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.


Margaret Sanger Was Framed!

I am inspired by a Mike Wallace interview of Margaret Sanger today and wonder how many quotes attributed to her were planted and fabricated by entrenched interests with less than holy agendas:


The video starts out as an ad for unfiltered Phillip Morris cigarettes. I love the ad.

Filters on cigarettes disguise the presence of cheap fillers and substandard tobacco. Cheap product is inevitable after all the taxes added in by overblown agendas of all sorts, in order to pay for their overblown agendas. It is a tax on smokers to pay for Dogooderism, specifically, “anti-smoking bureaucracy” which tends to attract women as employees and administrators.

The smoke itself is also more likely to offend. It’s stale and cheap.

Smoking cessation chemical and pharmaceutical manufacturers step in to form public/private partnerships. They hire women preferentially too, such as to force prisoners, mental hospital inmates, school children, and all other captive individuals to listen to these product shills promoting fabricated statistics.

Must listen to the women! Doesn’t matter that they’re peddling complete crap. Not allowing them uninterrupted access to our minds is somehow “unchivalrous”.

Nicotine, like any phytochemical, is no more addictive than any other phytochemical. Some phytochemicals are estrogenic; whereas nicotine is testosterogenic and provides benefits to cognition, mental focus, and anti-plaque of the brain. Hence it has been the preferred contemplative aid to writers and storytellers since it came to exist.

Whereas women who demand that everyone listen to whatever they have to say regardless of their own addiction to affirmation that they are paid to indulge is a matter of values not Science.

If nicotine was so addictive, so many smokers would not find it possible to quit smoking with no “help” from Dogooders or chemicals at all! Besides, there’s always the nicotine in tomatoes, eggplant, and califlower if one wants to stimulate one’s brain to produce anti-Dogooderism wit, assuming that comedy can survive forced pandering to regressives demanding that entertainment and expression of all sorts be “filtered”.

When smokers are unable to afford cigarettes except those comprised of stale tobacco, then two things are likely to occur:

  • Foul-smelling cheap cigarettes reinforce the idea to Dogooders that “tobacco is bad”.
  • Bootleg cigarettes containing better quality tobacco appear, as promoted by criminals, by definition. ‘Criminals are bad! Tobacco is bad!’ shriek the regressives.

Men idly contemplating anything rather than pandering to the women around them looks like a problem that “Science” can solve. The cigarette becomes the hot, slim, and sexy competitor to the Feminist agenda of universal male enslavement, along with the enslavement of all attractive young women to monopolist agendas.

However the regressives also say that Black is good and White is bad! Therefore, when a very small time tobacco criminal dies, then, it must be White people’s fault! Bad bad White Men!

I think it is hilarious that it turns out that a Black female sergeant has been charged with not effectively supervising the arrest of Eric Garner. Her fellow officers of course chivalrously defend her because she is an attractive young woman. Perhaps she is not intrinsically qualified to supervise anyone simply from Blackness or Femaleness. Or perhaps she is not tall enough to see!

Chivalry is not quite dead…yet.

What Pro-Lifers and Pro-Choicers can both agree on is that regressives, single women with children, young women driven by hormones, and most failed women in general, are easy to pander to by rhetoric alone, or you can lift them up on your shoulders.

Thank God for Citizen Ruth. The bottom line is money, honey. Even a glue-sniffer could figure that out.

Women are good! Men are bad! Women need more babies! Women whose only claim to societal usefulness is reproduction are, as Ann Coulter points out, narcissistic. https://youtu.be/QI3FE4pI_kw

Here’s a little uncomfortable demographic trend math from my lips to your ears, Dear Reader:

As regressives increase in numbers, they engage in mob actions such as BAMN. Regressives can be found among each and every ethnic group.

Throwing more babies at regressives who depend on mob knee-jerk reaction to all “bad” ideas defies rationality, unless one is profiting from mob knee-jerk reactions.

As I continue to watch the Margaret Sanger interview, I take note that Sanger has a stronger grasp of Arizona agricultural conditions than do most virtue-signalers condemning the words of Russell Pearce:

“A lot of lazy people seem to have mistaken the government for a charity. That’s not how things were meant to work,” Pearce said. “And food stamps are draining the budget faster than it takes a drunkard to kill a bottle of whiskey. And this is not the case with Arizona alone, this is going on nationwide. We need to put this under control or else we’re looking at bankruptcy. And everybody is making jokes about it instead of trying to find a solution. Well, I have.”

