Uncategorized

Wading Into the Shallow Toxicity of the Abortion Debate

 

So the most aggressive challenge to Roe versus Wade has been undertaken lately by numerous Southern and Mid-Wastern states, attempting to overturn a law many of the legisators from those places believe is legalized murder.  I am not so much going to defend abortion–a terrible thing, even when it is necessary–and I am certainly not about to defend the outraged religious morality that is attempting to further overpopulate the US with unwanted children.  I would like to attempt the rarist of things on this issue that inevitably devolves into emotionalism.  I’d like to have a rational discussion about abortion, when it is wrong, and when it is truly needed, and the vicious manner in which each side attempts to justify their beliefs.

 

Nobody wants an abortion.  Regardless of the handful of dipshits who parade themselves around like this:

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or the borderline terrorist gaggle of lunatics like this:

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This is a very sensitive issue and we should not lull ourselves into rage by focusing on the extremes.  There is a real world that abortion effects–the entire world, in fact, outside of the kooks shouting their protests inside cult-like movements.  There are the actual reasons women decide to get abortions, the genuine guilt many of them suffer afterwords, and the hard, agonizing choice they are forced to make whether to keep their eventual child, or save it and themselves from a future life of misery.  It is a hard choice, and people from either side of this issue need to acknowledge this.  Again, no one looks forward to an abortion, stating “I can’t wait to have an abortion!”  It is simply a legal reality that can offer salvation to a person’s life, and to an unborn child destined for poverty, helplessness, and the inevitablity of a pointless death.

 

Now the reasons abortion was legalized are pretty basic: women in dire situations were going to get one anyway, whether because they were sick, because they were poor, because they had cheated on their spouse and the child was not his, or because they were so young that they would never have the opportunity to raise their child right, leading to a hopeless life.  The abortions they then raced around to secret places to experience behind the closed door of a disgraced obstetrican, or a sympathetic midwife were barbaric.

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Before Roe v. Wade became law in 1973 there are some pretty harrowing statistics:

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These facts are terrifying, and they certainly make the case as to why, for those choosing abortion, legalization is very important.  But there are opposing ‘facts’ that opposing factions use to justify their ideas.  And while one side is in favor of freedom of choice and the goal of women’s reproductive rights, the other believes that life begins at conception (and we can ignore, at least for the space of today’s discussion, the hypocrisy of this support of life, the obvious points that after children are born much of the pro-life community forgets about the children, or their majority support of the death penalty.  We can discuss the genuine, although rare, use of abortion as birth control because “sex doesn’t feel good when he wears a condom.”)

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or

‘I FIND IT KINKY TO ABORT FETUSES’, JOKES PLANNED PARENTHOOD SUPPORTER ON CAMPUS

There is also a deep divide between a belief in the reasons women get abortions.  It seems that everyone can get their own preferencial facts:

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Additionally they argue about just how deadly the practice is:

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versus the change in deaths at the time of the change in law

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One side makes one arguement and they other side attempts to discount it.  And both sides can gather their facts, their individual advocates, and present each idea as the true reality.  It is a maddening issue.

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Prior to Roe v. Wade the protest movements for legalized abortion were about more than just the single issue:

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Women’s rights were first and foremost–protection from a male dominated society that had traditionally and for so long “kept women in their place.”  There was no sympathy for women who were raped, whether by family or otherwise.  There was a shrug of the shoulders, blaming the victim (in some nations even today rape victims are executed for having committed adultery), a masculine suspiction that the woman wanted it, and the inevitable agony for those who did not creep away to some backalley slaughterhouse, that every time they stared into the child’s face they would see their rapist, and every time the father looked he would realize that it wasn’t his.

 

Modern movements still exist as the war against the law raises its intentsity and the same fight mutates with the violent divides that exist today:

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Pictures of the dead, poignant arguments to prove the validity of the argument.

