an intemperate man apparently in need of male admiration and approval for the dubious achievement of engaging me, failing to provide adequate notice before meeting me, and then compounding that error by making false assumptions about me in a semi-public manner.

Surely this man could not be at a loss for more masochistic female attention than what I could have summoned? I suspect that his real prize however was to be the admiration of other men for overcoming my defenses. Gay?

Mr. Steak has told me that he has cancer and is dying and so surely that would entitle him to a kiss and hug from me at least? Interesting approach. My guts continue to rebel at the notion. I’m sorry he’s dying. We’re all dying. He’s twenty years older than I am. Demographically he is in the driver’s seat as the women well outnumber the men therein. However, for some reason, he chose me as someone with whom to spend his diminishing returns. Can I go on like I’m going on for twenty more years? No. Something has got to give.

Meanwhile, my own overtures toward men of my own interest have been similarly ham-handed and probably justifiably rebuffed.

Or maybe they are simply dealing with their own baggage which has nothing to do with me.

I am only a bargain for the sort of man willing to deal with the various psychological phenomena remaining as souvenirs of malevolent hypnosis and PTSD which have effectively enslaved me for many years. Axel was able to actually beat most of it back and he was happy with me besides. Under him we both saw improvement in my condition. However, Axel easily could have been the last of his kind, that is, a benevolent Svengali to me, the otherwise rudderless vessel, with the exception being my dedication to this blog.

Another man who I had met and was prepared to meet again started to get weird with me through emails, that is, pretending to have power over me that he had not yet demonstrated that he was able to summon in person. I guess this was sort of a seduction tactic on his part which backfired. I think that it was also sort of a method of motivating his own interest. The unfortunate effect of long distance relationships is that I don’t accept electronic communication as a substitute for actually meeting, face-to-face, and am therefore uncomfortable with it already. It wasn’t really his fault for hitting the wrong note, that is magnifying the pressure, however a wrong note hit that early for me destroys my own motivation.

How was I to drive the considerable distance to meet him under that level of emotional pressure?

I do not know how to go about shopping for a body shop to repair my fender bender. It has been over twenty years since I even had to deal with such a situation which also was not my fault. I hope for a handsome and engaging body shop employee, who, like Axel, insists on doing the driving, has no present urge to reproduce children who would not have any hope in their own futures, and possesses an attention span.



Wrong Place, Wrong Time

The problem with dating men on The Right, and this is new to me, I admit, is that they tend to have more rigid paradigms in terms of behavior expected from women. Thus far, I have failed to make much in the way of inroads given that my behavior, thoughts, and beliefs are not what they expect.

It is too late to attempt to shelter me from any form of reality, and I’m neither accustomed to nor comfortable with much in the way of chivalry beyond, say, picking up the check. However, such an action is not an invitation to ridicule me, or the waitstaff, in my opinion. Rather it is a matter of compensating me for my rapidly diminishing sexual market value, time, and consideration, while I decide whether it would be in my interest to a) continue the relationship; b) intensify it; c) convert it to something else like friends, with-or-without benefits; or d) discard it outright. Contributing to my comfort in any way at least makes that process pleasurable. However, if it is counteracted by contributing to my discomfort except for what is hopefully an escalating erotic tension I would just assume pay for my own drinks and meals, thanks, and amuse myself.

As for any equalists who may have inadvertently stumbled on my blog, I’ll include the advisement that I have already picked up the check, housing, wardrobe, and even startup business expenses in more than my share of romantic relationships already and am currently all tapped out. Neither can I, say, produce any fruit of my loins for purposes of exploitation. I like to think I possess some skills of entertainment such as to make a relationship with me worthwhile, with such skills including life enhancement skills of one sort and another to escalate commensurate with the pace of the relationship.

I even, for the moment that is, have a suitable place to entertain.

I understand that my deep and extensive knowledge of nutrition is not generally appreciated given that conservative men nowadays generally either heed their doctor’s advice or get their nutritional philosophy from professionals. I understand that my knowledge of feminism, and all of the pathology it both stems from and creates is not particularly erotic or romantic fodder. My past relationships are about the only topic most people are interested in anyway, whether credulously or incredulously; however, surely they are more than a little intimidating.

The question I cannot answer however is just how these two men managed to persuade me to surrender my will so completely, particularly given the evident strength of said will.

A man has either got it or doesn’t. I suppose I could train but that wouldn’t likely end up benefiting yours truly. Surely, I cannot be expected to just give away a lifetime of knowledge for the price of a drink, or even for free in a Skype session. A short attention span on his part means that all exchanges are doomed. However, such is what our smartphone culture has made an essential characteristic. Without the ability to filter, how does one navigate the constant assault on one’s attentiveness? For some, it would appear to be by the act of holding forth on his particular field of knowledge as if I am an eager student.