Pearce then went on to explain how “we need to limit food stamp access to women who have been sterilized,” and how “that’s the only way of separating the ones who are willing to work for food from those who aren’t.” Asked whether that means women will, effectively, be made to give up the prospect of having children in the future simply because of the fact that they’re poor, the former state senator replied, “In order to be able to feed a baby, you first need to be able to feed yourself. That’s a pre-requisite in this case. What can I say, there’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

Senator George McGovern apparently disagreed with Margaret Sanger’s mathematically-driven conclusions that there are limits on what land can produce in terms of crops. Chemical fertilizers and gas-guzzling machinery comprised his “Green Revolution” in order to produce crops as promiscuously as regressive babies popping out of regressive mothers.

The “filter” on nutrient deficient food such as to disguise its empty taste is the suppression of taste buds by means of poor training of those taste buds from formula to commercial baby food. Even if that junk is free.

If you have no taste then you don’t miss what you’ve never had, except that it will be forced upon you with promiscuous consumption movies and “entertainment” such that all it takes is a sledgehammer to your neighbor’s door and all that yummy “taste” can be yours.

Arizona as a state, then as now, defies quantity of agricultural yield (paid for by monopolist multinationals with an eye toward generations of dependence), except that which is trucked in.

Sheer numbers of regressives benefit a host of entrenched interests, from The Church to The Bureacracy, from the Democratic Party to Lotharios, from the door to door saleswoman (or her son), to the one collecting for “charity”, from Industrialists to Slavers.

Elite investors of course benefit from the volatility of forcing inflated populations upon each other.

How many women does any society need? Lots of them! The stupider the better. In that sense Muslims Are the True Feminists.

Anything that might disturb the quietude of regressive women must be filtered away or covered in a burkha. There there. You don’t have to look at or listen to that! Now spread em, Baby.

The Government Harem awaits you with open arms. All you need to do is make more of you, and money like goodness will rain down upon you.

Pay no attention to bad women like Margaret Sanger who understand simple math. Math is bad.

She just had to be a bad eugenicist. Right? I was wrong. I admit it. I was fooled.

Trucking in regressive population overflow from Latin America and Islamic countries won’t cause the Arizona desert to bloom with anything good-er than bodies.

Television and Katrina

When I watch what is happening in Venezuela these days I remember what it was like living there, particularly in Caracas which is where most of the action occurs. The Han and I lived in the sector known as “Altamira” for six months. Also stayed in some other parts briefly before moving to our farm in Estado Barinas.

For what it’s worth, there has never and probably never will be a fireworks spectacular that can beat what I’ve experienced on numerous occasions in Caracas.

For most of that six months, The Han and I stayed in a penthouse, which, sounds nicer than it was although the view was incredible. By incredible, I do not mean breathtaking, although fortunately the near view, that is, the part less obscured by smog, was a park and so the air quality was not quite horrific.

When we left the San Francisco Bay Area, putting all of our belongings to include two cars into two shipping containers, Katrina had just happened. HDTV-ready television sets were also on their way. I listened to talk radio frequently to include Democracy Now, and left-of-center commercial programming. Public service announcements with regard to the need to trade in one’s television interspersed with man-on-the-street commentary within the sphere affected by Katrina, to include the travails of persons herded, moved, and abandoned, would inspire the mantra which The Han and I developed:

Time to Go!

I’ve been a student of cult-indoctrination and mind-control techniques ever since I determined that I was particularly susceptible to the latter. Whereas, close-knit groups in general held limited appeal for me—not because I didn’t hope to find one that I liked but rather that they would continuously disappoint me as overly female-dominated—therefore I shied from actual rather than reluctant “leaders” of such dynamics, for the most part.

It was evident that I was susceptible toward a hypnotic thrall when it came to individuals with less than overriding group domination ambitions, that is “outsiders”. I’m fairly certain that this susceptibility is a combination of genetics and childhood experiences, to include a vivid imagination and thereby susceptibility to daydreaming. Specifically, a low natural endorphin level plus high intelligence makes directed hypnosis from a highly intelligent individual particularly enthralling. By “intelligent” I mean high brain wave activity presumably capable of high-level thinking, whether of mechanical or rhetorical nature.

Since I recoil from most group dynamics and am otherwise suspicious of all reflexive conditioned “belief systems” that result in sort of a look of rapture on the believer’s face as the rhetoric is chanted, when I first started hearing about television which was about to instantly become more hypnotic than it used to be, I was gravely concerned.