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But the anti-abortion movement has the occasional evidence that makes one gasp, seeing what some doctor decided to save after having an “awakening:”

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They even use transparently (and make-up artist designed) fakes to tug at the heartstrings:

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And this is what they claim, attempting to use “experts” to justify their stance:

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And they are countered with numbers based upon who knows what, every bit as questionable as the above.  In fact, the 49-54 million number is not even borne out in their vague estimates.  The numbers they claim from 1972-1997 equal 15,235,049.  The estimates from 1998-2007, which are obviously invented, add up to 12,768,000.  28,003,049.  Then, of course, subtract the 586,760, used to justify how low abortions were prior to Roe v. Wade.  Not accurate, not fair, lies lies lies lies lies.  And what about the incalcuable number of unwanted children born prior to 1973?  Which number, even with the exaggeration, do you think is higher?

 

The pro-choice lobby attempts to refocus the argument, understandably, on the mothers and their health:

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These are powerful arguments, countered by equally powerful arguments, even using some of the same imagry to defend their sides:

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And yet the whole debate must come down to freedom of choice, the freedom to make your own destiny, and the inevitable consequences of your choices.  There are plenty of women who regret having had an abortion just as there are many who believe that it was the best decision they made at that time in their lives.  There are new mothers who had once had abortions who love their children even more because they were born at the right time, so they and she can have a better life, more stable, and be loved and not resented for the numerous struggles they are bound to cause.  Which leads us to today, and the regressive efforts to overturn the law–at least in individual states, making the same primitive argument, ultimately, that the South did over the US Civil War.  It is no different, at least in a sense, than pro-slavery.  It is a restriction of the rights of a large swath of civilization.  And while the specifics are certainly different, perhaps not nearly as immoral as the practice of slavery, one cannot help be see the parallels:

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Yet still the anti-choice legislation makes some strong arguments, shocking us with their sincerity and how far they are willing to go to defend their passion.  They spill blood on people at pro-choice rallys–there has even been the suggestion of dumping aborted fetuses on the advocates.

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There are manipulative ads, unreal because this

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is not this

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Crazed parents also use the issue of stem cell research and their anti-vaccine insanity to enforce a duel-sided outrage and fear:

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They might even attempt to turn the abortion debate into some other social issue entirely, avoiding their pro-life stance in order to focus on a different problem, something that many young people might be able to relate to on the surface:

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And yet now, under Donald Trump, someone whom I have said before and repeat once again, does not actually believe in anything other than money, pro-life advocates are fixated on the Supreme Court promises the President has made and reasonably kept.

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Pro-choice advocates are understandably upset by this change in the face of the Supreme Court, the highest arc of legal jurisdiction.  Of course disregarded in this single issue fight on the pro-life/anti-choice side is just how much this might change other issues in the culture, including providing limits to free speech, imposing altered rights regarding protection from oppressive laws, and changing the structure of government itself until dictatorship can easily slide in and create a nation that can absolish congress and change the judges randomly should one dare disagree.  There are no limits, you see, to absolutism.  If one single issue is all you care about–and this is directed at every side of any single issue–then you are missing and disregarding the larger picture, the very idea of freedom.

 

In the end, this is all that is left to consider:

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Uncategorized

The Story of Dog Fighting and Redemption

 

for Marley

 

I am giving a serious warning, especially for those of us who love dogs: many of the images on display within this piece are extremely disturbing.  Some of them are sickening, enraging–I saw things both here and among the pictures I chose to bypass that will never leave my mind, ever.  Please, if you cannot function in a world where cruelty such as this happens, I urge you, stop right here after the following picture of my beautiful dog:

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This is Marley, now five years old, today a fat, lazy, happy thing.  We adopted her two years ago, then a traumatized creature, scared of us and scared of everything.  She was/is deeply affectionate and desperate to be loved.  She will climb on you like a lap dog and roll over to have her belly rubbed like the submissive canine lady she has become.  She is nearly 100 pounds.

