“Sharing one cigarette…”

 

 

 

We all have songs that cause us to recall fond memories.

One that does such a thing for me is Type O Negative’s ► My Girlfriend’s Girlfriend ◄ .

To this day, every time I hear the tune, I still conjure the vision of a woman with whom I was involved and I driving on a road trip together.

Now and then, she’d grab a cigarette from my pack of Marlboro No. 27′s off the dashboard, light it, take a couple drags, then hand it to me.

 

 

 

Words can’t describe how much I enjoyed that small yet powerful act of intimacy.

Eventually, I’d have sex with her and her friend simultaneously in a breathtaking threesome.

But, believe it or not:

The memory of each event fills me with an equal amount of joy.

 

 

 

Ω

“Burn it, rip it, drag and drop it…”

 

 

I’m a big fan of Viktor Frankl.

His work, Man’s Search For Meaning, is one of the greatest books I have ever read.

Indeed, it is the definition of “life changing”.

 

 

Within that work, he discusses the “crisis of meaninglessness”.

The greatest stressor, he claims, in the lives of modern Westerners.

An existential vacuum that swallows purposeless individuals.

Drowning them in cynicism, lethargy, and endless self–doubt/questioning.

From these ideas, he’s credited with coining the phrase “Sunday Neurosis”.

[ http://medical-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com/Sunday+Neurosis ]

 

 

Now, I believe this affliction plagues both men and women.

However, I believe women suffer from it (on the whole) to a much larger degree—

As feminism has robbed them of their biologically based/traditionally bestowed purposes, the manifest symptoms thusly:

 

“persons who function well in planned and organised work settings”  = addiction to attending school/pursuing degrees

“dissociative states” = glued to smartphones, addicted to Facebook, texts only; no calls.

“obsessions” = celebrities, reality television, Apple products, Starbucks

“compulsions” = eating, foodie culture

 

 

Therefore, I conclude the glut of social media and attention whoring has reached such terrible degrees due to women’s feeling more existentially meaningless than at any time prior.

Which is why they pursue “Alphas” with heretofore unseen fervor.

Anything – anything – to grant a purpose or meaning to their lives.

Whether it be to support a purposeful man or to try to alter his purpose or a combination thereof, they are willing to debase themselves (for the right man) now, more than ever before.

Indeed, desperate times call for desperate measures.

 

 

Which brings me to this [h/t to Jack Lane at vivalamanosphere.com]:

 

My reply to this would have been:

k. nice meeting you, [wrong female name]

 

 

 

Ω

 

 

“There’s always a war on somewhere…”

 

 

So many advocate “enjoying the decline”.

So be it.

 

 

As for myself, I can’t do such a thing.

Can I save the world?

Not a chance.

But I haven’t been asked to save the world.

I’ve been commanded to do what I can.

 

 

I don’t do so for any reward.

[It's already cost me more than most would ever believe.]

I do it so I can look at my reflection.

 

 

I wage war against the lies, deceit and falsehoods that permeate the landscape.

All so I can be at peace with myself.

 

 

 

Ω

 

 

“… brought way too much baggage…”

 

 

 

 

 

Really?

Then why don’t more strip–clubs have dancers like this:

 

 

 
The problem with this control–freak collection of narcissists we call America is that each gender believes they are the one’s that can determine what the other gender finds attractive.

I’m thrilled to inform you:

This is not so.

 

 

 

The woman pictured (and her ilk) can no more classify herself desirable as I could back when I was being a placating, obsequious, gift–giving, well–dressed, nice car driving, good job having, law-abiding, never swearing, unfailingly polite, rarely drinking, non–smoking, upstanding, young man.

 

 

To those of you that believe you can decide what others find attractive/sexy/desirable, I tell you the same thing I’d tell the pictured pole–dancer:

Let go.

Before you hurt yourself.

Badly.

 

 

 

Ω

“…just rope and throw and brand ‘em…”

It’s common knowledge that the preponderance of women are viscerally attracted to men with tattoos.

Most women like to see the them and, in fact, many ask to touch them.

Of course, to make it “more real” to them.

 

 

Now, to the somewhat awakened man, this makes sense.

Women want a man that is passionate about something/anything.

Along with being both unashamed and unapologetic regarding his dedication to such.

Tattoos advertise  that with considerable efficaciousness.

 

 

However, to the man whose progressed beyond grogginess, tattoos say even more.

Recall, as I have said:

To a woman, everything is a mirror.

Therefore, in a tattoo, a woman sees that a particular man is willing to brand himself.

In fact, he’s willing alter his very person to pledge his allegiance/devotion.

 

 

Thus, is it any coincidence that most “bad boys” have tattoos and women always say “I think/thought I can/could change him”?

No.

No, it is not.

 

 

As usual, this is the very reason the preponderance of men find tattoos on women unattractive.

It shows her allegiance/devotion (or a part of it at the very least) is set firmly elsewhere.

 

 

This is the reason I have no tattoos, myself, nor do I even permit myself to be “marked” by sexual activity.

As rough as it may get (and it does get rough):

She (my partner) gets branded.

I don’t.

And, in the end, we both prefer it that way.

 

 

 

Ω

“Everybody funny; now you funny, too.”

 

 

I’ve always understood the process of taking a solid look at the search terms from which one gets hits.

It makes sense to me to want understand how the ‘net perceives one’s message.

Along with the presentation of such.

 

 

But what I’ve never understood is the nigh on Pride some take at the pornographic/scatological phrases that bring them readers.

I mean, if I were to get viewers from “Shetland pony humping a dwarf” or “colostomy–bag sluts”, I’d seriously reconsider my work.

Though, to be fair, I’d rather gargle bleach than watch Family Guy.

So my opinion may not count for much.

 

As for me, this made my day:

 

Now, some may laugh until their sides split.

Sputtering out, between gasps:

“That’s only one hit!”

 

Technically, they’d be correct.

But I read it as:

Here’s someone that’s interested in what I have to say.

Not trying to fuck his sister.

Not aching to fap to orangutangs 69′ing.

Not even randomly fishing for opinions.

Plus, using the alcohol content of quality whiskey to find me.

 

 

Fine or flawed as it may be:

That’s my source of Pride.

And I raise a glass to the man that typed it.

 

 

 

 

  Ω

 

 

 

 

“… to take us out of the dark…”

 

Feminists constantly claim:

“It’s a man’s world.”

You know what?

For once, they’re 100% right.

 

But, like most humans, they’re right for all the wrong reasons.

Which is worse than being wrong.

 

See, the world is a harsh, cruel, merciless, awesome [in the classical sense] place.

It demands toil, pain and sacrifice.

And the only difference [in this context] between the beliefs of the atheist and Truly religious:

Is if paradise existed prior to written history or not.

 

 

Now, the more women emerge from their oppression protection, they see the facts.

Survival is a struggle, hard fought.

Happiness, even harder still to obtain.

 

 

Thus, I say to you all:

Ladies, realize [quality] men make the world inhabitable.

Men, realize [quality] women make the world comfortable.

And enjoy one another to the fullest.

 

 

 

Ω