Race Realism

It is frustratingly frequent on the internet for me to be greeted by “race realists” under the presumption that I am one, just because I can laugh at a good race joke, and don’t think that either forced multiculturalism or welfare is moral.

Some of these refreshingly scrappy but misguided characters would appear to harbor the expectation that it would be preferable for me to become a self-sufficient Wonder Woman, or submit myself to a Catholic Convent, than to even consider a romantic relationship with an “other,” such as (oh horror of horrors) a Black man, Jew, or Mexican.

I’m going to need a moment to have a self-flagellating fit to even consider such a fate. Far better were I to marry a criminal con artist Chinese man. Oops. Been there. Done that.

On the other hand, as a member of the world’s most privileged minority, a Blonde, White American Protestant-born Woman, who hasn’t yet physically fallen apart, I realize that wherever I am to go or whoever I am to align with, catfights, whether in real life or by proxy through Oedipal-Complex-burdened menfolk, are my life going forward.

It would seem to me, however, that it is the spouses of aforementioned privileged demographic who are so pussy-whipped by same that it is far safer to focus one’s attention on issues of race than dare be less than a gentleman as concerns the Feminist or female-exceptionalism views of one’s spouse.

After all, if she’s upset, she can make his life a living Hell.

I imagine that the same dynamic applies to the Black American community. I’ll venture that the Reverend Jesse Jackson’s absurd innovation in renaming them “African Americans” was more distraction in the same vein.

I’ll venture that giving The Jews a theoretical “homeland” was more of the same.

So, without a “homeland” of my own, how the Hell am I to know where I am to go and what I am to do for the rest of my life, assuming my current impoverished but don’t-dare-actually-earn-anything-that-will-just-be garnered-in-service-to-unholy-objectives-that-exclude-me-status is not sustainable?

I have a few ideas but it isn’t as if I have a whole lot of confidence in my own instincts as concerns my own well-being after the love of my life died and my previous great farming venture in Venezuela went all to Hell. On some level, I crave something familiar but not toxic-familiar such as is the case with my own family. On the other level, I truly am the sort of woman to simply lash myself to a man’s venture such as to be useful in whatever way according to my talents, capabilities, and ability to learn that I can be so.

As for my female peers, I am not sure what’s worse—catfights or blind devotion to Leftist rhetoric. It makes me daydream about having a sex change, so that I can be a gay male or pretend to be a transwoman—a “straight” one, with a surprise surprise functioning snatch.

I am truly sad as to what has happened to the Welfare class, which is disproportionately Black in the U.S. I don’t blame race but rather The Great Society, a White Liberal invention, and but a continuation of The New Deal, a Pyramid Scheme. How it is that Leftist adventurism always has such grandiose names, like Great Leap Forward, and predictably regressive outcomes?

However, the backlash, that is, overly optimistic growth, coming out of an obliteration of culture, connection, and history, such as what was promoted by the Post World War II Nuclear Family, is but a volatility venture with a predictable looming disaster:

Similarly, the multiple-ideological consensus of the glorification of motherhood and infancy as the only allowable outcome if one has a sex life, along with the parallel disqualification of homosexuality as a moral lifestyle choice, would appear to be a trap set for men.

Since I don’t have a man to cook for and work for in terms of something worthwhile, I have plenty of room to work on my writing craft, as an outlet from my overly excitable brain combined with my jaded and discouraged viewpoint. I also keep working on my appearance in the hope that such attracts to me something more alive and interesting than the aforementioned even knowing that such is unlikely to occur here in Southwest Florida, and probably not in the U.S. either.

However, somehow, I doubt that women abroad will be delighted to meet me either, and, women are part of the package in every society except the monastery or the gay male lifestyle.

Recently, I listened to an audio program put on by young Black women of the new right:

Kira Davis talks about purifying one’s heart with forgiveness. I found it inspiring.

I agree that I need to purify my heart in terms of learning to stop blaming women for being stupid and to stop blaming men for allowing women to reach overblown influence in society, to the detriment and reduced opportunity of outcome for children.

I cannot yet however forgive The Church as an institution in terms of Monogamy, because that is a serious demographic math error and rejection of their own doctrine. Grade: C-.

The inevitable bureaucratic matriarchy is not so different from the politics of Africa, or the harem.

 

5 thoughts on “Race Realism

  1. Pingback: Race Realism – Manosphere.org

  2. if she’s upset, she can make his life a living Hell.