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Now Marley has a difficult background, a combination Boxer, Border Collie, and other unresolved breeds that the animal shelter where we found her did know.  All they knew is that where she was formerly living in North Carolina, her life consisted of this:

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This grotesque practice is practiced by some of the worst people in the world

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should break everyone’s heart.  But it doesn’t.

 

This is what triumphant dog fighters look like after a victory.  Since Marley is still alive, there is no doubt that she has killed other dogs.  She has scars all over her body.  She cannot stand other dogs and one time she got off her leash while manically barking at a neighbor’s dog.  Within two seconds she had tackled this large, mean other dog, and was snapping at his throat.  I was fast enough and influencial enough with Marley that nothing other than this happened.  Anyway, the winners:

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and the losers:

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Now of course most of these dogs are Pit Bulls, a gracious, affectionate and loyal breed who happen to be very strong, a little skittish, and so protective of both their space and their families that they have developed a reputation they do not deserve.  People fear them.  Hell, even Judge Judy, a lover of dogs, turns a blind eye to a case of dog mischief if a Pit Bull is involved.  It is of course the people who cause this violence, who inspire the viciousness in the same way terrible, abusive parents make monsters out of their children.

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We can look at these pictures, cover our mouths and even tear up and cry, but that is not the way to end such things.  People react the same way to war, to capital punishment, to random gunfire in the streets, car crashes, abortion, a fight with your mother, a sad TV show–any other thing that seems important to you based upon your experience, your politics, your religious or moral beliefs.  All of those issues have different sides–mom thinks she’s right and you think she’s wrong, for example, and often those problems are never resolved.  But something so outright and unacceptable as animal abuse needs to end.  We need to eliminate not just a criminals guilty of these crimes against caninity, but the very desire for cruelty against our loyal friends and family members.

 

Remember this piece of shit?

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Michael Vick, the former star quarterback of the Atlanta Falcons.  He was once the face of the NFL.  This is what he went to prison for:

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These are actual images of the dogs Vick had at his pit (although the last one looks photoshopped, but fuck Michael Vick).  And yet, after only a year and a half, he was released from prison.  Shortly thereafter he was signed by the Philadelphia Eagles to be their starting quarterback, despite protests (perhaps the prime example of how little regard the NFL has for the health of anyone.  Yes, I am talking about their indifference to the effects of repeated concussions, the suicides and crippling, culminating with a man who became little more than a pit dog himself, Aaron Hernandez:

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Dogs will always love you if you treat them well.  They will listen listen to you when it seems like everyone else in the world is arguing.  They even understand.  These are not dumb animals, but deeply emotional, empathetic beings who are just as capable of joy and love as they are capable of the most horrifying violence.  Please, please help save abused dogs–abused animals of every type.  They never did anything to you, and they know how to appreciate your generousity.  Here are some contacts:

 

Home

https://www.homeatlastdogrescue.com/

North Shore Animal League America

http://www.americanrescuedog.com/

AKC Rescue Network

https://www.hopeforpaws.org/

https://www.aspca.org/

 

And outside of the United States:

 

https://www.spcai.org/get-involved/active-rescues/

International Pet Rescue

https://www.internationalanimalrescue.org/dog-rescue?currency=USD

Home

 

If you aren’t both appalled and pissed off by now then you deserve similar treatment.  Perhaps a mutual experience will cause you to realize just how terrible such indifference makes the world.  Just remember, no one is irredeemable if they are capable of learning compassion.

Pacino, the abused Pitbull

 

 

 

 

Uncategorized

Somehow We Find Hope

 

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Some time ago I entered several writing contests–vague little things with various prompts.  The styles I went for were diverse: short fiction, flash fiction (specific word count narratives, ranging as low as 50 words; I tried 50 and another at 100), of course essays, and even some poetry.  I am not a poet.  I do not even particularly like poetry, although any writer can learn movement, rhythm and style from the lingering ups and downs and sideways flourishes of language for language’s sake that makes up so much poetry.  If you are interested, I actually won one of these contests, a negligible cash prize and publication in a magazine none of you will ever read.

