To all those who want to raise a young man who will never know the lovely presence of a woman romantically interested in him: raise him in a house full of women. Or simply teach him to respect woman and believe they are equal. He will grow to eventually attempt to court a young lady and be rejected because he idolizes her and treats her like the beautiful being he sees her as, but she will disagree. She will not acquiesce, not even after a large portion of time is spent on her by the young male. She will prefer the wanton and disinterested aura of a typical, generic, vapid male, commonly referred to as a bad guy. He will not seek to prove to her that he loves her or even cares for her, simply that he’s, at times, delighted to be in her presence. She will be replaceable to him, but she won’t acknowledge this; she will build a He in her heart and mind, and that will be the basis of her delusion. Meanwhile, the nice young male who at least envisioned an immediate future with the young lady will grow disillusioned against his will; he will grow misogynistic. And he will war with himself forever more because if chivalry isn’t dead, it is profusely unrewarded. And this will be life, and the world will turn in its longing for excitement and pleasure, not equality and mutual distribution of responsibility and care. And everything will be fine somewhere else, where the nice young male - heart full of enshrined females he has so fully attached to that he now wonders if he has any love left to attach and offer to someone new - isn’t; where the disparity of love as an obligation disproportionately exists in less than halves opposing the greater portion (the side burdened by an actual desire to love - but loves the wrong person). And it will go on forever because equality takes effort and effort diminishes beauty upon first notice.

18thex-perpetual replied to your quote: To all those who want to raise a young man who…

its just as marginalizing to be idealized as it is to be demeaned. personally i would hate either form of relationship.

The moderate form of a relationship I favor and believe is most nourishing is one that maintains idolatry and realism without too much of either. Too much realism leaves an individual just looking at the fleshy, progressively sagging body of their partner and has only reason to love it if it becomes beautiful. I suppose idolatry may be the wrong word, but no love exists without an enriched fascination. Those that don’t love life become nihilists. Those that don’t love and see the captivating beauty of a human body become promiscuous, unattached romantic-wayfarers. Thats how I see it. Perhaps it is preemptive idolatry that is the root of a dissuasion such as the one you’d feel. I can’t quite say. I just know that I’ve tried desperately to express both desperation as well as patience and neither has paid off. At some point, a man isn’t so willing to conclude its just his luck, but instead perhaps no one out there that wants to be admired and loved.

Slightly funny and sad how parts of that presuppose all love is meant only for long term purposes/marriage. Jesus, I’ve got to get my mind off the future.

THe value of consumerism should be no mystery. In truth, all commodities are variations of the same goal: to ease the difficulty of life; to make the strenuous simple. All around us is proof of what human beings have created to reduce our ineptitude: a glass to carry around fluids inside of, a window with blinds to allow light into a room at the volition of an occupant, compact discs holding recorded ideas and emotions later to be listened to, pieces of paper to also carry ideas and emotions that will later be referred to, etc.

Thus, a critique of consumerism shouldn't seek to dismantle the market as we know it, but instead to encourage a more prudent process of consuming. What will follow is not only the willingness to tell one's self 'no' to buying something they do not need, but also the ability to use only that which can be used.

It also bears worth saying that the commodities we consume lead us to believe our quality of life is higher than that of a 3rd world country because the inherent usefulness of any form of technology. An individual may not be abjectly poor, but since they can clean a household, talk to friends on a telephone, check their facebook and explore the internet on their computer, the individual is inclined to not even confront the reality that they indeed are not middle class either. I believe this delusion is the most significant disincentive of a revolution. Complacency is only obvious from the view of the disgruntled. The more we consume, the more new products and revisions have to be made to keep us consuming; the process never disrupts itself and questions if it should be halted or at least slowed down.

An unattended child, leaning against a car, preparing to search forever.

You dont want company, you only want to tease your loneliness; pretend it doesnt exist, but only for a short while.

Its amazing how easily a woman will forget about s man, or even disregard his feelings. Yet he has no right to be upset. She's confused so i must mute me.

