The Sinister War of the Sexes

9a0794c0c5c13618677bdce96cdea2cd--dominatrix-mistress

I find most of the blogs and articles about “sinister feminine” pretty nauseating. Wouldn’t it be better to admit that one sucks at writing stories and creating complex characters? If some alien who knew nothing about the Earth laid his hands on some piece of sinister fiction, he would think we have matriarchy here and all the males are forsaken by nature and evolution troglodytes born only to serve some clique of female chauvinists.

When one reads Deofel Quartet or other ONA tales, one can see that nearly all the male characters are pretty shallow and one-dimensional, incredibly stupid and naive, devoid of free will, thinking with their dicks, not heads, which inevitably leads them to being abused by their female superiors. An example of such a male troglodyte can be Thorold, ensnared and manipulated by Lianna, who plays the role of the Black Widow, seeking the male to impregnate her and then (when his task is complete) probably sacrifice him to ensure that her crops will grow. That would certainly improve her finances. Business is business. But I’m not really interested in victims. The depiction of a sinister initiate is what I find intriguing.

No Room 101 or Falcifer Unproven

To those not well-versed in modern British literature, let me explain that in Orwell’s “1984”, the room 101 was Winston’s final stage on his way to self-degradation or self-liberation if one prefers the interpretation of the scene by Dr Mikey Aquino. Therein Winston faces his greatest fear – the fear of rats – and under its pressure he breaks his most important principle, his biggest life taboo; he betrays Julia. Only in this way can he be reborn with a new identity, that of the loyal servant of his tormentors. He can either choose this or die eaten up by rats – his greatest nightmare. In either case he loses. It seems Orwell doesn’t free his protagonists from facing the most crucial choices… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

So let’s come back to our “hero”, Falcifer. Much like the main character of “Gruyllan’s Tale”, who is ready to have half of London blown up in order to get laid (talk about desperation), Conrad is largely bewitched by a hot-burning pussy. As an archetypal Anti-Christ, he’s a rather disappointing and dull figure. Throughout the tale, he’s constantly led by the hand, as he realizes himself, the events happen through him rather than by him. That means he’s less doing the magic himself than the magic is done through him, with Aris, the Master, being the agent, the Magician, and Conrad being merely his magic wand. His passive role of a vessel for the forces of chaos is even visible in a way he does sex. He doesn’t fuck, he is fucked. Note the passive.

Susan kissed him as they lay on the ground and Tanith kneeled beside them to caress Conrad’s buttocks and back. In the excitement of the ritual and Tanith’s touch, Conrad’s task was soon over, and he slumped over Susan, temporarily exhausted from his ecstasy. He did not resist when Tanith rolled him over, and watched, as the dancers danced around them still chanting and the light pulsed with the beat of the drum, while Tanith buried her head between Susan’s thighs. Then she was kissing him with her wet mouth before she stood to kiss each member of the congregation in salutation.

So why there is no room 101 in “Falcifer”?

Because Denise escapes.

The whole story should get a prize for its wasted potential. If Denise hadn’t managed to flee, Conrad would have faced his most arduous ordeal. He would have had to decide whether to commit real evil and kill an innocent woman who saved him (which is much different than harming the villains who well deserve it) or ruin his wedding ceremony, disappoint his mentors, possibly waste his promised destiny and be forced to leave the group he so desired to be part of. To his credit, he refuses to rape her but never makes an effort to free her. How would he behave if ordered to sacrifice her during his marriage ceremony? In which case would he get a cookie from the Devil? Should an Anti-Christ set some limits to the Evil or not?

That would complicate the whole story, right? So I started with sex and finished on conformity and the nature of good old evil. After all, they are connected.

Anatomy of V.K. Jehannum

Fox

Here, put some bread crumbs for the birdies, please 😉

Since V.K. Jehannum dedicated some blogs to me, I would be an ungrateful bitch if I didn’t even mention him. I observe with interest, and even participate, in his ongoing polemics with those diabolical Wyrd Sisters, whoever the hell they are. The guy has a sense of humor, for sure, so I quite enjoy his blogs and videos, though that kind of debating style is not really my cup of tea. I’ve just noticed his latest videos (you can watch them here if you’re interested) which are the response to one of the WyrdSister’s propaganda essays. One thing that caught my attention was the funny way he’s reading the article. I remember that one day I was talking to my buddy, who goes by the nym of antikarmatomic, and I showed him an article written about me. He said: “Come on dude, it’s written in a full retard mode. Just try reading it aloud and see if you can resist the chortle.” Then he suggested some funny way of reading it, which unfortunately I don’t remember, but when I saw V.K. reading it aloud, I thought: “Yeah, this is it.”

