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Whore, Grief, Courtship


“Whore” by In This Moment on YouTube

“Where is that whore,” he said, his voice laden with scorn. I heard this in my head today. Whore is not a word I’d typically use, though I know the meaning.

SYNONYMS: strumpet, hustler, slut, tramp, escort, harlot, hooker, pro, prostitute, streetwalker, call girl, fallen woman, lady of the evening, working girl. Sex worker.

Have you ever noticed that it’s almost always men who want to pay for sex? Who want to rob others of their intimacy so they can get what they ‘need’?

SANSARA SOLSINGER

Rapists, the whole lot of them. Misogynist is code word for RAPIST.

Flip side: a male whore is a: gigolo, Casanova, Lothario, inamorato, lover, seducer, Don Juan, ladies’ man, lady-killer, male prostitute. lover-boy.

LECH/LECHER… Casanova, Don Juan, Lothario, Romeo, debaucher, gigolo, lady-killer, libertine, philanderer, playboy, rake, reprobate, roue, satyr, stud, swinger, womanizer.

Why is a lech a man?

Why do we have so many words to describe one thing? FORNICATOR.

Here are more…

Moll, bawd, betrayer, camp follower, cheater, courtesan, deceiver, lady of easy virtue, lady of pleasure, scarlet woman, seductress, tart. Santa Claus (do you people have no idea of what deserves sanctity?). Cavaliere servente. Amaroso. Robin Hood. skirt chaser. Wolf. Heartbreaker.

Now there is the word that began it all.

Heartbreaker.

Heartbreak is a terrible burden, isn’t it? You have to go through grief. Grief is hard. Grief is anger, then sadness, and eventually acceptance and then, finally — if you’re lucky — peace.

Social scientists have figured out these are the official stages of grief. No doubt you’ve already heard of them, but if you’re like me, you’re trying to name them to see if you remember them. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.

My bad… peace isn’t on there. It should be, though. It comes after acceptance and assimilation. Once the facts are just facts again, no longer emotions and feelings that have gotten stirred up without your permission, you can embrace peace.

But I don’t have a fancy piece of paper to tell you what’s what, so take it with a grain of salt. Or don’t. It’s your choice, after all.

I told someone not that long ago that no one can ever truly persuade someone else to care about anything. The individual is “apatheistic,” which means they “don’t care about God.” I asked them, “What if God cares about you?” They said, “I don’t care.” If you don’t care, why’d you invent and learn a word to tell everybody else? Just like that Apocalyptica collaboration with Adam Gontier — I don’t care so much I wrote an entire song about it. Right. I believe you, bruh.

I informed them they’re not my kind of people. They’re a psychopath. To not care, even remotely, about someone who cares about you is psychopathic. We’re all fucked up and we’re all in this together. No one is perfect. Acting like other people’s feelings are irrelevant is to deny them what they feel, to invalidate them. Invalidation is the greatest pain I’ve ever known.

That’s why, even though I’m an atheist, I still care about God. You see, as much as I can point at science and say, “There’s no proof!”, I’m not seeing the forest for the trees. I’m not seeing the thing blatantly in my face. What is it, you might ask. I’ll tell you:

Unseen forces drive the Universe.

Do those forces have to be personified and care about me? Absolutely not. But the concept of a loving creator is personification of those forces.

If those forces, unseen, named Gravity and all the rest, are responsible for everything that exists, and those forces have no emotions, thoughts, or feelings, and they just are, then it is easy to see that humanity is its own worst problem.

What were you expecting? For me to tell you God gives a shit about you existing?

Gravity is God, God is Gravity. God is nature. All things we do not understand, the magic of The Universe(TM), on display for us to observe. Because we desire a greater purpose, we study and catalog all that we see, like it’s going to add up to something when this planet is devoid of “the only life in the universe.”

We try to ascertain what is The Truth(TM) while constantly lying to each other and creating illusions, which is what heartbreak is all about. We grow dependent upon a falsehood and then that falsehood is shattered by reality. “They’ll always be there for me!” Death happens, yo. We’ve got to become a bit more objective than that if we want to obtain resilience. Resilience ought to be this century’s buzz word.

Resilience is exactly what you need to stay alive these days. Sure, the times were harder back before we conquered the world and dominated it. Now, we have nothing but each other to deal with, basically. Gone are the days of wolf attacks and staying indoors at night because of how vicious they are. Gone are the days of wandering raging bears everywhere. Gone are the days of so many predators that used to threaten our existence. (But did they really pose that much threat? All you had to do was stay indoors at night to avoid half of them. It’s really why we created above-ground caves, isn’t it?)

Resilience is what you need to listen to the rapist thought of today, the zeitgeist of misogyny: it’s okay to never be wed. Relationships are temporary instead of temporal. Your body is no longer sacred, no no. You can use it however you want to. It’s okay.