 

I am a generally unhappy individual, consumed far more often than is healthy with the decline of humanity, the death of our ability to live upon earth, and the genuine tragedy and hatefulness of our choices since we first clawed our way out of the slime.  Doctors have diagnosed me with numerous grim-sounding conditions over the years, sometimes changing their ideas (as I continue changing doctors, fatefully disillusioned with the psychiatric profession).  I have taken some long, hard time studying psychological states.  My professional life is a probing of motives, a quest for empathetic understanding of the characters that spring out of my mind, mostly a reflection of a sliver of myself given free reign over their singular obsessions.

 

But I generally write non-fiction these days, discarding the freedom of invention, of being the cruel god to my characters I have always mercilessly been, and now I find myself restrained by the facts, by the truth.  You might think that this limits imaginative expression, but you would be wrong.

 

Writing the truth gives the author a deep understanding of human nature.  I can suggest that this is the case for every author of history and biography, but there is a distinction that must be made before we can clarify what, exactly, is ‘the truth.’  As the title of this website insists, I “record editorial history.”

 

Some time ago I wrote an introduction to this website.  I have been writing essays under this heading since 1993, back when I was in college and still hopeful that the future might eventually go my way (I have about fifteen notebooks filled with angry, sometimes emotional rants, as well as an evolution of style and substance that makes me frequently proud.)  Originally these were merely reviews, commentary about historical persons and current events.  They were editorials, pure and simple–opinions of mine based in an idea discerned an interest in hard reality.

 

As I grew older and increasingly hopeless I had a serious change–a breaking point if you will–and the direction of my writing, already pitch black, devolved into a darkness so deep that I sometimes feared my rage would cause me go blind.  And then I noticed something, the culture arguing senselessly with itself, every person taking a momentarily passionate side, shouting their bias, and then losing interest as they marched onward towards the next cause of the moment.  This may have been a final moment of disillusion for me, but it wasn’t.  It truly wasn’t.  I believe it was this nonsense that forced me to finally come of age.

 

My quest became to study the facts, like a scientist seeking a breakthrough that could change the world.  Of course my arrogant ambitions in those days was to win a Nobel Prize for Literature, but that was merely a hope having very little to do with the goal.  I was going to study belief–belief systems and fanatical ideologies.  I would stop taking sides and actually listen to what people were saying and screaming about.  Wasn’t this also the truth?  Wasn’t the fact that larger and growing swaths of people believed certain things that may or may not be true another fact?  Don’t opinions impact the world?  Isn’t, say, religion a massive influence on the decisions people make, on the agendas they follow and even the people those occasional monsters choose to kill?  And religion, of course, is an improvable fact, existing as it does in a consumption of much of the world’s development, art and resources, but certainly something also filled with dark fantasies, parabolic mythology, heroic fairy tales and complete nonsense, probably even absurd in the primitive times when the tales were invented.  But this does not make religion any less powerful as a motive force.

 

I was going to study opinions, record them like any historian seeking to understand the present through the agonies and triumphs of the past.  As far as I could tell this was a new approach to history–a reckoning with the lies people have told themselves to justify real world actions, giving me the freedom to dive deeply into people I will not and can never know, and seek out the causes of their ways of thinking.  And of course I might be wrong, as so many historians prove to be after time passes and their own biases are uncovered.  But I felt I had some an understanding of the method–I was writing editorials about editorials.  I was outright declaring that all truth has a relative scale, not so much in its actuality, but in human acceptance.  It is true that many people refuse to accept the truth as truth.  This is an important reality.  This is what, in all my writing, I have attempted, regardless of the format I choose to state it: fiction, of course essays, sometimes even poetry, this has been my goal, my agenda, perhaps even an example of the fanaticism of my personal belief.

