Old, new, why.

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Not even ammonia and day tripping can stop the bell.  She sings, I waltz.  That is neither new or old, it's just the way it works with men.


At one time, things were more... simple.  I would see, then chase.  I would find, feel, love, and leave, or not.  Moments.  It's all I had to offer, it's all I could afford.  A couple of times it went deeper, but for me, then, I knew better, save once.  I burned for that mistake.  No matter how well heeled, no matter how professional, it didn't matter.  Hunger is a state of being, not a choice.  So it was, and is.

My job, to a degree, is to bring down the cult of the feminine.  Oh, I won't do it politically, or militarily.  I do it in my mind, through others, as I do things.  If this is only one of my tasks, it is one I enjoy, save when it's a bit personal.  At times this task has been more or less a filling of the void that I must fill.  It isn't for myself, but for history, culture, civility, and even for the sake of women.  Many of them are beginning to understand, see, just why equality is not a favor to them, but a path to total servitude.  Finding where to feather back the layers, and how, granting what can and should be granted while removing what should not be available, is the trick.  I am not doing it alone, or by myself, of course.  How to find love in that?  Actually, it is quite simple.  They already know, so finding one who knows and agrees, or is capable of learning, is the way.  As with Merlin and Morgan, at least as far as this song goes, there is an attachment.  We are quite familiar to one another.  And we are enemies, if she is just one face of the feminine, the one with which I war.

As with Merlin, I think...  When I am here, of flesh, one way to pass the time more productively, is to be trapped by another sort of woman.  That is, in part, what I seek in a wife.  Odd how these things work.  Cool water, to lie beside, to be sure.  Not just for the one, but for the other.  It is an extension of my war on feminism, and for her the war on the masculine, but down from a wider way to a personal way.  A trap, when sprung and full, can trap no more.  A coyote, stuck in a trap of this type, yields his wild to a degree.  Both are a bit dangerous, to one another, and just as they are when loose or set.

What crazy thing could trap such a one as myself?  Ah, that has always been known.  More so if chastity is part of the gifted bait.  Something I realized, about that, just the other day?  If a woman surrenders that to her husband, she doesn't lose it, so long as she remains faithful.  No matter what he does, she will remain a maiden if she remains true.   That came to me, in a vision.  I had never considered such an odd thing before.  A rare and special sort, these. Yeah, on my mind. So be it. More so as health improves and I become much more active. Haunted by the living, and life. Sometimes it isn't all bad, not at all bad, or better yet.  it is the latter of these, mostly, save for time and distance as it appears currently.

Later.