One thing that I pity the guy for… (Or wait, I don’t actually pity him because I’m doing exactly the same thing. Only I enjoy endless debates while he says he doesn’t) is that he’s talking to the fucking wall. Or better, he’s talking to some wound up artificial bird, which persistently chirps the same song. It kinda reminds me of the almost surreal conversation I once had with the lady suffering from Alzheimer’s in the nursing home I work in. The poor thing didn’t know where she was and what was happening to her, although she’d  been there for more than three months. When I answered her questions, she asked me the same questions over and over again, saying that I didn’t want to answer her questions and that I had some secrets I didn’t want to reveal. Everything I said was lost on her. She behaved as if I didn’t say anything to her or said something else that existed only in her imagination.

Another thing that caught my attention in one of his videos was him saying that he didn’t believe Kerri Scott aka WyrdSister could be that stupid and that she was simply disingenuous. Then one of my acquaintances, Beldam, commented that she only wanted everyone to talk about the ONA. The more, the merrier. Maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong. On a more serious note, I’m rather tired with random people claiming to be on the inside of some vague joke. Unless you are sitting in someone’s head and reading their thoughts, you’re basically in the dark like everyone else. It’s as if I said “My former friend hates me and is mean to me because she’s jealous.” She might be jealous but this is what you assume, not what you know.

But hey, let’s go down the rabbit hole and let’s try to figure out what Kerri Scott’s agenda might be because I don’t believe she’s merely hypocritical or asshurt. What if this is a test? A kind of social experiment? Remember MKULTRA? I will don now my tinfoil hat. Kerri Scott might be a Magian government agent in disguise examining the effects of bullshit propaganda on the guinea pigs who yearn to be sinister. Imagine that some mad scientist locks you up in a room where you have to debate an automaton which repeats the same nonsense over and over again no matter what you say. How much time would pass till you went crazy? Or she tries to convince you that you are an initiate of some ancient esoteric tradition, the bits and pieces of which she got from various sources she read, only to see how easy it is to create a loyal adherent of a new religion? Or she invites you to a super secret barbecue party, only the chosen ones can attend, to see how deep you shoved that stick up your ass? Or she talks shit about one of your friends and associates only to prove that you are spineless and easily giving in to the stick and carrot treatment?

That’s all for today and if I have ever hurt anyone with my posts, I’m really fucking sorry. I didn’t want to. It’s because I sometimes forget to take my meds. I’m not going to pretend I’m not a liar. Everyone is and the only thing I can do about it is to compete with other liars so that I don’t occupy the last place in the liars’ pecking order. One thing is sure, I will never outsmart Ms SIN Jones.

P.S. This blog was inspired by V.K. Jehannum’s article, “Anatomy of a Czereda” and one by Chloe 352, “Psychic Card Readings.”

A White Bunny in the ONA Hole

Alice-in-Wonderland-Line-Drawings-alice-in-wonderland-2010-10573749-694-768

The poem below is dedicated to my dearest friend, Darryl Hutchins, who is on his noble way to fight the Old Geezers and Magian pseudo-initiates, defend the truth, enlighten the ONA kids and reform the grand sinister cyber kollective.

Don’t be put off by the silly wording of the poem as the wisdom lies therein. The message is a secret key to the ONA sinisterly-numinous mysteries. Sort it out and don’t lose your heart.

Jabberwocky
.
By Lewis Carroll
.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.
.
 “Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
      The frumious Bandersnatch!”
 .
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
      Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
      And stood awhile in thought.
.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
      And burbled as it came!
 .
One, two! One, two! And through and through
      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
      He went galumphing back.
 .
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
      He chortled in his joy.
 .
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.

Just a Voice in My Head

677ee3c47774f575dcaf89ac0cd237a4

Dear reader, this incoherent string of thoughts below is or could be my confession. I’m writing it down because I’m bored with the game I’ve been playing for too long a time. I’ve managed to fool everyone, including myself.

I’ve been living in this matrix I built for myself for the whole of my life. Or is this other people’s fault? I don’t have time to figure it out now. Enough of going round in circles. I just want to leave and let the door hit my ass on my way out.

They say I’m a misogynist. I’m not. I don’t hate women. I just don’t care. No no. It’s as if I didn’t care. Why do I feel a pang of pain if I see her in his arms? This one or that one. All the time the story repeats itself. What is wrong with me? Is my ego at fault? Why don’t they see me for what I am?

