They're too young to remember it, mostly. Or in fading early middle age, old people puberty, decline combined with self-righteousness. They've always been self-righteous, entitled, empowered, esteemed. Proud heirs to the participation trophy, the triumph of will, ascendant upon the mountain of the universe -- vast in the equality of poppies, their vaginas are powerful, their penises a handy leash. The decline was from birth, born into twilight, and hell is murky.
The Left wanted us to move along, forget about it, that clinton thing. Get over it. Move on. So what if the male president groped a boob or grabbed a mons pubis. Trump, clinton -- well it mattered with Trump, but that was different. Vulgarian. Cigars, blue dresses, semen stains, flowers, troopers. Who can remember. Class.
Like a glimpse of stocking. Something shocking, from a long-ago generation. Passé. We have evolved. This is what maturity looks like. Virtue signals and cancel culture. Signal cancels -- a failure to communicate. What you are allowed to do, say, think, feel.
Best watch yourself.
It's never been okay. And if women finally get the courtesy they were, several generations ago, nominally due -- holding a door open, standing when she enters -- well such formalities didn't prevent scum from abusing the power of position.
And abortionism had its price. Women stopped being female. They are men with breasts, as men are women with back hair. What they are pleased to call 'gender' is all about, and nothing but, bulges. Everything is entirely superficial and phenomenological. Shave down an adams apple, remove breast tissue -- presto change-o. Déclassé.
It's an idea I may go into, sometime. But transgenderism is an anti-abortion argument. There is a spirit, they suppose, male or female, in the wrong body. So, there is a spirit in a body. A human spirit, in a human body. Thus, abortion is homicide.
Don't blame me. My position is consistent. I've changed in hardly anything. There is no longer an America -- that was hard to accept. My brazen serpent, Nehushtan, a useful thing that became an idol. Nun sheath -- ashen hunt. Now it's not even useful, america. Nothing but the richest slave. A fun fact known from ancient Rome (and everywhere else): slaves make the cruelest masters. It's all they know.
What is the first human emotion? You'd think hunger, but that's just biology. Hot or cold or itchy, or boredom, the same. The first human emotion is the need for connection. Intimacy. It's why babies stare. They look at everything. They stare at mommy. As I have said, it is the nature of a personality to want to be known -- to reveal itself. Human life is about contact. Sartre is mistranslated: hell is [needing] other people.
This explains it all.
Move On. Me Too. They're almost anagrams. Move onto me. Like OJ, there's just too much love.
J
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