Do I truly look that sheltered or innocent? Apparently so. That’s my youth dew. It’s a mixed blessing.

Once the extent of my damage becomes apparent then it is going to take a lot of persuading to show that I am neither a danger to him or myself or that my “triggers” are not commonplace. Therefore, there is no need to be overly solicitous, just please, there’s no reason to constantly challenge me, as if I were a man or a feminist.

Honestly, I would love to be able to just head right to the sex part, if there’s chemistry, but surely my reticence to just dive in is understandable. Right? Again, I am not a man nor am I a feminist. That doesn’t mean that I’m a prude. We can even talk about sex if he can handle the pressure. Perhaps I can help with that.

Or perhaps the game ought to be who ends up begging for it first. Hint: It had better be me.


Traditionalism is Not a Dirty Word

Unless one is a futuristic equalist idealist, then, of course, all challenges are toxic.

While some “tradcons” may get their cues from some sort of idealized post-World War II, ticky-tacky where men take the morning train, and women are consumerist princesses, in the D/s world of my experience, the whole point is for the man to be not only the leader but to set the tone, morals, and spirit of the relationships to include religion or the lack of it. The woman is expected to not only work to earn whatever protection and provisioning the man’s presumably (but not necessarily) excess capacity for same might allow her, but to maintain a charm and grace as a means of competing with other women who may similarly garner his attention, in a polygynous framework. In recognizing his leadership and superiority, her role is supplicatory rather than predatory.

The idealized Star Trek alternative of complete equality in all things is, I contend, an Oedipal adaptation such that men are not required to exert themselves any more than the strongest woman is capable of exerting herself, and to subvert their presumably superior rationality and intelligence in favor of joint decisions with their equalist princess. In this way, they best their own fathers, that is, metaphorically castrate them, while simultaneously castrate themselves.

Government, in its grand perfection, steps in to modernize this technological adaptation over biology.

In short, they put their women on pedestals as superior to “tradcon” women. Hey, whatever gets you pussy, fellas, but, don’t expect the rest of us to buy it.

In my view, the point of all romantic relationships is to bond beyond the mere rational such as to form a relationship with God. If God does not exist however, then the sexes are completely equivalent, except when they aren’t, and there is no conflict within the Oedipal mind in terms of his own status as a superior being. For only a superior being would be able to attract a Goddess completely free of all the psychological baggage of mere mortal women, who raises her young men like a reformed Rhea Silvia would have raised Romulus and Remus, had it not been for their evil uncle Amulius.

Romulus and Remus thereby grow up completely protected and coddled and otherwise indistinguishable from Rhea Silvia herself.


Feel Nothing

With each attack on humanity, out comes a wave of commands to feel sorry, guilty, forgiveness, passivity, and submission. Those on the Left are commanded to feel afraid of anyone white who doesn’t unquestioningly obey such a command. Anyone who is white and does not unquestioningly obey the Leftward leaning mainstream media is Hitler and therefore must be crushed.

At some point, surely, the treacle will become unpalatable.

I’m sure it won’t do any good to say this but treacle is not an aphrodisiac to a normal person. Maybe I’m biased to presume that I am at all “normal” in this revulsion. Hostile humor likewise causes me to recoil even if it is probably the natural backlash to a world of treacle.

Humor is also about the only acceptable outlet even if or even especially if it offends the Left, as dangerous as that may be in terms of the possibility of a special snowflake feeling so offended as to sue.

Attacks on the mind and heart by The Left, aided by attacks on bodies by the Islamists, tell me that these two interests are not mutually exclusive. It would even be expedient to their interests for Leftists to encourage, train, and equip vulnerable Islamist nutcases, i.e., the only population permitted to both hate and do violence onto the enemies of The Left.

These enemies are Nationalists, White Heterosexual Male Supremacists, Christians, entrepreneurs, rational thinkers, and anyone else apparently immune to the hypnosis purveyed by George Soros and all organizations being funded by or desirous of funding by him.


Excess Guilt

When unmarried women “of a certain age” outnumber available men, it would seem that a peculiar psychological effect occurs. This, to me, would be the widespread social expectation of guilt for the straits of these “ladies”. It’s an anti-sexual, emasculating effect which affects everyone, including persons belonging to other demographics. I believe that it is the primary driving force behind Feminism, to include “rape culture”.