 

I will leave this here today with an example of what I am talking about, a poem I wrote (free-verse), that did not win anything.  When a writer enters a contest they are always convinced they will win, and when they usually do not, reactions range from rage to depression to forced indifference.  We never understand how anyone considered anything by another person better than our own masterpiece.  I rarely take it personally, but the following piece lost to a hideously politically correct work (offering insight into what the judges were looking for) of tripe declaring, to my utter contempt, that people need to learn that some words should be banned and that feelings are more important than free speech.  They were ranting against racism in a petty, ignorant, nearly fascist way.  And I believed that my work, dealing with a similar topic, was a far better expression of the larger and more important theme.  I was not about banning anything.  I was preaching absolute freedom.  Anyway, here:

“Love and Destruction”

It was 1923 when I finally fell in love.
I was a white man, well to do.
My grandfather had been a hero in the civil war.
He loved only the white race and hated all others.
‘Mud people,’ he called them.
And this is how I was raised.

We lived on a farm–cotton and tobacco and nothing to eat.
Most of our workers were black.
They worked the fields
They sang their songs
They fulfilled every stereotype that my mother and father believed.
And they were all treated horribly.
It was like slavery reborn.
And I loved it.
I was told to love it like the way it had always been.

But I never understood
The concept of race.
I saw human as human.
The hated liberals would sometimes start shouting.
They would claim that they ‘do not see color,’ which is absurd.
Of course they see it.
There would be no reason to say this if they didn’t.

My perspective was different.
I saw color, but I hated all humanity.
Equally.
To me we are all equally worthless.
And I have no patience for superficial hatreds.
Get to know a person, I say.
You’ll find a much better reason to hate them.

Then it all changed.
I was fifty-seven years old, owner of the farm and never married.
I hated children.
I hated women.
I hated myself.
Self-destructively I took up with my black housemaid.
I wanted to shock the world.
I wanted them to hate me too.

But she was good.
She was kind.
And when she discovered that I was sick, she promised to take care of me.
And we fell in love.
We were married.
I started feeling better and we decided to have a child.
It was stillborn.
Mariana died in childbirth.
And I was all alone once more.

I look to the sky at night
And all I can see is black and white.
And I wish I’d lived my life
In a better way.

Uncategorized

The Last Song of the Rhinoceros

 

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Anyone who knows me is aware that I love animals.  I truly do, feeling a deep affection that anger, disillusion and profound disgust has removed from the evolved human species.  Were you view my Facebook page you would discover, other than some rather shameless promotion for this site, numerous short videos about animals being either incredibly sweet, being saved from horror, or just being ridiculous.  I don’t post much about people unless it is with the intention of shaming or mocking them for something they stated truly unspeakable, or maybe some laughter at a joke.  But animals long ago stole my heart.

 

I remember as a small child that I loved going to the zoo.  I did not have all the awareness that I do today–many sides of the argument about the morality and purpose of zoos–I was just a child excited to see lions and tigers and zebras and giraffe.  I was fortunate enough to live near an impressive zoo where they had elephants and hippopotamus and–at a nearby aquarium, one of the strangest and most obscure creatures I have ever seen, the goblin shark:

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I was floored by the bountiful diversity of life on the still wondrous planet earth, and sometimes grew so excited that I was able to see past the occasional trudging boredom of my parents and brother and insist that we spend my birthday at the zoo, even inviting some friends along, half of them equally bored.  There was always a moment–usually my favorite moment, something I still experience to this day when occasionally taking my children around the world in the small space that houses our zoo–when I stand, empathizing with a depressed gorilla, staring at each other, sharing a profound (for me) moment that hopefully gave him a moment of peace.

