Ah, I love the cruel feminine. It’s so contrasting and yet true. If you roam around enough you may pick up the languages before deciding this is too much, and to that I’d agree.
There’s like a second language between women and it’s most amusing once you pick it up. At least initially.
The language isn’t necessarily found in words but context and this is why when Jessica compliments Sarah’s dress so the aloof one sees a friendly scene – smiles exchanged, beaming eyes – but yank the lens to the back and see their friends gasp, knowing they witnessed a declaration of war.
If you want to understand the context, then think about how acetone is essential to any woman’s toolkit. Or makeup for that matter. Subterfuge is second nature, laced and weakly acidic.
The motives of the cruel feminine are so amusing too – it really is like a snake, slowly wrapping itself around its prize. Dropping bits of gossip, land mines and that’s why Angelica is crying in the bathroom because she wore blue today. Peck, peck, peck.
That’s the strange thing about it though – it seems like this sort of subtle cruelty is out of vogue. Is it? I mean, at least that’s what it seems, but what do I know as the basement dweller I am? Well, let me have my conjectures based off my loose notes and fading memories and online communal delusions! It makes me laugh! All the theories many dedicate to what are very simple motives and unfortunate facts of Nature.
Frankly I wouldn’t be surprised if more cunning women were behind my dear recession of silent killers – leading others to forget this delightful toolkit so they suffer more, let them have scraps as commoners they are. Make them think it’s better to be straightforward honest negotiator instead of the under-the-table dagger-stabbing player. The latter is so much more amusing to witness, while the former is, of course, simple at best, and useless at worst. Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised at all. I mean some would say that’s the essence of feminism. Women’s sincerest enemy is amongst one another.
The thing about discussing women’s issues is that you are always wrong, and you’ll never be right. There is no solution because a solution to women requires a solution to men and there’s much heated debate and misdirection about such things.
Well, ignoring the loaded societal barrel a fuse away from destitute futures, I’m thankful for women however they come, seeing as my desires are three: food, water, bed. How is this related? Well, you should thank women too: they keep the economy running. And they make such fun little things out of the day. Holiday decorations, neighborhood gossip, explosions over the simplest of matters. You can learn a lot from women: the very nature of suffering, frankly.
I’m sure you heard that famous quote about how men can either love women or understand them. That once you understand them you will be revolted, something like that.
But you know, I think that only holds true if you’ve got your hand grasping onto the delusion-diamond romanticism can be. See, it’s not even exclusive to women.
I think it’s about understanding women as a hivemind, and men can certainly be as such too. For some that’s too much, holding closely to individualism. But you know, I’m probably a hivemind node gone haywire – under no delusion of individualism here. Still, let’s continue playing pretend – let the men discuss business as though there’s business to be done! Cigars for three and coffee. Black of course.
I love the women that realize as long as you make men feel important, how they’re solving “big” issues, they’ll do anything for you. Why would you give that up for… I’m not even sure what today’s terms are. Oh well.
When you view men and women as an aggregate, even though that’s a cardinal sin in all discussions – yuck, generalizations and archetypes you horrible heretic – things becomes so much more amusing and lovely. Maybe because the realm of potentials opens up rapidly?
Ah, viewing things from the macro makes it like a Europa game, and it’s so much more fun this way, and the pains of individual stories turn into boo-boos for the civilization as a whole. Reducing oneself to the gnat makes things so much more cozy. I can begin to see the appeal of being the historian, making figurines out of nations and theorycrafting over imperial palace subterfuge. Well, it’s always centered around the how, and never the why – the why is simple: they despised them.
You can be sure of one thing: you will rarely be good enough in a woman’s eye, so don’t even bother – the riddle is simple: set your sights beyond them and let them figure out themselves unless they ask for some guidance.
Unfortunately, even that may not work out so well. Figuring out themselves may result in permanent damage because their desires are bottomless and their affinity toward chaos is out-of-bounds. Not to imply there’s a right and wrong thing to do seeing as we’re just in our duality shimmerlands.
It’s not really a question of self-efficacy either. I just think women would have more fun if they realized they’re better off being the manipulating whisper.