While certainly greedy persons not belonging to this demographic may choose to encourage, fan, foster, and exploit it, it is a case of the truism: for every excess biomass there exists a predator. (Paraphrased from memory from Against the Grain: How Agriculture Has Hijacked Civilization by Richard Manning.)

Fortunately, there are a few generous men who make it their business to service this demographic, and by “business” I don’t necessarily mean monetarily although of course that’s the case as well. For Axel, it was more like “a hobby”.

Since I am in good physical health, apparently still attractive to men, and am in the upper echelon of measurable intelligence, I too am supposed to feel guilty for utterances which do not take into account the surplus of victims of all sorts in my midst. At the least, I am frequently admonished of this. Since I am a white female, I am assumed to be privileged by extension unless I am physically deformed, stupid, or gay. Well, those privileges ran out some time ago and therefore if I were to pretend to “virtue-signal” it is likely to come out hollow. That doesn’t stop the ironically “paternal” admonishments that I should start to do so. I wonder if any of these busybodies will even notice if I end up homeless in a ditch due to lack of opportunities for my less-than-capable-of-farming-pity self.

Of course, men have it worse.

At least there are still a few men who make it their business to cater to the likes of me, sometimes to obscene degree, and then wonder why their fawning obsequiousness doesn’t result in my sexual arousal. Does excessive flattery work on other women?

As for the prevailing abundance of gigolos, I’m just not interested, even if I could afford them. I’ve had it too good already to settle for anything less than stellar besides.

Since most people don’t have the attention span to bother to probe beneath the top layer of an archetype, represented by appearance, class, and origin, I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised that various local men are starting to get up their courage to give me a shot. After repeated casual exposure I must look like a reasonable prospect.

It doubtless does not even occur to them that I have led the broad and exotic life that I’ve led and therefore merit a degree of caution. I find that men who are not in the least bit cautious about me earn my disdain. There is every reason to be cautious of anyone with my broad experiences. The big question is, of the pool of men willing to take the plunge and who exhibit the proper caution, how many of them are off the scale in terms of Dark Triad characteristics?

Are these not the very men who have developed resistance to the prevailing climate of guilt? I don’t doubt that enslaving men outright is next on the agenda. The idea that their “mistresses” will be either wise or capable is ludicrous. Should the tables be turned, I hope that I am either found to be of use or quietly put out of my misery.



I Walk the Line

I’ve been practicing some of my old dance routines lately. No, I never had a “career” of it, but a childhood of constant social disruptions engendered in me an active solo self-entertainment-generation persona. I’ve even danced for an audience on more than one occasion, such as to raise money for a cause that I believe in, and, didn’t do half badly! Mostly, however, my audiences have been very small.

I’m less likely to get in trouble with it—dancing that is—when I dance all alone without even a mirror.

Sometimes I imagine that I am dancing on a tightrope. Lately, rhetorically, I am dancing between ideologists of two persuasions within the anti-feminist perspective, on several different tightropes, that is, several different rhetorical polarizations.

I believe that most of these sorts of polar opposite positions can be diagrammed mathematically such that when one side gains more political and economic critical mass than the other, there is a sudden, dramatic pendulum swing. I hope that when such a thing happens that I am not forced to choose between either of two ideological extremes who will not approve of what I may couch as ambivalence such as to violently either subject me to or withhold from me energy I may require for survival. For this would either result in my violent submission or violent rebellion, which is where my true ambivalence lies.

However, just the same, if I am to achieve any sort of willful orchestration of my future, I think it is time that I attempt to articulate my personal position, which, will doubtless result in the various ideologues attempting to rationalize me into changing it.

Generally speaking, I resist spending a lot of time with young people a.k.a. “minors”. I understand that even though this blog is flagged for adults only, there are plenty of young people who are capable of accessing it. However, I don’t have any particular motivation to be completely silent particularly when nearly all live human interaction I engage in lately tends to be dramatic, and so I ration those encounters according to my energy level, specifically in terms of the efforts required to maintain forbearance in the face of ideological atrocity.

This is not my way of saying that I don’t “like” children, only that it is not my desire to be a “role model” intentionally or accidentally to “children” of all ages, nor is it my obligation to either “educate” or “be educated” by them. The uncomfortable question that is likely to occur is not one that I have an answer for that won’t enrage somebody, or make somebody uncomfortable, or cause a parent or caring adult to violently remove that child from my presence or to do the same to me.

It has become apparent to me that in the Breeder vs. Nonbreeder ideological debates that there are blind spots that cannot be rationalized away or even rationally revealed to the holders of these blind spots.

It is useless to explain that one way to destroy a culture is to deliberately push the irrational blind spots into either extreme direction. Since I am incapable of obliterating my own knowledge and experiences in the world, then it is useless to attempt to force me to gaslight myself, even if, everyone would feel better if I did.

