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Having a feminine side VS. being female

This is not an MRA article demanding that women desire weakling men. It is nobody’s responsibility but your own to love all aspects of who you are. So take this as an invitation for self-acceptance, not for another crusade for justice.

When it comes to healthy sexual relationships between the sexes, I pretty much share the – generalized – view that the man plays the dominant part, while the woman is submissive. This may not be the absolute truth in every last case, but I think it is a very fair generalization that at least describes a valid tendency.

But, if I were to give any advice, I would tell you to immediately forget this observation once you make it. Why? Because you should not have to be thinking about things like that. If it is the truth, it is the truth because that simply is what happens when you stop trying to control the situation or bring your ego ideas about correct or good relationships and interactions into it. Once you start acting dominant to do it right, you practically defeated the point of making such a point. If all of it was simply an act, all the time, in everyone, you could actually claim that it is a social construct. Hence I believe that the only way you can make such an observation in an honest way is to introspect and make some personal experiences.

You can only make a valid observation when the observed ones (that can include you)  feel no obligation to support either view. That is, when they feel free to express themselves fully without thinking about it.

If you have to tell a man how to be a man, then you can not claim that you are making him more of a men, rather than less. At least when you, like myself, assume that being a man means to have the male biological sex – instead of abiding by some ideological construct like neo-masculinity. If being a man does not flow naturally from being born a man, then our concept of being a man logically must be flawed. Of course, that presumes that there are no forces in place during one’s formative years that restrict this natural flow.

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The pseudo-intellectualism of contemporary discussions about homosexuality

Liberals usually claim that homosexuality is inborn. Religious people and manospherians usually claim that homosexuality is a mental illness. Both commit the same fallacy, an appeal to nature based on personal bias. Both assumptions, when declared doctrine, are potentially harmful.

If we declare that homosexuality is inborn, we take all hope away from those who truly suffer from emotional disturbances and developmental setbacks. They are left in a desperate situation and when trying to reconcile the conflicting voices in their heads, they feel forced to support the voice that urges them into homosexuality, inflicting strong pain on themselves from even thinking about it.

On the other hand, I think it is plausible to make room for the assumption that some people are truly homosexual at their core and suffer gravely from having to repress that. Telling them that homosexuality is a mental illness hurts them just as much as those who experience the dilemma from the other perspective.

To make a little analogy, there may be a man who truly enjoys photography and art. And there may be another man who truly enjoys hard work and carrying around big bricks at the building site. Now let’s assume that each of them thinks that his profession is the only true and natural thing to do for a real man. They get children. The artist’s kid would secretly love nothing more than to be a hard worker. The hard worker’s kid would love nothing more secretly than to be an artist. Let us assume that both shame their kids for not doing what they think is the right way. Both kids suffer for having to be something they do not truly wish to be, feeling guilty towards their parents for not truly wanting to be their narcissistic mirror image. And yet, the fact that the kids suffer from having to live a life that does not fit them does not mean that this life would not perfectly fit somebody else.

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The devilish male co-dependent double bind, or, anatomy of a cuck

A double bind, as I see it, is a situation where one is confronted with two conflicting desires, effectively rendering the person helpless and making a solution of the problem impossible. It is the scenario of being between a rock and a hard place. Having to evade an approaching train by jumping down from a bridge.

One of the meanest double binds I have experienced and lived with most of my life is something I would say is typical for co-dependent men, especially when it comes to dating, or, to be more precise, living out the sexual drive. But it does not only apply to fucking girls. It also applies to situations of open confrontation and conflict.

The double bind goes something like this:

  1. You have to be liked, wanted, desired and respected.
  2. To be liked, wanted, desired or respected, you have to be confident.
  3. To be confident means to not be dependent on being liked, wanted, desired or respected.

Now, note that I am not talking about objective truths. I am talking about deep, ingrained beliefs and compulsions.

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I want to be loved for myself – but I don’t know how to be that

I want to be loved for being myself – without having to do anything. But the truth is: I have (had) no idea how to stop doing anything. Of course, one may argue that I was not doing anything, since I hardly ever approached. But what I am referring to is that I am used to be a slave of my thoughts. I am not doing much of anything in terms of action, but I am doing lots and lots of compulsive thinking. My mind bombards me with judgments of the girl’s and my own behavior. I hardly manage to hold a conversation without getting timid, quiet and tense. Better say nothing than something wrong – god forbid!

She does not like me. She does not need me. It can never happen. I am bad for wanting her. She disrespects me. I am worthless. She finds me disgusting. Am I disgusting? She does not consider me a worthy mate. No, that is not possible! One day, I will find out how to do it right. Damn, that guy over there is much more masculine than I am. Oh, I just made a rather feminine gesture. I must be gay. Whoo, I just acted needy. I just acted weirdly. I just acted creepy. I just insulted her. I just made her uncomfortable.

Blah, blah.

Things should be easy. But I have no idea how to take it easy.

Of course, I am working on that compulsive thinking issue, with meditation. Works like a charm.

Just be yourself. Yeah. I used to think these thoughts were me. They go in circles and circles and then they go in circles one more time. Is that thinking? No. It is just a bullshit LP with a crack.