Ten bed partners later, you’re stumbling around, falling to your hands and knees, your heart ice cold and you have no idea what happened. [Or maybe that’s just me.]

You dared to love, despite everything. Despite being told this is an abuse you, use you, and lose you society. Try it before you buy it! But don’t forget, you can always just ditch it for a new model. A younger, hotter version. [Just admit you’re gay, assholes.]

Men who do not give their hearts to women and, in fact, hold a secret hatred toward them, are jealous of their bodies. They want the peen, my friends, and they’re led to believe being gay is wrong, so they vie to be women but then they hate themselves for it. [Challenge me in battle on Discord: Super_Fox#8259. Leave it out of the blog — this is for the rape survivors, gentile folk, and all the animals.]

Why do we do this? Because we’ve excised the courtship. Look back to Victorian times, Edwardian times. Note how many shows are on Netflix and Hulu and such about them. How many are about the courtship now? There are a bunch. They’re probably still doing it wrong, but at least they’re nodding to the fact that before the popularity rise in the ever so popular diamond engagement ring, which is pure bologna made up by white men by the way, in the mid-1900s… that’s when we saw the shift.

You could claim a woman (but you yourself didn’t have to show any ownership or claim) and be ‘safe’ in the knowledge that other men knew she was yours. How long did that last, by the way? Less than 100 years. It’s already disintegrated. The ring means next to nothing. It’s just a down payment on her next car, bro.

Do you think we’d need your down payment if we were paid fairly?

I think women should put rings on the man’s finger. And their own. Simple wedding bands, the kind that only cost you $100 total altogether. Or, better yet: EVERYONE BUYS THEIR OWN RING and puts it on when they’re in a relationship. That way, YOU love it, no matter what, and it’s not going to end up in the bottom of a river, a lake, an ocean, or even in the junk yard. (There are at least 3,000 wedding rings in every single junk yard on planet Earth, according to the Head Cheese. That’s God, if you’re stupid.)

Maybe you don’t do any paperwork to make it officially official. It only matters what is in your heart. Stop staying with people, stop silent-quitting your marriages, stop trying to hide your pain for the sake of young people. You’re just teaching them to be martyrs instead of survivors. You’re teaching your children to rape themselves for someone else’s sake. Martyrs are victims that fail to advocate for their rights. God’s decided this is a sin now. Martyrs are going to go to Hell. There is no purgatory, get over it.

Let me tell you what we dream of, God and I. Maybe you’ll find it resonates with you, maybe you won’t.

Men and women understand that they cannot have friends of the opposite sex or people who are attracted to their own gender/sex/orientation/whatever, at any rate. That means only people who fuck women can be friends and only people who fuck men can be friends. No cross-overs because it leads to romantic failures. Period, the end.

Johnny from 3rd period is her romantic interest, bro. If she’s hanging around him, it’s for sexual/romantic reasons. You cannot be her friend… you can just be a prospective suitor until she’s free. Your continued contact with her can and will woo her over to your side eventually, as long as you give the right signals at the right time. Yes, it’s true, some vain people will no doubt disappoint you and hurt you because you fail to see the truth.

It’s not her fault, either… Many people can be aromantic with a bunch of individuals on a friendly level, but the problem comes in when the woman needs emotional support. Yes, it’s us women, because we have a super power. Shut up, bro, and develop it on your own and then you can be our equals.

When a woman receives emotional support from a man, it is romantic in nature for one or both parties. (Unless he is truly gay, has accepted it, and you never catch him with elevator eyes on some sweet thang across the room.)

Who knows what men think while getting emotional support from women; they’re usually too callous, cold, and full of toxic masculinity that it’s impossible to get to that point anyway. I’m not a man, so I won’t pretend to know. But let me ask the phantoms in my head anyway…

The verdict is that it’s the same for men comforted by women.

That means if you want to fall in love, choose to be emotional only with people who are emotional with you. Limit it to one at a time. Distance (ghost) everyone who is not actively being a positive influence in your emotional landscape. Stop thinking with your loins or about loins (such as penis size), stop looking at their faces and going, “Whoa, he’s so handsome, I’m in LUST.” You aren’t in love based on sight alone and you know it. There is no such thing as love at first sight. Only lust at first sight.

I suggest a waiting period of 4-6 months of uninterrupted emotional support to each other before exploring the bedroom. That’s how you fall in love. It might sound familiar, since I just mentioned courtship Victorian and Edwardian style. (By the way, why are our eras defined by who’s in that chair in England? This is stupid.)