It is useless to attempt to shame me into believing that I am not a woman, not loved by God, selfish, physically flawed, obligated to be silent, obligated to commit suicide, obligated to be either a childcare giver, prostitute, or celibate for the crime of choosing not to reproduce.

Ironically, I believe that the tension of my tightrope is due to the tripartisan consensus between The Church, the Secular Feminist State, and the Anti-Feminist “Equalist” resistance to outlaw the following:

  1. The marital state of what is commonly referred to as “polygamy,” to mean more-than-one-wife-at-the-same-time, albeit perhaps more accurately referred to as “polygyny.”
  2. Patriarchal privatized prostitution.
  3. Slavery.

I’d be OK in either of those scenarios but only if all three were legal. Since that is not the case, I decline to articulate my personal choice, such as to limit my opportunities for survival and love, or to allow blind ideologues to rule over me.


Amidst all the angry and violent rhetoric, if words are our new “sticks and stones that break our bones,” there is no silence in public discourse. Missing a mere moment of the spectacle could be hazardous, of course, and that might be the whole point of it. It is an extortion, like a bully on the way to school, demanding attention, time, and even “caring” in lieu of lunch money (albeit ofttimes that too).

Peace, quiet, and contentment are the enemy here, that must be crushed and eradicated in others.

Any value not within the aegis of the bullies must be confiscated, destroyed, or both.

Each silent person represents an affront to all those demanding affirmation, validation, agreement, admiration, and acceptance, as well as monopolization of the narrative.

Charity, to include volunteering “a sympathetic ear,” or “advice” can never be assumed to be free of agenda. When these gifts of time require labor in gratitude or some other show of allegiance, however, there is a point where such gratitude may be exhausted. That is, to say, it is not infinite. Neither is a life or its energy infinite.

I do not blog here out of gratitude to my followers. I blog here out of gratitude to those who died while showing me that I was loved and appreciated even though I failed to save them. I also blog as a show of allegiance to those who still live, so that they know that I exist as well.

I also blog in order to be a thorn in the side of all those determined to silence all dissent or to ascribe agendas to me that do not exist as a means of spreading the guilt and self-loathing which motivate them.



The Big Bad Wolf

One way to shelter both women and children from the cold cruel world is to regale them with grim fairy tales (by the Brothers Grimm for instance). Scare tactics such as these can serve to keep young innocent creatures close to home.

The fairy tale of men’s sexuality being all-encompassing such as to even subsume morals and ethics is a big bad wolf indeed to keep one’s loved ones from wandering into the forest.

Meanwhile, a well-preserved over-aged child determined to prove her intellectual and moral superiority over all who might hear can turn out to be a holy terror. So long as the state is prepared to step in should she start to feel bad about her husband’s roving eye then her shrill sanctimonious demeanor has nowhere to go but up. Such is one of the hazards of church and state-sanctioned monogamy.

Compensating a woman’s diminishing sexual value with education causes her to feel intellectually superior as well, to pretty much everyone, and then mistake that feeling for wisdom.

Some husbands successfully navigate the tightrope of flattering and sheltering their wives just enough, to include the husband’s escape valves with lesser women in terms of class. Class, generally speaking, results in more sheltered children in the higher classes than the lower ones such that wisdom of “fallen” women often exceeds that of the pedestalized.

Eventually however class-tiered sheltering begins to break down in a society, particularly as wealthy wives start engaging in follies such as child and prostitute rescue as a hedge against their own diminishing sexual market value or guilt with regard to their own moral failures.

For some, the temptation to use their own children as a means of attracting either sexual attention, monetary favors, or even just mere flattery or class preservation, might even motivate a wise husband to send his children elsewhere.

None for me, thanks.

These dynamics complicate further in blended families, with adopted children, or even the concept of “ward” of an older child.

Fortunately, there are jobs such as the neighborhood crossing guard where she can sneer at all men driving fast cars with the wall of children in her charge that she can summon at will. Provided those men are one’s competitors whether in business or for one’s pool of prostitutes or prospective mistresses then the husband wins in this exchange.

However, if it is your witch who she threatens with such a tactic, then let it not be your children who she summons for the wall. Consider this a friendly warning, to, currently, four different men. (Why do these things happen to me in clusters?)

I am grateful to some very bad men for taking me as “ward” such as to be unmoved by scare tactics both created by and for vain, insufferable women of threatened sexual market value. Thank you for protecting me from those women and thank you for protecting my “spiritual” daughters, sons, sisters, and brothers from same.