For you guys:


On the nature of the male and the female

In a recent article, I noted that in pictures of couples, the man often seems to lose himself in the moment and is simply happy, while the girl always keeps a kind of attentiveness in her gaze that may betray a hint of contempt. This stands as a representative of a general difference between the sexes that I observe.

Today, I watched three nigger kids around the age of 8 play – two girls and a boy.

The boy had this kind of happy and innocent curiosity and a relaxed smile on his face. Once he decided to stand in the middle of the walkway and imitate a policeman on a crossing. He extended his arms and whenever somebody came by, he playfully turned 90 degrees and let that person pass. He was likable and made people smile.

The girls were a little older than him and had this same attentive – actually controlling – gaze I described earlier. They were arrogant and unabashed. Intuitively, I would say that their way to interact with the world in that moment was control and manipulation. Their main interest, if my empathy allows so much insight, was to look at people and coldly analyze them for emotional anchors they could use and then do just that – not so much for their personal benefit perhaps as for the sheer joy of having power. Once, one of the girls sat down on a chair, spread her legs very far and loudly proclaimed something in African sounding language to get attention. And again, it did not seem like she really needed the attention as much as she wanted to try out the effect her behavior would have on others. In short, they were plain annoying and even at this young age: Bitches.

I always thought they behaved like bitches because I was doing something wrong. But it is just who they are.

The female like a luring tigress and the male like a loyal joyous dog.


Afraid of hurting women

I remember this one time that I almost had a girlfriend. After that one, I completely shut off my heart I think. Not that it was not my fault to a large extent, as I was damaged goods already, but it was enough to dishearten me enough, because subconsciously I must have known that the cause for me being rejected was one that would not fade away anytime soon.

Anyway, we were in cinema and I was holding her hand. And she said that it takes a lot of trust to put one’s tender hand into another. She was a violinist.

Sure, there were many components to the whole situation. But the most important one was that I seemed very afraid of touch. Afraid to touch her. Today, I see that a large part of that fear was the fear to hurt her. The fear to do one wrong move and with that move reveal something dark within myself. I was so overly careful that she rejected me the same evening literally for being bodyless.

Those articles about rape I wrote, that all men are rapists. I wanted to believe it is true. Wanted to believe that it is just me who is too afraid to kinda be one. But secretly, even if everybody approved of it, I think I would still have trouble with the whole rough sex thing.

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Shy girls are not a safe bet – Part 2: Coy kind grown wild

Although I pride myself for the crisp title of this article, she was not really coy; rather reserved. When I told her that I found her a positive and sympathetic person once, she said that she regarded herself as phlegmatic.

Back then, I thought that the word meant something like uptight, but a quick look in the dictionary reveals that it just describes a somewhat calm temperament. No idea whether she shared my misconception; I reckon she did. Nonetheless, I loved her temperament that I believe to be somewhat typical for French girls.

Born a secretary, she decided to rebel against genetics and study in a different field in her mid-thirties, which led her right into my tender tutoring arms, only in metaphorical sense unfortunately. But this isn’t a story about me. This article is of the same nature as it’s first part: An observation.

In case you wonder – the title picture is not her; it is a microstock image.

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The underbelly of the female

My grandmother looked into my eyes and coldly said: What did your father do to you? He changed you. I swear, if I could, I would kill him. I felt an indistinct chill down my spine and thought that I was looking into the eye of evil.

She had my mother in her mind, who suffered from mental illness. She wanted me to keep being her daughter’s emotional tampon.

Today, I see that silent and impersonal outcry in her eyes for what it is the first time: The fatal hatred of a slave master who has invested twenty years in bringing up a little obedient sheep for the slaughter house. Looking forward to the meal. Now somebody stole it. Yes, of course she would be angry, I can understand it.

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Fear of rejection: No, fear of guilt and shame

I never felt like I really feared rejection, the idea seemed pointless to me; thus I refused to believe that I am motivated by fear when I fail to approach girls. Whenever I did, I usually did not feel very bad about being rejected. Especially the beautiful girls that I preferred to approach often had extremely positive attitudes and the rejection felt painless.

But when I look closer, there is a pattern of rejections that irrationally terrified me to the bone. One of those was when the girl that rejected me was of the rather unhappy kind. It left me feeling grossly inadequate. The other, even more painful kind of situation ensued when I felt that the display of my desire made the girl uncomfortable or downright clam up. I felt like hell hath me. It was unbearable to the point where I would have done almost anything to stop the sensation.

My intent was, of course, only to make her dank at the twat, but intent is not everything.

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How can you keep denying?

Humanity and the good surface.

Makes you wonder. If we are all so good, why is the porn industry so big? Why do I get all those visitors on my page who seek for the most weird shit?

Why are there scat sites, masochists, et cetera? Why do people go on rampages?

Can you really just say that these are the outliers, the abberations, the damaged ones? Is it not much more probable that the civilized and the perverse ones are two faces of the same people?

Can you really keep denying these things as inhuman, no matter all the evidence to the contrary, no matter our love for gory and scary Hollywood movies and war, for metal and screaming and fighting and rough sex? Can you really keep denying that this is part of our nature? Can you really keep up the immaculate surface? Can you really keep distinguishing between the things you accept as human and the things you do not?

How is that logical?

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