I say I don’t need them but I need them. I want to live alone, yet my middle finger shown to the world is a desperate cry for attention. My defiance is a sigh of a wounded heart. I struggle a lot to show how much I don’t care and hide my desire to impress.

Why do the bitches hate me? If I only knew why. I’m a little bit confused. What if my enemies exist only in my head?

So now I’m telling you all goodbye. Saying goodbye to the world of lies and stories. Leaving it behind and what did I expect to discover except for how deluded and stupid I’ve always been?

Everyone is a liar.

It seems my only fault is that I can only be good.

The Show Must Go On

black-mirror-white-bear

Someone on the Debate.org forum posted a topic about “Black Mirror” series. Since I didn’t watch it, I decided to give it a try. I watched a few movies, they were not bad but weren’t good either. The message is quite banal. The modern consumer society is bad. The technology is a devil blah blah blah. A little bit similar to “They Live” movie. However, one movie made an impression on me. It was “White Bear”, a fascinating and a bit disturbing movie with a surprising ending.

A woman, Victoria, wakes up in a house with a terrible headache and to her horror she realizes she doesn’t remember anything. There are bandages around her wrists and the pills scattered on the floor as if she tried to commit suicide. The TV is turned on but the screen is blank with only a strange sigil on it. She runs out of the house into some sort of sinister neighborhood where the people are constantly looking at her and filming her on their cellphones. She is then chased by the hunters wearing fancy clothes and creepy animal masks, trying to kill her but nobody is paying attention to her cries for help, except for a young woman, Jem, who helps her to escape.

Victoria carries a photo of a child with her, whom she thinks is her daughter. Apart from that, she doesn’t remember anything and is totally confused. The behavior of her neighbors perplexes her but Jem explains that the people are mesmerized by the mysterious signal appearing on TV and the internet, which turns people into sadistic murderers or zombie voyeurs, and to stop that they have to destroy the transmitter at the White Bear site.

Before they get there, they are led at a gun point by a guy who they thought was their friend to an ominous site where people hang crucified on the trees. The guy threatens to torture Victoria but Jem manages to kill him. Finally, they get to the White Bear site and to the transmitter building, where they are stopped by two hunters. Victoria shoots at one of them but the gun fires confetti. Suddenly the door opens revealing a stage and a cheering audience. Jem and the hunters bow down to the audience and it turns out that everyone except Victoria was an accomplice in an elaborate reality show.

Now it’s the time for the big revelation. Victoria learns that she together with her boyfriend kidnapped and murdered a young girl who was holding a white bear. Her boyfriend was torturing the child while she was standing by, passively watching, laughing and recording everything on her cellphone. The strange symbol Victoria saw on the screen was her boyfriend’s tattoo. After being arrested, he committed suicide in prison while she was given an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth sentence, serving as an object of entertainment for revenge hungry spectators at the White Bear Justice Park, tormented and helpless like her victim.

Victoria is then paraded in the street among the hateful crowd to the house where she woke up to have her memory wiped so that she can relive her nightmare over and over again.

I just wonder what the hell is the point the director is trying to make. That we are vengeful and blood hungry animals? That’s hardly a revelation. That technology desensitizes us to human suffering? The truth is that the executions have always been an entertainment. Long before our modern times they attracted spectators. The movie reminds me of all those gang-stalking conspiracy theories, where the supposed victims believe they are at the center of some sophisticated game with everyone around them as willful accomplices.

Anyway, Victoria’s punishment is like mythological hell; never-ending and repetitive, like Prometheus’ or Sisyphus’ torment. The funny thing is that she’s such a perfect victim, so miserable, pathetic and crying all the time. Uugh.

The Frog And The Princess

173435-3

Once upon a time, beyond the seven seas, there lived a princess who badly wanted to marry a prince. One day, when she was walking in the garden, she saw a frog. Without thinking twice (because she remembered the stories her mom read her for goodnight), she took the frog in her arms.

My dear prince – she said to it – your cruel fate is coming to an end. My love will save you.

And she carried the frog to her castle. She kissed it and… nothing happened.

But the courageous princess didn’t lose heart.

Honey – she said showering the frog with kisses – what a cruel witch put such a strong spell on you? You’re ugly as hell but I see beauty in your eyes. I will always love you!

Nothing happened.

But the princess was determined and wasn’t going to give up. “No surrender” that was her life motto.

I know what I will do – said the princess – I will give you an ultimate proof of my love.

And the princess stripped naked and did a fine belly dance before the perplexed frog.

Still the frog remained a frog.

You scoundrel! – cried the princess and in her fury she threw the frog against the wall.

You fool – moaned the frog as it was giving its last breath – Can’t you see I’m just a fucking frog?