Ironically, at the time, I was unaware that I was being hypnotized and otherwise manipulated on a regular basis by The Han himself. I’m certain he found it amusing just how perceptive I was on one hand and blind on the other. This is a function of what is known in Hypnosis study as “sealing”. Sealing prevents both hypnosis from competing parties and knowledge that one is being hypnotized. I still haven’t figured out how the sealing process was performed with me only that the seal became loosened over time as a function of my relationship with Axel.

Trauma and disruption of various sorts is all a part of the hypnosis and sealing processes. The trauma of Katrina for those persons affected, or any mass disruption which causes loss of identity and mass migration, can cause heightened susceptibility to charismatic personalities and rhetoric.

These factors are a matter of daily life in Venezuela.

One of the ways that I am “different” from most women my age in the U.S. is that I have come to recognize symptoms of trance as relates to television programs. In person, a sort of rapture appears on the face as a childish voice describes the wonders of a particular television program; or, conversely, an authoritative voice repeats some piece of Leftist/Globalist/Socialist rhetoric, which is anti-Christian, anti-male, and anti-White; or unquestioningly Healthist or Science-ist.

In terms of my influence over Axel, persuading him to leave the television off and to not install one when we moved I consider to be a high achievement. He would remark occasionally how much better he felt not having one around. Instead, we would entertain ourselves in other ways, to include streaming of movies and clips, alternative media, and pornography, as well as a hefty DVD collection of that last.

That said, it is evident to me that those U.S. men who I would call masculine would appear to have less in the way of hypnotic mannerisms when discussing television, if television is discussed at all.

In terms of the development of masculine identity, it is my understanding in terms of psychology that it is a continuation of the separation of self from caregiver that begins at about aged two in both boys and girls. Whereas girls never fully separate from mother in terms of separate identity, heterosexual masculine men do. Those who fail to make this separation essentially operate with a stronger or more overriding Oedipal complex, which is regressive, or narcissism.

Lack of mothering, perversely, can be as regressive as excessive mothering, with both lack and excessive mothering a symptom of regressive impulses in the mother. It would appear to me that daughters of regressive mothers, which is the norm in the West, particularly desire maternal affirmation between each other, and that various rote affirmations are learned and repeated from television.

Men, as a means of controlling women, for good or ill, learn to mimic these maternal television affirmations. It is like a rooster who imitates the sounds that a mother hen makes, and this is what good roosters do. All the hens will prefer to follow the rooster who makes the nicest sounds such that the alpha rooster won’t tolerate another rooster who dares to compete at that level within close earshot. Essentially, this gives men who have the greatest rhetorical skills disproportionate power over susceptible women.

Combining hypnotic rhetoric with the high-density television image would appear from my vantage point to be particularly effective, and off-putting to me. It is an essential element of my own alienation from Western Women. It also is the ingredient which makes me the most “unknown” to men. Since there are no magic out-of-the-box affirmations which serve to control me I am perhaps wisely considered to be not worth the risk.

I am “sealed”.

Sour Grapes

I wish that I had been born of a strong Patriarchal family with a mother who dedicated her life toward supporting her children and husband in their processes of maturing into happy and effective human beings. I wasn’t. Oh well. This sub-optimum genesis of mine might have something to do with my general dismay when it comes to female-dominated groups. I’m somewhat loath to myself dominate such a group, except as absolutely necessary. That is, I would be delighted to be enlisted to work for a clear practical objective rather than something that gets me all hot and tingly.

I’d need a strong patriarchal advisor in order to keep me on track.

It is entirely possible that my reasons for largely shunning the company of women or pussy-whipped men are of the “sour grapes” variety, because, after all, I’ve tried, and tried, and tried, became repulsed, and stopped trying.

Now here I sit typing, basically a captive of my current circumstances, and otherwise more than a little bitter about the world around me. However, on the positive side, rather than living in a glass house, throwing stones does seem to make my life a bit more tolerable particularly since when stones are thrown back at me it adds excitement and challenges to my existence such as to distract me from misery. Lovely compliments are nice too as well as meeting of the minds and otherwise discovering that I am not actually alone in the universe even if physically I am mostly alone.

All that said, I think it is high time that people recognize on both sides of the Feminism spectrum (the pros and the antis) that most “misandry” and “misogyny” is just sour grapes. Persons who have not made heterosexuality into an overall success story tend to have some bitterness, justifiable or no. In my view, a lot of that bitterness is justified to be thrown at the feet of Gynocentric Utopianism which spawned Monogamy, Feminism, and centralized power over diverse belief systems such as to constrain them into those ideologies. Therefore, I’m more comfortable blaming those ideologies over blaming entire sexes, or “outlaw” adherents of sexuality/gender identity themselves, or races, even though the regressive elements of all demographics have been swept into the Leftist/Fabian agendas.