- I now realize what I was really eking towards with my anti-kindle and e-books phase yesterday. The world is becoming less authentic and less lovable. Everything is being stripped down to its bare, essential state. There is nothing to be fascinated by. Why have a book when you can just download all the words and probably an image of the cover? This is a world of images and projections. How long before our own very bodies are reduced in the same way? As Pessoa remarked, the sanctity of the human body from an aesthetic perspective only exists in cultures where clothing is more than arbitrary and optional. As I see television shows and adverts getting racier and the bodies of men and women being scandalized further, I think the future is both bleak and far from perplexing; its quite clear where we're headed. Perversion is being standardized. THe other day some kid in my public speaking class gave a speech and asked, with heavy implication on the affirmative, if the men in the class would like to see a naked woman in an advert. The casualty of such a question, to pose it to a class not only filled with men. That isn't the product of anyone that heralds intimacy as one of life's finest attributes. I've digressed largely, but I feel this is one example of how much future generations are likely to not even believe in beauty so much as they believe in expressed or replicated beauty. And I believe this is a direction we should avoid at all cost. Someone told me I fetishized books by preferring them over their electronic competitors. Tonight I came to understand thats because I don't mind fetishizing life. I think the will to live only exists with a love for aesthetic idiosyncrasies as well as banalities (sometimes - rarely, rather). Gah. I think we're moving more in the direction of impatience than we need to be. Thats what I've been trying to prove/say. I've been addressing everything with what David Foster Wallace said about how profusely americans acknowledge their own impulses; we do so without regard or prudence, without contemplation about consequences or necessity. And I would say that being able to download everything takes some of the pleasure there is in living at a brisk pace, or as Bukowski put it, "aging gently". Listening to vinyl is a much more involved process than simply playing a cd that you can skip around on.


- I feel such an urge to disconnect from humanity that I will not suffer fools gladly in the time I spend not ruminating heavily upon burdensome topics like death, the fragility of the earth, my own absurd existence, and so on. I don't know how people claim to dislike humans and their stupidity yet they're entertained by fucking idiots. I just don't see the extrapolation there. Is that response to exploitation any different from the ones that idolize fools and want to be some bitchass loser on the real world? Christ. I think this is what has always ate away at me when I find out someone listens to, for instance, Joy Division and the fucking Yin Yang Twins or some other group of dumbasses. How can true affection as a fan of music exist for both those acts within the same person? Just doesn't make sense to me. Essentially, what is being said is one enjoys the world and loathes it but doesn't loathe the people that make life loathsome, we instead enjoy their stupidity and impetuousness. Their buoyant, artificially sly remarks about sex and casual romance made in passing as if the subjects were equally worthless yet attainable.


that all nowhere.

the near fatal recognition of

what lies beneath your own sighs. yearning for women that do not respond or do not reflect your feelings. an immobile bruise. seeks neither to bury itself or evaporate/distill/ascend/whatever wounds that honor the continuity of time do when they realize healing may lend strength to the weak. sorry to all, apologies all around. the smiles are scarce these days, the trust is gratuitous and gruesome: thrown in all directions in an ambivalent attempt to reserve the will to live. the will to live, just another figment, another set of words. if it were self-evident, the issue would not be having faith in the living or pursuing one's own fulfillment, but rather the discovery of methods most likely to ensure fulfillment. the alternative to this utopia, the only dissonant, valueless facade we can will suffering for is that which engenders peril from purity and bewilderment from clarity. is it too much to ask to be acknowledge? i'd rather be a mole on her asscheek. I'd rather unite incontrovertibly with the lips she pours compliments to other men from. to shrink myself to half the size of a single synaptic chasm, and catch an impulse of hers with bare hands. hold it with me until i evaporate/dissolve/descend/whatever suppressed favorites do when they realize reemerging is a whole and a half of the beauty of nostalgia. do it. and then do it again, because love is to be sought, fought for, reached, captured, and mangled until malignancy becomes sovereign state of your hellhold for two. cry out from below, the only place she cannot be removed from. it is her passions that will sew your death certificate: the document will be of wool and some other man's, whom she compliments, semen will glue rice to build the letters. it will read like a yeats poem. your dirt will read like a earthly trophy; proof god exists and weeds out the weak. and i will evaporate/dissipate/burn to ash by the fuel of continuity/whatever young, wound up spirited men do when their lover decides elsewhere to spawn love. 2 more arms, much stronger. 2 more legs, much firmer, 1 dick, much more fervor, 1 mind, much smarter. out done, out done, out done.

People pretend that profit is the one reason we as a nation grow yet the very cultures they majorly embraced are the product of impoverished individuals utilizing elements of their own surroundings to establish conduits of entertainment.

she is all the places I wish for my tongue to go.

it arrives upon me as I make a smoothie

People that consume fast food, me included, often take a preference and then that becomes what believe is a choice, yet they aren't composing the burgers or frying the fries, so how could they really have choice?

Thus, true liberty and freedom (especially of choice) is the ability to utilize internal components to achieve a desired outcome. A person must be the ultimate decider of how they live and they must use internal reasoning to decide who to be. Now with a community, this means absolute democracy must be upheld. The people must work together to achieve a desired out come and the power must be centralized in the people who compose the society, not people who privatize and own the resources and means of production. Thats like believing in God to help you digest food.

Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live, it is asking others to live as one wishes to live. Unselfishness recognises infinite variety of type as a delightful thing, accepts it, acquiesces in it, enjoys it. It is not selfish to think for oneself. A man who does not think for himself does not think at all - Oscar Wilde

I want to stroke you casually as you do yourself.