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10.09.2016

Coining a new red pill term: mommy-whipped

I actually have a pretty cool article in the pipeline – in my eyes, anyway – but I want to try and get it on ROK for fame, shits and giggles. It probably won’t work out, as my writing style is … different. But anyway, since you guys have been missing me so terribly, here is an absolute game changer (or a relative one?).

Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you the term: mommy-whipped.

To not make it too complicated and convoluted (are those the same?), I’ll just give you a checklist a la DSM aka pseudo-professional mental illness labeling:

You are mommy-whipped if:

  1. You will defend and justify any deed done by a woman towards her children with: She loves you.
  2. You think a mother can not be abusive towards her children emotionally, physically or sexually.
  3. You think a mother is more important to a boy than his father and/or can replace him by putting in hard work and sleepless nights and doing a hell of a job!.
  4. You put your mother or mothers in general above other women. Hint: Read stupid Bible quote below this list.
  5. You put the Mother Archetype above other Archetypes and see her as something like the Ultimate Deity and Creator or whatever.
  6. You view your mother or mothers in general as something pristine, unspoiled, holy.
  7. You think your mother is somehow different from other women, especially regarding typical red pill truths.
  8. You think that your mother has some mystical infathomable thing called a mother’s love to give you that you can never ever obtain anywhere else, especially not in yourself.
  9. You think you need your mother’s blessing to make personal life decisions and/or you feel the need to tell your mother about your life.
  10. You consider it wrong on principle to cut off contact to one’s mother.
  11. You firmly believe that you must honor your mother no matter what.
  12. You worship the mother as the giver of life. Hint: The zinc “spark of life” requires both egg and spermium.
  13. You do not dare to establish boundaries with your mother and let her talk to you about stuff that is none of her business, including psychological stuff, your relationships and other intimate matters.
  14. You think kids are indebted towards their mother for her so-called sacrifice. You feel you owe her your life.
  15. You think a mother always knows what’s best for you. Hint: A typical Western mother will eventually claim this.
  16. You worship the mother for having such a tough job and being strong etc and think she deserves tremendous respect. Hint: Life has equipped her with the ability to be a mother and other people have done great and difficult things as well.
  17. You put your mother’s needs and emotions before your own.
  18. You think you must take care of your mother when she gets old.
  19. You see mothers as some kind of unappreciated martyrs and do everything you can to help when she displays some ‘negative’ emotion like sadness.
  20. You let your mother chastise you for your expressions and talk differently to her than to other people. Aka feminine politeness.
  21. You like to use the phrase: But it’s your mother!
  22. You confuse guilt and shame with love and reason.
  23. You tolerate infantilizing behavior from your mother and accept her saying things like: To me, you will always be my little baby boy.
  24. You think that your mother’s sadness over you establishing boundaries and living your own life is a sign that you are doing something evil and hurtful.
  25. You blindly trust your mother’s judgment of your capabilities, dreams, aspirations, looks, personality.
  26. You think your mother has some kind of magical empathic connection to you that makes her feel whatever you feel and thus know what you feel. Hint: She is not telling you what you feel, but what to feel.
  27. You want to make your momma proud by being a so-called good man.

Continue reading “Coining a new red pill term: mommy-whipped

10.07.2016

Black lives matter – to whom?

When you assert that something matters, you are expressing a value. But a value does not exist as an objective truth in a vacuum. Rather, a value is something that is held by a person capable of judging.

You can not talk about what matters without talking about the individuals that it matters to.

When you tell me that black lives matter, then I must ask: To whom?

To be realistic, I would expect this to be followed by the loaded question: So you think black lives do not matter?

And I would say: Not to me, no.

And I would expect to be guilt-tripped and shamed a little, back and forth, blah blah yada.

But seriously, why should I – me as an individual – care about black lives? What does that even mean?

Continue reading “Black lives matter – to whom?

27.06.2016

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.

Continue reading “The pseudo-intellectualism of contemporary discussions about homosexuality

26.11.2015

German poem: Lied der Liebe

Wald from Scartissue.us likes to write poems and even German poems. I like his shortest the most. Since I am a native German speaker, I feel inspired to share an old poem of mine. It actually did not make too much sense when I wrote it back then in 2012. I felt ashamed of writing about love and that kind of stuff. Of expressing sadness.

I thought that I could escape my past by burning proof of it.

This is one of the few poems that survived. I kept it explicitly as an example of what I do not want to feel. I was naive. I regret throwing all of it away. I had written an entire little notebook with a structured poem with about 30 pages. I wanted to make a musical album from it. A girl I showed it to, she liked it. I threw it away. Fuck.