When it comes to belief systems however, as much as I may criticize Christian Churchians for their Gynocentrism, Utopianism, Monogamy, and thereby susceptibility to regressive agendas of all sorts, I do not want to see them fall to either Judaism or Islam, with Islam, in my view, being the more maniacal scourge like some sort of Candidiasis of anaerobic destruction.

I don’t think that sort of yeast would make for a very palatable wine.

Not Too Proud to Work

This video inspired a flood of memories for me: Women Overvalue Themselves – TFF Episode 39 by Janice Fiamengo.

When I got into technical writing, in the ’80’s, in the computer software and hardware industries, it was mostly male-dominated and engineers. I got in as more and more women did the same. Meanwhile, male technical writers started to move into multimedia or web design. I am not an engineer but I did very well in terms of my prestige and pay grade in the field in terms of single-source design and otherwise improving accuracy and efficiency in the markets where I worked. Whereas according to my interpretation of studies cited in the video, women in tech might be overpaid, in my case I had stock options, raises, performance reviews, letters from customers, letters of reference, and even awards as evidence that I was worth every penny. I would read the specifications and internal documentation produced by engineers, examined the product, and then produced a list of questions which I would walk through the company in order to obtain the answers, almost entirely from men, followed by outlines, drafts, and review copy which I would circulate until highest possible degree of confidence (with yours truly often being that final arbiter in a small company with tight release schedules) was achieved.

I would try to be both charming and efficient about my work, and since I learned fast, would quickly gain broader respect throughout the company such as to be somewhat of a curiosity if not an internal design, development, and quality assurance resource, a position which I found personally gratifying. However, although customers would write letters about how pleased they were with my output I would resist invitations to meet them. Since I considered it my job to find out all of the skeletons in the closet of a product but either frame them as desirable, list them for future resolution in release notes, or pretend they didn’t exist, according to management directive, I wasn’t sure how well I would stand for anything like customer interrogation without caving and otherwise betraying my employer.

Throughout my career, although I was attractive enough to have a very active dating and romantic life, I never received anything that could be even broadly called “sexual harassment” on the job. There were a few hamhanded requests for dates which I turned down, but no negative results. Furthermore, any “shaming” was usually in terms of competitors for my position or similarly unholy objectives having nothing to do with misogyny or “patriarchy”, and I would often rise to those challenges such as to turn the tables. I stood by my work even taking blame where I had failed or made a mistake but usually triumphing in such disputes, often with the backing of management or administration (or whoever realized how much money I had saved the company when lesser writers were replaced by me). My “self esteem” was developed according to results and good will not some sort of government-paid or media-driven initiative. My female coworkers however often had different and conflicting or even Machiavellian agendas.

However, I am not representative of women in tech because not only did I have no ambition to have children, I wasn’t personally sexually attracted to geeks without game. Those that had “it” I found intimidating and besides they usually had more pussy being thrown at them than they could handle, so I didn’t bother with them to the point of outright resisting providing the professional favors solicited by them, unless there was a professional quid pro quo. Whereas the women were offering no such favors in their guile to obtain “chivalry” even from me, “because you’re so smart!”

Such interruptions from female coworkers prompted me to produce internal FAQ guides on how to use one’s computer and a pile of them sat on both my desk and the IT manager’s of various companies. Interesting it was usually the IT manager who possessed the most game and thereby we would usually form a professional and personal alliance in order to protect each other’s productivity from female poaching.

Further separating me from my female coworkers was that I had no desire to move into a management or administrative role. I just liked the technical writing work itself whereas training others usually amounted to being downsized in favor of one’s trainee. I saw this exact effect happen to others, often to my inadvertent benefit.

It was women who held back my profession, in my view, and it was women who lowered standards of technical writing such that it largely became an offshored or HB-1 visa profession, or eliminated altogether in favor of hands-on training and call centers in many of the high-end specialized markets in which I worked.

As much as I may tout all my accomplishments and achievements, professional success was no substitute for a committed relationship with a man. It interfered with same until I was found ripe for the picking by the criminal con artist I married, given my degree of burying myself into my professionalism at the expense of feminine and romantic attributes.

