I mean, if it’s supposed to be for men, anyways. It’s all members and seed, isn’t it? You’d think, if women were visual, all of those impressive dicks and loads must be for them, straight women, no? But no, women “aren’t visual” about dicks, dudes are.

Put it another way – how often do we see the most heterosexual act, breeding? How often do we know that the seed has found its mark, and actual heterosexual functioning has occurred? It was evil, female sabotage in Boogie Nights, remember? Gay AF, I’m telling you. A third way – does it give one the impression that the folks making the films actually like women? Or do we see the expressions “cock worship” juxtaposed with some version of “pussy destroying?”

It’s almost as though “straight” has a whole lot less to do with breeding and a whole lot more to do with dominance or something, because pleasuring those women straight guys are supposed to love seems to be a rather low priority in the films. It’s mostly about making dicks happy, and that’s only half of straight sex. Porn would seem to concern itself with dicks in male gay proportions, way more than half.

Misogyny is gay, is that where this goes?

I’ve said elsewhere that we confuse violence or aggression with intelligence, maleness with intelligence, and maybe again, do we also confuse heterosexuality with those things? Must I formulate my conclusions as questions, always?

 

 

Jeff,

Aug. 25^th., 2018

I must think that old saw is true, because I think that’s my plan. I’m turning over all the ugliest rocks, looking for the very darkest place apparently, because it must be my core belief that there is no dawn except just beyond it.

This blog, this train of thought is at a standstill at the moment. I’m researching, reading that nasty old textbook “The Evolution of War,” and the good news is I give it fifty-fifty that that the ultimate darkness I’m looking for is in there. As dark as I find my own inner life, I am forever an adorable child: Chapter Five is Cannibalism and War. I really hope it gets better after that. That was tough. I wanna tell you about it, but I need to process, finish the book, maybe restart.

That’s my inner life, a huge part of it, and so it’s personal. On a more personal level, though, maybe the darkest bit of that is here too. Perhaps you’ve seen me trying to understand my life, relitigating specific traumatic arguments from my recent life, trying to interpret it in terms of feminism, or my own gender liberation . . . in the most recent personal blogs, maybe smarter folks than me have already seen it . . .

I’ve been to the doctor’s, something going on, I exercise and feel awful, I’m napping all the time . . . bloodwork and all, doctor’s found nothing, wants to treat my depression. I think the realization has been coming, I think this fatigue settled in when I began to see it, and a few weeks ago, an online friend helped me find the word for it. I have no powerful psychopath in my story, no single, sick clever manipulator . . .

. . . that’s why it’s taken so long to put it together that I am a victim of narcissistic abuse.

I’ll be processing that for a while.

No one bad guy, a team effort of sorts, but I’ve been doing what a victim does, leaving all the power in the hands of the abuser, trying to find a solution within myself, or begging the abuser to understand and save me instead of what they are engaged in. Plus of course, probably ignoring the abuser’s other victims. The narcissistic abuser requires all of everyone’s attention.

Those squeaky wheels will get no more grease from me for the time being.

The fatigue is first and foremost mental, intellectual. I can barely read, let alone write. My apologies if anyone is waiting, I got nothing cooking.

Take care, everyone, and thanks for reading

 

Jeff

Aug. 6^th.,  2018