Continue reading “German poem: Lied der Liebe

06.10.2015

Final letter to my mother

In the course of trying to become more honest, I figured I would send messages to all people I ever knew, telling them what I really thought of them. Guilt and shame overwhelmed me during the course of that endeavor. I insulted girls who had hurt me, making the bill even. I told my false friends that I despised them. I got into trouble for it. It was freeing.

And yet I could not stop. The satisfaction was temporary. And that made one thing obvious to me: It was not those girls I really had a beef with. It was the one woman I saw in all those girls, the one woman I was fighting through the proxy of other girls. The one woman to whom I was really pretending. The one woman whom I really feared to know me.

I showed my true self to all the women who had hurt me. But I realized that there is only one woman who has to know me. Realized that all the other women do not matter. Realized that there is one woman to whom I never dared to show my true self. Never dared to speak up to earnestly. That woman is my mother.

The thought of writing all these important and disgusting things filled me with shame and guilt and fear. It took me three weeks to finally sit down and write this letter. Now, the letter is on its way. Now, my mother must know me, whether she wants to or not.

Now that my mother will know who I am, there is no one I must ever feel ashamed of myself towards again. The next time somebody accuses me of being an asshole, pathetic, not nice or impolite, my mother will not be watching over my shoulder.

I will say: Yes, that is me. And shrug.

The voices in my head always and mercilessly competed, because I had not yet spoken up to the one big source of voices in my head. Had assigned mystical powers to it. To her. My failure to speak my mind robbed me of the courage to think my thoughts. Now I have spoken my mind.

Next time, the mother in my mind will have been put in her place, her looming expectations of me finally fought off with the courage to put myself first, no matter how miserable that self.

Maybe this is too optimistic. Who knows. But I know one thing: I hope to never see her again.

Continue reading “Final letter to my mother

20.09.2015

Misogyny: Why you should hate single mothers of boys

First of all, let me tell you something about hatred. You think that hatred is equal with calling a woman a silly bitch? No, that is just banter, with a cup of grains of truth. It is humorous. Well, friend, hatred is nothing like that.

Hatred is poison. Do you know how death feels? Have you ever experienced sheer terror while running for your life and sanity? Have you ever caught a big moth with your bare hand and squeezed the life out of it? Did you ever take a walk through a museum of modern art and open yourself up to the works of the most miserable losers of life?

Have you taken your time to study the underbelly of human life, confronted darkness with nobody at your side?

Have you suffered quite enough, I wonder, to understand the deep and intense nature of hatred?

Continue reading “Misogyny: Why you should hate single mothers of boys

07.06.2015

Challenging your inner child: Jesus died for your sins

There is the interpretation of Christianity that, to be with God in heaven, all you need to do is believe that Jesus died for your sins and you will be automatically forgiven. Blind faith is too much to ask from a non-religious man like me, but the whole concept may not be as stupid as it sounds. Let’s dig into it.

I already wrote about stopping hatred and much of what I wrote is true, but I made a mistake that kept me from fully integrating the insight. To distance myself from the guilt of not being perfect, I projected it onto my mother. I deduced that she was the invisible spectator judging all my actions. But that didn’t help me, because it ultimately wasn’t true.

Continue reading “Challenging your inner child: Jesus died for your sins

01.04.2015

Why SJWs hate beauty

This was originally meant to become an article about why a narcissist finds it hard to enjoy the company of confident men or, as he would call them, assholes. I grew up without a father, with a mother who would give me anything I wanted, and more. I score very high on covert narcissism tests and I exhibited a lot of SJW traits a few years ago, so I can tell you from experience rather than from observation, what makes someone like that tick.

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13.03.2015

Growing up without a father – Part 1: Childhood, early school

I never missed my father, not until recently.

Was brought up by my mother and grandmother; my grandfather died when I was two years old, as did my uncle, both from the mother side of the family. Not any male was left to help bring me up. My father had left to Hawaii before my birth; too cold here.

Still before I was born, my mother must have suffered from some form of psychosis. She would have been young in the 70s, so maybe she had a bad trip that triggered a genetic disorder. Blam, just like that. Or maybe she was just crazy. Just like that. Who knows; I never learned the truth, even when I asked. Maybe she didn’t want to tell, maybe she didn’t know it herself. Writing this, I am beginning to question the truth of everything she ever told me; are you really that good and innocent a person, ma?

Continue reading “Growing up without a father – Part 1: Childhood, early school