    This is why I am a strong advocate for always having more than one option – three works for me – others seem to be able to handle more, but I’ve always found that with three, when one punts you still get your needs met. Of course, you always have to be on the lookout for replacements – which is why three works, it gives me time for other things, like finding suitable replacements.

    But I’ve never understood why any man would put up with non-sense. I’m not saying that men are better, it’s just that women tend to have issues – of one sort or another – which I chalk up to hormones most of the time. Yeah – I’ve been called a lot of things – mostly because a squawking woman has zero power unless you give it to her. And my usual response it just to walk away.

    Anyway – when it comes to women, I have one criteria. Is she attractive to me? Couldn’t care less about race, color, or creed. Others can take issue with that. Me? I just enjoy. For the Fourth I enjoyed the companionship of a lovely young woman who’s skin was the color of special dark chocolate, but her facial features appealed to me. She did have green eyes, which stood out. But it was interesting to see how she was unsure where things were headed, although all of that disappeared with the first kiss.

    As the evening progressed I found she enjoyed a bit of race-play. Never really appealed to me long term, but once we worked out the lingo, things worked well. She enjoyed being my Nubian-princess for the evening. She’s back at school, and I’ve gotten some texts… Women are like flavorings – too much of any one thing, gets old after a while. Life is too short to take issue with unimportant things – to me, what is important is how attractive she is to me, and how much pleasure she brings to me.

    That’s why I tend not to get along with Feminists – women are for a man’s pleasure. If I want someone equal – you’re a competitor to be destroyed, I tend to allow women the choice, they can be non-entities (or at best useful pawns), or they can be a woman. Too bad that many of the older women have chosen to be non-entities, it seems only the younger women still can be as nature intended. But c’est la vie….

    Off to install a winch, it’s sad but my days of climbing a ladder with 100lbs of stuff on my shoulders are done. Enter, the winch. I never let my limitations stop me from doing what I want in life. So I’ll offer a silent prayer to the man that came up with the idea of a winch. Why do I say man? Come on… It had to be some white guy… I acknowledge the force that has made civilization possible…

    And just so that the SJW’s know what I think of them: “Yes, I’m sure that someone else thought of the idea, and may have used it for themselves, but they did nothing with it afterwards. So they are useless… I’m sure a white guy is the one that put it together and made it available to everyone. That is why white males succeed – we DO things. Everyone else just talks. So go chew nails, if you don’t like the truth…

    Ah – love google… The earliest literary reference to a winch can be found in the account of Herodotus of Halicarnassus on the Persian Wars (Histories 7.36), where he describes how wooden winches were used to tighten the cables for a pontoon bridge across the Hellespont in 480 B.C. Winches may have been employed even earlier in Assyria. By the 4th century BC, winch and pulley hoists were regarded by Aristotle as common for architectural use (Mech. 18; 853b10-13).[6]

    War is the mother of invention… 🙂 And yes, white men, excel at killing… All of the rag-head Muslims should remember that…

    • My Darling Axel was one for winches and levers. He had two dislocatable shoulders. One time on a job site a huge ceiling beam was brought in, as part of a building extension project. He told everyone to go to lunch. When they returned the beam was suspended. Of course they were all disappointed that they weren’t witness to the feat. He explained that any distraction or emoting whatsoever could have doomed either the beam, the project, the witness, or himself.

      Women often emote too much. But so do a lot of lesser men.

      Axel usually had at least three women himself–two satellites and one primary cook/housekeeper (that was me), and he liked them in every flavor as well. Unlike just about every other man I’ve known he didn’t hold it against me that I was the same. There are very few flavors I haven’t tried. But I got that all out of my system. I have no need for further “notches”. I’ve already had the best. Axel of course.

      As for me, an older woman, I suppose that I am usually a nonentity most of the time. I’m not as hot as I used to be and there are plenty of more malleable ship in the sea than me. That said, if any man were to happen along that found me of use in such a way that was not purely physical or monetary, I’d have to consider it, even if I had to pretend that we were relatives or purely platonic to others. That last would actually suit me as I tend to incite women’s vindictiveness as a proxy for all men of her past who got away, and ended up with some dopey Blonde.

      Us dopey Blondes have a pretty poor reputation with the women of the world. I think it’s Marilyn Monroe’s fault.

      By the way, it so happens that I have just finished dying my hair gray. I don’t think that’s a thing, but what would I know?

      • He had two dislocatable shoulders.

