Love In A Time Of Poz

Every man wants the wheat field virgin. They exist. In high school. Teenage boys right now, and even the boys who are still too young to pay attention to girls, know this: you must figure out what you want from life at a very young age.

If you want the kind of woman God intended for you to have, marry your slim, pretty high school girlfriend and start putting buns in her oven right away. Make your parents and hers help you financially and know the sixteen principles.

As to older single men, consider Plumpjack’s words. His long comment at Chateau Heartiste follows:

There’s fantasy and then there’s reality. The fantasy is that a bumper crop of fresh, malleable, submissive HB8-10 virgins with perfect hip:waist ratios and perfectly rounded elbows, is right around the corner, and that every shitlord will have his pick of the bunch to wife up and create an huge family with.

The reality is that the poz, which was specifically designed as a tool of biological and psychological warfare against the goyim, has permeated every last crack and crevice of white societies for at least the past thirty years.

It was a direct attack on one of the backbones of white societies: the virtue of our women. Both men and women have come to see each other as nothing more than fucktoys. This seems to have hurt women more than men, because men have more time on their biological clocks to run down, but on a long enough time scale, we’re all screwed. And not in a good way. But if you find yourself hating all women except nubile virgins, then guess what? It worked.

So here’s the thing: our women have been tainted. Men and women have been pitted against each other. Men hate women for giving themselves away freely, to men who weren’t investing in them. Women hate men because the quality men see them as nothing more than fucktoys, not worth investing in. So we’re stuck in a vicious cycle which, if not broken, will end in us disappearing from this universe. One side is going to have to start the reconciliation.

You have to use your judgement as to whether a woman in her thirties is worthy of being the mother of your kids. There’s a very good chance that she spent her late teens and twenties believing the poz mind poison that she’s an all-powerful fucktoy who can get whatever she wants from the world by manipulating men into doing her bidding, and that she would be forever free from the consequences. Does that make her a bad person? Does that mean she’s not worth investing in? If you can bring her in line and she becomes YOUR woman, can she be seen as redeemed? Only you can make that calculation for yourself.

Another way of looking at this is, imagine if in the past an invading army came and raped all of our women. Every last one. Would you choose to perish, because all your women had been tainted? Or would you work with what you had? My guess is that our ancestors worked with what they had.

Plenty of women screw multiple guys because it’s their only way of finding out who is really Alpha and who is not. Who can deliver the whole package, who’s a fraud. Birth control has given them that “freedom” to shop around. If you want to see it that way. That doesn’t mean they all use that “freedom” to pursue full-on degeneracy. Many of them choose long term relationships, trying to figure out if the guy they chose is worthy of cashing in her hypergamy chips and going all in for a family. How will she know whether he’s the best option if she doesn’t try at least a few different guys? The other option is arranged marriages to a patriarchy-approved Beta. And how well did that work out last time? Legions of sexually-frustrated women were the low hanging fruit that brought down civilization.

TL;DR. Fuck what everyone else says, especially guys on the internet. Pick a woman of good character who makes your dick rock-fucking-hard and then tell her in no uncertain terms that the two of you are creating a family together and that nothing she does will impress you until you see that first healthy kid’s head coming out of her pussy. Then follow through. Every. Step. Of. The. Way.

I guarantee you you will not have a problem with a woman if you approach the whole enterprise with this level of purpose and clarity. This is what they want. The powerful, clear-headed guy who makes them feel valued

You will have to decide what level of imperfection you are willing to accept in your woman. I’d say that at this particular time and place, you’re going to have to be flexible on the fact that she shared her pussy with some other guys, while she was searching for the you, guy who could actually deliver the whole package. The way you can feel better about this is to pick the absolutely finest, highest quality woman you can find. I’m talking, like, ridiculously fine. Then ride her hard, emotionally, physically, psychologically, early on, to see what she’s about. If she doesn’t crack, and you guys are hot for each other, you’ve probably got a good one. just make sure you have a plan to follow through. If she catches even a whiff of you wavering, you’ll lose her.

And, again, fuck what everyone else says. It’s your life.

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Hating Women

A compilation of quoted text from a “How much do you hate women?” thread on Reddit:

if almost all the women I needed to interact with had not treated me with disgust and disrespect, wanting to make sure I know my place as subhuman on the planet, I might not have hated them, but it would be necessary to remove all the bad memories of humiliations and aggregations, which were occasionally caused by them and by their social influence on their normies pets, all they had to do was say something and I was humiliated and beaten, there are too many memories to ignore and too much hate to be left behind, if I could I would put a bullet in the head of each one of them

Let’s see, for nearly two decades I’ve gone to sleep every night fantasizing about torturing women.

Just thinking about how much I hate women makes me hate them more. I hate them so much it gives me a headache.

I don’t know if I’d rather fuck or kill a girl. Both would be immensely pleasurable.

It’d be great if there was a girl in pain at my feet. And I could crush her head under my heel. Over and over, smashing her face into pulp. Unrecognizable as human.