One of the greatest gifts that Axel gave me was to apply to me one of his skills in “feminizing” me. I suppose I felt insecure about my femininity given an effectively abandoning mother, which I imagine is a state of affairs that is increasingly common as mothers either heed the siren call of professional success at the expense of their children’s lives or have no choice but to work for someone else. To Axel, I was woman enough to keep his house and wardrobe in order, cook for him, and even assist him on the job from time to time, as well as, of course, to obey him completely sexually, socially, and every other way as his “number one” and the sole holder of the title, “Axel’s submissive”. (The others were “play partners.”) It was a heady and entirely positive and healing experience, particularly after my experiences with my husband and the trauma of Venezuela. Axel was a very positive Svengali for me even though we both felt that I was a work in progress that he would not be able to complete given that he was dying.

I share a lot of war stories with men in terms of our bad marriages. My own marriage has more in common with the nerdy male taken advantage of by the female siren than it does with any woman I know. This situation could well have been a consequence of my own insecurity about my femininity (other than purely sexual traits which of course were validated regularly). I still have some insecurity about my femininity albeit I suppose it has developed into mostly disdain for my peers, as well as anger about the state-of-affairs which my feminist peers have wrought to my personal detriment as well as to the detriment of everyone else.

On the job, a fair portion of my female coworkers were on the prowl for easy romantic marks themselves in technology companies, doing little actual work themselves and otherwise adding more drama to the workplace than productivity, or using their wiles to their advantage in sales and marketing which at least was a net benefit to the company. In fact, I got started in tech in sales and marketing myself. It was perceived to be advantageous to take me to trade shows and otherwise capitalize on my youth and good looks. However, I didn’t enjoy that at the time. I think that perhaps I would enjoy such work more now but only if it was a product that I could believe in, such as a boutique cigar brand or nutritional supplement perhaps rather than a high-tech product produced under the corrupt circumstances of which I became painfully aware during my career as being epidemic to the computer software and hardware industries.

It would seem that for the benefit of women who simply want to meet men in tech, and for the benefit of men who welcome them, a better solution than employing these women would be to have “mixers” where nerdy men can meet women off the clock. Such mixers would allow for dating that at the least is not interfering with the real work that needs to be done. That would separate such women from the Feminists who want all the chivalry and privileges of being a woman but not providing any real value for them—not sufficient productivity nor even sex.

For me it was always about the work. For some reason, when my intellectualism is engaged I am less likely to feel sexual not more. To engage my sexual side it is prose not specifications that has a higher rate of success. I cannot see how it would have been possible for me to produce the quality output that I did in the midst of emotional drama within the workplace. On the contrary, my workplace was a retreat from the drama of my marriage. As my marriage developed in horrific fashion I threw myself even harder into my career, hoping that more money would improve life at home. It didn’t.

Moreover, since women in the workplace it would seem largely thrive on drama I would make efforts to avoid them too. Today as well I tend to avoid the drama of women. This would significantly reduce my chances of being “a third wheel” in an existing relationship, except perhaps as a mere sideline or “consultant”. I’ll make an exception for sex workers and genuine “sluts”. I get along with such women just fine.

Most women, rightfully and biologically, are more interested in their children’s lives than the bottom line of the employer and therefore any manipulative urging into the tech professions while dangling the possibility that they might meet “Mr. Right” while disrupting the productivity hurts everyone. It even hurt me by association, dragging down all women right along with them, and I was very successful professionally until my job was offshored. I have no sympathy for women trying to disrupt the “boys’ club” unless it’s “Ladies Night”. I’ll make an exception for women like me and lesbians who just want to get the job done such as to enjoy romance on their own time. We didn’t need “parties” and all the crap that the largely female Human Resources departments devised. After all, we were salaried and therefore expected to get the work done not eat crappy catered buffets.

I wonder how many women in tech who “overvalued” themselves in the surveys mentioned in Janice Fiamengo’s video were hired simply for their overall demoralizing and reduced productivity in the workplace effects, such as to short the company stock or psychologically prepare employees to train their offshore replacements.

I wonder sometimes if I were to convert Caprizchka to a money-making venture and otherwise approach my blog (and books) with a more professional edge, would that help or hurt my romantic chances? On one hand the risk is inside me in that I tend to compartmentalize my intellectualism from my sexuality; however, that hasn’t worked out so well for me in terms of enriching the pockets of executives, investors, and my criminal husband, and meanwhile here I am poor and neither really working nor romantically involved. Should I enrich my finances however that’s sure to attract even more con artists than I do now. Simply being reasonably healthy-looking, obviously educated, and being a White Middle Class American Woman does that anyway. I’m honestly at a loss.