        Ow…. I remember when I had one shoulder pop out of its socket. We were out hunting, and I fell out of a tree stand – ran out of board and stupidly tried to grab a tree limb on the way down. Next thing I know I’m on the ground and I think I broke my shoulder. My Uncle looks at it and says, “Oh, I can take care of that.” Next thing I know I’m in a world of hurt, but my shoulder was back where it belonged. That was my one and only time my shoulder was dislocated. It taught me a new level of pain. Then I had to carry my rifle in the left hand.

        I have just finished dying my hair gray.

        I knew a young woman in college who at the age of 23 her hair was completely white. It really threw your perception of her – here was a woman with flawless skin and hair completely white. It was striking – so I’m willing to bet that the gray will make people look closer. The girl with the white hair is one of the reasons that when my hair started thinning long ago, I just shaved it all off. It short-circuits people’s perception of how old you are, as they have to look at your face. I suspect that is one of the reasons that young women don’t instantly reject me as “too old” – well that and the fact that I set the stage – literally…

        And I refused to be my thesis advisor that did the whole comb-over thing – he looked ridiculous. Of course, we never said anything about it but it was all I could do not to laugh when wind got under it and it hovered over his head. So when my Mother said, “You have a bald spot.” When I went back to grad-school, I cut it all off. Went from hair down to my waist to only a goatee. Made running so much easier – as well as swimming, and pretty much everything else – except for hiking in the mountains – learned the value of a nice warm hat… I thought my head would pop…

        Anyway – enjoy your new look…

        Oh, and don’t bad-mouth blondes the smartest woman I know has blonde hair that was so blonde to be almost white – her skin was almost translucent… She was and is brilliant – always loved her, always will… But we couldn’t have worked – too much alike, two dominants will kill each other, if they are lucky, or come to hate each other if not. But the heat was truly stunning. The bane of my existence – the women that truly appeal to me intellectually, are those that could never work. Fortunately, the bar for only physical attraction are low enough that I still meet a couple every few months, of course the personality types make it so that of those, finding one that is “right” still takes time, and luck – as well as knowing how/where to find them

        Well, back on my head…

        any man [snip] that found me of use in such a way that was not purely physical or monetary

        You sound like one of the women that I take to the opera, or other intellectual pursuits. Sure teenagers are fun, but when you say something that refers to the first Moon landing – it is completely beyond their experience. Of course, every time I skydive with a new young woman strapped to my chest, it’s a weekend of exhaustion. Just because it’s old hat to you, doesn’t mean that she’s ever experienced anything like it. I’ve always been a “teacher” at heart…

        Oh if you’re ever bored – go to YouTube and search for “Lacie’s Melody” you want the one with Lyrics – and English. One of the nice things about young women – they introduce you to things you never would have experienced otherwise. One is seriously into Anime… She introduced me to that song – young women are so sweet. It’s a shame that they lose the wonder… The words were/are fitting… I will miss her when it’s her time to leave… But as the song says, “The secret is inside the pain.”

      • I used to have an elderly gay male friend who would introduce me as “My friend the opera singer” even though that wasn’t true. He just thought I looked the part. So I would show up for parties at his place in long gowns and jewelry. When anyone would call me on it, I’d just roll my eyes and say, “he just says that”. And then he would start playing some old standard on the piano and ask if I’d deign to do a little pop. Polite applause.

        “She doesn’t like to talk about her true calling or cheapen it as a party spectacle,” he’d explain. “But she sure can sing the blues. Don’t you dear?” It was pretty ridiculous.

        I don’t even like the opera, except Carmen or Gilbert and Sullivan. My mother sang it and no one can touch her in that department. She gave it up for church singing. Perhaps she was tempted to stray? I’ll never know.

        Whoever introduced you to “Lacie’s Melody” is a lot sweeter than I ever was.

        Skydiving? I’m guessing you have a big strong presence. I can’t even imagine. I’m more of the canoeing, camping, and white water rafting type. Stuff that happens at ground level.

        Speaking of blondes. I think Ann Coulter is awe-inspiring. So polished and what self control. I’ll say just about anything from behind a computer, but on stage in front of a hostile audience? What composure she has!

        I think that there are different types of dominance and often limited to particular milieus. I would always be amazed to watch how solicitous was Axel with a skittish female client. When he’d get home however he’d take out all his bottled up aggression on me, in a good way. It was thrilling. Like skydiving I imagine.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s