It’s OK to hate racial and ethnic enemies. There are two kinds of such hateIn fact, if you don’t feel something icy and implacable toward them, something’s not right with you. Be assured that they hate you and they want you dead. It’s also OK to hate an individual woman such as a vicious ex-wife. But if you hate women as a category, pull yourself back from the abyss.

Liberal West is hell for us, paradise for entire categories of parasites. Is it a paradise for White women? SJ, Esquire’s comment gives a glimpse of what it’s like for a girl:

If you’re ever tempted to hate “women” as a class (God forbid one ever becomes as bitter as those incels, linked above), just think about how life unfolds for them, and you’ll probably find that hate melting away. Really imagine what it’s like for a woman: you go through life not understanding why everyone is nice to you all the time… you’re EXTRAORDINARILY susceptible to peer/media pressure, so that without even realizing it you put off the things that make you happy in favour of toxic behaviours that slowly poison your soul… and then one day, you notice that no one gives a fig for you anymore, and you’re invisible, and it was all a lie. That’s harsh, that is.

Confession: I like women. Girls were lied to just as badly as boys. Do you think that taking a hundred cocks, each new arousal dependent on a slightly higher degree of humiliation than the previous, and the deadening of every last bit of tenderness and ability to love made them happy?

We all could have lived differently. We could have lived in a world in which virgin marriage at a young age is the socially enforced norm. Women may well have felt a part of them contained by that custom, but I assure you that every last one of the ageing slags you see out there puking out her wine would have instead been healthy and calm and valued.

Many of us are angry. Had I known, had I not been lied to. Could have had so much more. Could have been so much more.

If you harbor homicidal feelings toward women as a whole, I’m not turning my back on you brother, just on the demon inside you. That thing is yours to kill.

Women Are Choosing

There is a youngish married woman who, contrary to all of her apolitical or Trump-supporting girlfriends, is an armchair social justice warrior who makes a daily habit of squirting anti-White posts on Facebook. Her friends roll their eyes when her name comes up and some have unfollowed her because they find her posts irritating.

She is an anachronism. On matters of identity, there is nothing left to debate. What’s left is signalling. In other words, informing your peers on where your loyalty belongs.

NFL’s Take a Knee campaign is a prominent example of such signalling. It was never a debate on “freedom of expression” — it is an affirmation of identity. White GenZ kids are getting red-pilled younger and younger as events pull them onto history’s stage.

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“In days of gold we dreamed on the heather”

A poem written by Lucius Somesuch, originally posted by him at Chateau Heartiste and in the comments on my blog yesterday. 

In days of gold we dreamed on the heather
Beneath Heaven’s broad splendor that brightly shone.
Tonight we writhe in highwaisted pleather
Frantically doing things best left undone.

My locks are coiffed to tres chic perfection,
My alabaster limbs with glitter flicker.
My glassy gaze gives strangers an erection,
My thoughts are distant, on liquor, twitter.

Time threatens furrows, the prudes would warn me
And Beauty’s prime prances ‘fore an open grave,
And the Air’s Dark Prince muses to harm me,
But the beat goes on, and tonight I rave.

What have I to do with maidenly prudence
Or with the matron’s fond worrisome cares?
Why should I sit all alone and rue? Dance!
I’ve got left before me many fine years!

The Invisible Worm wings on the blast
And the omens are rich that Eyes Wide Shut
Was a documentary. But I have cast
Mine with the devils’ lot. Snort a line. Rut.

— Lucius Somesuch

Kieslowski’s Women

Documentary filmmaker by training, Krzysztof Kieslowski had expressed an array of moral themes through female beauty at least since his Decalogue television series (1988). International audiences first saw his eye for detail and its power to render inscrutable concepts in 1991’s The Double Life of Veronique. The film follows the lives of two women at their crossroads, each played by Irene Jacob: Veronique, who makes the necessary compromises and lives, and Weronika, who flies too close to the sun and falls:

In Blue, the fist installment of the three-color trilogy (1993-1994), Kieslowski works with the earthy Juliette Binoche. The hardness of her character lets her survive a horror that would have destroyed a weaker woman, but the story is about her letting go of her pride to find grace in humility:

In White, Julie Delpy’s angelic radiance belies her cruelty. An even more cruel comeuppance makes her a woman again. In this flashback scene, she’s downright beatific:

Red once again features Irene Jacob personifying feminine selflessness. As I mentioned in an earlier post, there is a scene in which Jacob’s character tells her confidante, a cynical retired judge, that her younger brother is a heroin addict and she wants to help. His advice to her: Être. Just be. She’s confused by his answer, so he repeats: être. As I also noted then, this is not over.

Each of the installments of the trilogy focuses on its respective theme liberté, égalité, and fraternité. That said, I see another dimension to Kieslowski’s nominally Revolutionary themes: a vision that a reunified Europe had an opportunity to become whole by reconciling its humane but frivolous half with its spiritually raw, debased other half.

Short-term, things have worked out a bit differently, but the trilogy ends on a prophecy. Foreshadowing the present cataclysm, the events in Red culminate with a tempest and a new day for its survivors.

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