I think sometimes that what I need is to be hypnotized and brainwashed to my own interest and specifications this time. For instance, if I could be remolded to resemble an Eastern European woman (for which I obviously already have an interest given my moniker) then maybe I would both be more likeable and more con-artist-resistant at the same time. I’ve spent plenty of time in Saxony and I look the part of an East German at least well enough for passerby therein to ask me for directions. (However, that happens to me just about everywhere. I look like I know where I’m going I guess.)

I have also thought about hiring a professional matchmaker or attending something like charm school. Readers are welcome to apply their recommendations for my future direction. I’m not too proud. Thanks!




It is Better to Give than to Receive

While I have written frequently about the largely one-sided open relationship I had with Axel and the importance of negotiation in a relationship, what I haven’t written about is how easy that “negotiation” was between us. Since I was so in love with him, it was easy to say and believe that whatever made Axel vital and full of enthusiasm for life and love was OK by me. Since variety was the spice of his life, variety it would be.

I made the condition however that pillow talk about yours truly be preempted by the phrase, “buy the book,” but otherwise wholly trusted his judgment as well as awareness of “safe sex”.

We didn’t know that he was going to die of a sexually transmitted disease that had likely been incubating for decades but for which he attributed to his being a first responder to Katrina in terms of the shock to his system and immune system. (He was erecting showers in the field to the survivors rather than say administering oral sex, in case that’s what you’re thinking.)

By the way, here is a reassuring article in terms of how Axel’s disease progresses and why I am not at risk nor are my partners, past and future: HPV Oral Cancer: Low Risk for HPV Transmission.

Nevertheless, I have made the largely principled stand to refuse cunnilingus, as I explain here: Goodbye Cunnilingus. It was not a great sacrifice, as I am too sensitive down there to enjoy it 90% of the time anyway. Besides, I’m a giver, and such was the full extent of my limited extra-relationship activity while Axel was alive, and which, it so happens, is the limit of my sexual activity today, albeit highly infrequent. There just aren’t a whole lot of men out there who I am interested in worshiping, even for just an evening.

None of Axel’s past partners or their partners or my partners to my knowledge have come down with any HPV-related symptom, and I am in touch with many of them, and the six-degrees-of-separation grapevine, to include the Swinger communities of which Axel was a part (I was too, for a brief period, long before I met him, but Swinging is not my scene so no big loss).

All that said, if there is a man reading this who has decided not to meet me out of concern for Axel’s disease, the above explanation is not intended to change such a man’s mind. I’m not that desperate. Any man not wholly enthusiastic about meeting me is not to be encouraged. Period. That would include a certain man who was about to be the recipient of a sizeable grant on my say so. Oh well. Boo hoo. I’ve ceded my role to someone else entirely in that regard. I couldn’t handle the responsibility, besides, particularly given how my life has been going lately.

Meanwhile, I’m between a rock and a hard place with regard to my living situation which has become increasingly perilous given the money at stake as applied to other owners in my retirement community. I was recently treated to just how perilous without elaborating much here (but rather in private to a host of individuals across the Eastern Seaboard who will start asking questions and raising a stink should I stop writing here or otherwise disappear).

Meanwhile, as if it would be any consolation, I have been practically besieged with offers to eat me out by near strangers. Do I have a sign on my forehead that says “Challenge to Pussy Eaters. Take your best shot!”?

I would like to live somewhere that I like better, around people and ideally a man who I admire, and instead I get an abundance of offers that I don’t appreciate. This would be the death knell of masculinity as I know it. It is almost weird how today, the anniversary of Axel’s death, I fantasize how much I loved to suck his cock. If he is still with me, and I believe that he is, he knows this, and that comforts me. It is my consolation as I return home after a three-week excursion to a place where I’m worth more dead than alive, that at least I was the best cocksucker that Axel had ever had. Please make that my epitaph.





Matt Forney is Painfully Right on Older Women

I started to write a comment for this piece: 3 Reasons Why You Should Not Date Older Women

However, as my comment developed, it became more and more pathetic. Inexplicably, I decided to put my comment here instead.

Women my age don’t even make great friends with each other! I try to avoid them myself. I was privileged to hear Axel’s stories on the species as, inexplicably, he tended to prefer older women as he found desperation more interesting than guile. However, that’s not to say that these women weren’t also basket cases with vast resources of destructiveness. There’s nothing like a batshit female masochist to invent creative means of psychological torment.

I think that only a heterosexual male would have the motivation to put up with today’s middle-aged American woman, and only if she was wealthy. Generations of propaganda and brainwashing have taken their toll on both sexes but women have so many safety nets that they’ve survived in record numbers, well outnumbering the men.