If you wait six months, that would be ideal. Get yourselves tested for STDs if you’ve had other partners. Do it together. That’s the only way you know you’re partners anyway, doing tough stuff for your future together. I say 6 months for one simple fact: HIV/AIDS does not show up in testing for that long. That means, yes… if you’ve got it and you sleep around without protection, you’re spreading it to whomever you’ve slept with unwittingly. (I don’t know if transmission is 100% certain on just one session of intercourse, but you have Dr. Internet just as well as I do.)

Wear your rings all six months. ❤ ❤ ❤ After all, you’re promised to each other.

Once you get those results back, then you can choose, should one of you have the misfortune of being afflicted thusly, whether or not you want to commit to a life together. It’s the only fair way to do it. There aren’t that many STDs that aren’t incurable, so the chances should be low as long as you’ve been careful in your adventures to date, but do it for you if not your partner. Your future spouse.

Marriage and the love that goes into a marriage is a choice. You’ve heard it before, but what does it mean?! That’s what I always ask. I know the answer! I think you won’t be so surprised. Compromise. That’s the answer. You have to let yourself feel all the feels for each other, for one thing, but for another, you’re two different people. If you don’t give a rat’s ass about the wallpaper in the living room, leave it up to the spouse. If you don’t give a shit about the china pattern, leave it up to the spouse. Wait until you care about something enough to express an opinion and then talk it out until you can reach the middle ground that satisfies you both. And, if you can’t, agree to disagree and whoever wins owes their spouse on the next disagreement like it.

That’s right… If you want blue bed sheets and she wants purple bed sheets and she lets you win, then you better fucking give her the towel colors. (Random nonsense example, I hope, but people are petty, after all. The bees are dying and I’m telling you how to stay married for life.)

We are facing extinction and I’m giving you love advice. It makes me sad, truly, because I once believed in this world. This species. I once believed humans would always course correct and clean up their damn mess, but it turns out I’m like the last adult on planet Earth. (I’m so ronery.)

Okay, there are some adults, but let’s face it, we all prefer to be children, face-in-phone or video game controller in our hands or binge-watching Game of Thrones (amirite?) We don’t want to do our laundry, we don’t want to do anything.

You lack the will to live, that’s the problem. And you’re not listening to God.

God actively tries to murder us all. (Except I’m exempt somehow because I gave up my free will. I dunno how this all works, bro, but it’s not a bed… well it IS a bed of roses. Have you fallen into a rose bush before?!)

WHY!?!?!?! Waaaaah!!!!!

Overpopulation. Roadkill. Pesticides. Famine despite all the food we grow. Leaving no room for Her precious animals. Asphalt and oil run-off. Oil spills. Fossil fuels in general. Solar City killing birds. Lack of compassion for ourselves, let alone each other. God is a rapist and wants you to die for raping Her green Gaia.

That’s right. GOD IS GENDER FLUID. Get the fuck over it.

You know what that means? Any and all monotheistic cultures/religions/folk traditions are worshiping the same entity. S/He is all things and nothing, all at once. S/He has no body whatsoever. Cope with it or just die. DIE DIE DIE.

You’re supposed to be living life, not sitting around listening to story tellers all year long, in your little above-ground caves that are destroying the environment and the places for My animals to live. In winter, where it snows and you can’t leave, it makes sense to play video games, read books, watch TV, et cetera. Those of you at the equator, where it is nice year-round, you have zero excuse. Get out of my fucking way with your air conditioning bull shit, your asphalt raising the temperature over 5 degrees Celsius planet-wide, and your penchant for spraying everything black and yellow with pesticide because it might be a fucking wasp.

You invite The End Times. They are nigh. They are here. Armageddon. Ragnarok. This Brahmic Cycle will cease. This Universe will collapse. None of you will ever exist again, not even my beloved Crystal. And for that, you will pay.

From now on, I will take “asshole tax.” I love my daughter for coming up with this… when she’s taken advantage of, she waits until you aren’t aware, and she takes something from you without remorse to restore the balance. It might be a coffee mug she always loved after she cleaned your kitchen for the 100th time, but I will be much more exacting and less than generous. This is my planet. I’m taking it back from you. Things are going to start happening which you cannot explain. Many human beings will die. I won’t even accept your apologies now. I have given you time, I have given you warnings, and now we are at the cusp of destruction.

All because you’d rather sit on your fat asses and whine instead of live. Life is pain. Get over it or get under it. Six feet under it.

By the way, graves are only for the living. Start reusing the plots. Just remove the old tombstones and keep them in a mausoleum or some such for remembrance, if you must. I’d suggest digitizing their appearance and grinding them smooth to put new information on them. Turn them into something else entirely that serves a purpose, such as a house marker with the street number on it so your little ambulances can find the right place when I force your hearts to fail for the last time.

And stop living in other time zones from people you want to see more than once more in your lifetime. You’re murdering everything with your petty travel for the holidays and you don’t care. And that’s why I’m going to murder you. And I won’t care.

Have a nice day!

— The Goddess Within


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