I have to assume that Forney’s article is about American women especially, whose brainwashing is the most extensive in history. They’ve been inundated with so many messages about their specialness, along with a complete lack of accountability.

Fathers of daughters ought to be reading Forney’s article as a warning that one day their special little princess is going to grow up and think that that pedestal of hers is a birthright.

I’d love to know what we’re supposed to do for society at my age. Having us teach children is shortsighted. Even nursing is bound to backfire. So what do I see older women doing? Affirming each other endlessly, mailing off charity checks to Third World women (as if that won’t backfire), and buttressing the over-inflated beauty industry, which is recession-proof, by the way, just like booze.

My latest get rich scheme (so that I can buy a bunch of beauty procedures) is to offer tough-love consultations for the benefit of parents of daughters considering marrying foreigners. I’m the “object lesson” or “cautionary tale” as to why that is an exceedingly bad idea.

Alternatively, I’m available as a livestock caretaker; i.e., dog breeding, poultry, goats, sheep, and pigs. If your farmland has a place to stick a small trailer for me to live in, I’ll watch over your livestock while you’re away. I’d do this in just about any country.

On my downtime, I can assist another writer such as to pore through fan mail, moderate online comments, proofread, index, etc., or whatever my lightning fingers are good for. Of course, I’m also a cook, housekeeper, and personal shopper. For what it’s worth, Axel thought I was a pleasure to be around, and I’m sure that there are other middle aged women who don’t go around chasing after younger men like Forney and otherwise do not draw so much attention to themselves that their virtues may be under praised.

Chances are, however, of that demographic, I’m the least likely to find myself another American man. I guess that means that I’m a ripe target for the next foreign con artist. Beats sitting around alone and perhaps acquiring some cats.



Smoking Addictions

Sometimes nonsmokers to include former smokers ask me what it would take to inspire me to “give up cigars”. I assume that the ideas of such persons are poisoned by the myth that tobacco is addictive, such that the habit itself is of less “addictive” force than the nicotine, or that the pleasure of tobacco is irrelevant.

Anyone who has sat through a patch representative’s tobacco cessation spiel might be forgiven for adopting such notions. Wearing a patch is supposed to help the poor nicotine addict give up the habit, and habits that our masters don’t like are of course, “bad habits”. If tobacco isn’t a life-extending practice relevant to all phenotypes, to include premature infants fresh out of the incubator, then it must be evil, right?

Other persons are willing to allow me space to “indulge my habit” provided I do so while standing outdoors in less than comfortable surroundings, as a measure of their “tolerance” for it and me. A tobacco addict ought to be prepared for discomfort and otherwise so grateful for “the fix” that the Feng Shui of it all ought to be irrelevant. In my view, all of these notions prove than I’m not addicted, but that rather smoking is my choice.

If I were to choose to give it up, however, I would need a very good reason. Not one that I’ve already heard. My failure to choose to give up smoking is not because I haven’t heard all the propaganda. I just don’t believe any of it.

I’ve only been seriously smoking cigars for about five years now and could give them up tomorrow if I had something to replace them assuming that there is a something to my liking. Whether I would want to give them up is another matter altogether. Smoking has become symbolic for me of the power of social approval and peer pressure—two things which I’m immune from—as well as something enjoyable and inspirational for my thought processes. Smokers would appear, as a class, similarly immune, although once in a while I come upon a self-hating smoker—as if the perils of smoking can be counteracted by guilt and self-loathing.

It is this immunity from shaming that attracts me to smokers although I haven’t eliminated nonsmokers as friendship/romance possibilities altogether. If I’m writing a personal ad, however, I eliminate nonsmokers outright as a timesaver, even if it would appear that many nonsmoking men are immune from all shaming by smokers such as to approach me anyway (if they like my photo or perhaps even whatever else I have to say in my ad). As fewer and fewer smokers remain as cigar clubs shutter and possibilities of pleasurable surroundings in which to indulge one’s habit dwindle then I may just have to consider quitting, unless I decide that being a hermit is preferable to joining the former smokers club and being welcomed into the fold by the antismokers.

Even if I do decide to quit, I won’t be shaming any smokers, for it would appear that, for the most part, they are all that remain of individualism and immunity from groupthink.

As for nonsmokers disdainful of my habit, I invite them to allow me scrutiny of their habits to include, perhaps, the following addictions:

  • Television.
  • Female approval.
  • Consumerism.
  • Medications.

There are a few non-tobacco-related addictions for which I have little to no criticism:

  • Adrenaline/thrill-seeking.
  • Athletic excellence.
  • Exotic sexual practices.

Despite considerable propaganda to the contrary, I conclude that tobacco use alone does not interfere with the above practices within all populations. Age, however, does tend to do so, and ageing is not a crime.

Spiritual Quest

I am often lately inspired by this writer, even though I am not a Christian, and here is his latest: Framing Marriage; Feeding The Dog.

Although I’ll never say never when it comes to conversion to Christianity, particularly given my admiration for its legacy: in terms of likelihood, especially with an American Christian, it’s pretty low. Hopefully however, Artisanal Toad’s great work will trickle down to my level, eventually.

I’m still working on designing some sort of ideal situation for yours truly. Not planning to reveal it in a public forum, but the advice Toad provides is invaluable, in my view. Toad, I accept you as my second tier spiritual leader, for now. (Rupert Sheldrake is still top…dog…LOL). I may have to do a little mix-and-match in the spirituality department along the way in order to figure out where I am. It’s not going to be with “The Breeders” nor “The Carpenters”.

This sticks out for me in terms of Toad’s comment advice to a woman bent on challenging him:

I suggest you team up with a couple of girlfriends, get in shape and offer yourselves as a package deal. That’s probably the only way you’ll get the kind of man you really want and while you’re looking for him, you can take care of each other.

This advice represents an eternal dilemma for me, by the way. By that I mean that lots of women in my life have desired to attach themselves to me and have temporarily done so as a means of attracting men. I won’t say how many men there are in this world with “unbelievable” tales of two young hot women seducing and abandoning them for which I can take credit, only that it would seem that each one of the other women ended up worse for the wear as a result. Therefore, I stopped doing that, “married” in the modern civic sense rather than in the Biblical one that Toad describes so well, (and I live to regret that last every day).

I also gave up lesbianism as easily as a snake sheds a skin.

Perhaps it was my destiny to live in a situation about as close to The Garden of Eden as imaginable, complete with snakes, witches, and a window into Hades.

Some of those men who were gifted with a surreal unbelievable dual-female seduction, were also outright gifted with my protegee, only to discover that without me making up the triad, it went stale. At least two of my former protegees are now Lesbians, and at least one of my female mentors is. None of them have bothered to attempt to contact me directly and I’m not so hard to find.

I’m scary.

Therefore, the notion that I would take on yet another female protegee in that regard offering something completely in opposition to the guaranteed outcome most women expect doesn’t square with my conscience. At least it won’t be an American woman. I’d do it with a European woman, maybe, and I’m not talking about some child of Third World refugees now bestowed the title, “European” for political reasons.

Breeding counts!

Besides, all that most women want from me is “beauty advice” which is like magic spells put into the wrong hands and something like “Fantasia” results with infinite brooms carrying buckets.

I’m not so hot but rather merely appear to defy certain age metrics which women notice and comment on hoping I’ll just spill all my tips as freely as a television talk show host and that those tips will be universally applicable to all phenotypes from all geographic origins. They’re not.

However, in order to avoid being captured yet again by yet another cult and then having to escape that cult yet again (a pattern in my life), I wonder if I should just give in and start my own cult a la Tina Turner and the Pig Wrangler in the uncut unedited version of Mad Max. The figurehead of any enterprise being the de facto leader of that enterprise is one of those illusions which just keeps right on giving sucking in all gullible wee little broken children who never grow up, or as I describe here.

I’m partial to “ugly” men, by the way, but they be “toads” rather than “frogs” in Toad’s parlance, and ideally cruel but not whiny; however that is not to say that I don’t enjoy a ride on “handsome” but only if I’m treated cruelly rather than with adoration; Jabba the Hut rather than Yoda. Darth Vader rather than Obi Wan Kenobi. I’m Hades’ errant bride rather than Zeus’, but that means that I get at least 6 months of top world life. Perhaps I belong in Tasmania.

Christians on the other hand, given my understanding of your religion, would probably rather see me stoned, burned, shelled, or shut up in a tower, fun house, or Milgram Experiment, but deep down know that my character exceeds the majority of theirs and so God isn’t likely to reward them for this project. Such a reward hasn’t happened yet…

Considering how well the Puritans did in terms of how the U.S. is doing today—welcome to Utopia folks, isn’t it grand?—then gynocentric grass-roots crone-o-cide might look like a viable utopian genesis to vampires, however, Vampires be Vampires.

Such is as it has always been.