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As I grew older and learned more about nature, about topics involving biodiversity in rain forests, the impact of man-made climate change, and the declining population of many species, as corporate technology dives deeper and deeper through the earth’s crust to extract the final scrapes of something salable, my love for animals took on a nearly activist passion (and that’s another thing anyone who knows me personally could tell you: I am not an activist, do not attend protest marches, regardless of whether I agree with the stance, and am more prone to mocking partisan propaganda than producing it).  My love for animals inspired me to want to defend them.

 

I once applied for a job at a nearby racetrack, willing to clean the stables and feed the horses just so I might have a few moments spending time with animals I have always had great affection for, soothing my mind with their freedom from judgment.  I was even offered the job, but was told that it was not what I thought it was.  Instead of a stable boy who got to brush the beautiful creatures sometimes, I was asked to serve as a breeding assistant.  I asked what that entailed and then immediately rejected the job.  Yes, I love animals, but not so much that I was willing to get paid to masturbate horses into a jar, and then bring their hot sperm to someone else, who had finally been promoted from my presumptive task to the job of injecting it into the females.

 

So instead I took on an effort to celebrate and promote animal protection in the only way I am qualified–writing sometimes scathing articles about what is happening to the diverse wonder of our planet.  The great animal that I fear for the most (yet another one of my childhood favorites, and my favorite Spider-Man villain) is the rhino.

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Just look at them, our last dinosaurs.  One cannot imagine how tough and how smart this species has to be to have survived as long as they have.  The subspecies that are still nominally living today (we will get into recent extinctions shortly) go back more than 20,000,0000 years, their own ancestors evolving themselves out of existence.  But instead of truly respecting these great and noble creatures, we find monsters (perhaps jealous of their longevity, fully aware that people will wipe themselves out long before reaching our full potential) attempting to profit, too, off the decline of these aging, diminishing animals.

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It is literally impossible for me to understand the purpose of hunting rhinoceros (I don’t approve of hunting whatsoever, but the larger issue I will acknowledge is personal, and there are some over-populated species who would all starve without some of them being picked off for antlers and food.)

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Above we see an example of hunting for no good reason, or even for cruel reasons.  This is Donald Trump, Jr., first lusting after trophy antlers, then carrying those antlers away.  The last smug picture is him holding a severed elephant’s tail in his hand.  Trophy hunting.  Jabbing the head of an enemy on a stick outside of your house.  I do not draw a distinction.

 

The Rhinoceros is in dire straits, most if not all of the subspecies set to disappear within the present century.

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This is the Javan Rhino:

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The white rhino:

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The black rhino:

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(the black rhinoceros was declared extinct in 2011, the victim of poachers)

Great One-Horned Rhino:

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Sumatran Rhino:

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Everywhere in the world the total population of rhinoceros is under 30,000.  Even worse, there are about 100 Sumatran rhinos, and only 60 Javan rhinos.  As for the white rhino there remain two living members of the species, both female.  Extinction is almost here.

 

The reason that the pathetic overall population is so high, in fact, is the result of a handful of elephants still wandering Asia, more subspecies of the subspecies.  I have focused here on Africa.  In Asia the treatment is hardly better:

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As the numbers above imply, most of these are Indian rhinoceros:

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Yet still:

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I realize that these beautiful animals, rarer and rarer every day, are not equipped to survive in the world that we have made.  These wise, older, anachronistic dinosaurs are one of the last traces we have left of a past we continue to mythologize into monster movies and toys, ignoring the real value, once again, of our planet’s history and our own impact upon it.

 

If you have a desire to help at the very least delay this genocide of creatures too many people deem so far beneath us that it does not matter whether they exist, please contact the following:

 

Home

https://www.worldwildlife.org/stories/saving-the-rhinos

https://rhinos.org/

http://www.savetherhinotrust.org/

 

As well as many other wildlife protection agencies.  This is an issue more urgent than many people may realize, perhaps feeling sad but writing it all off as inevitable changes in the world.  If a powerful species like the rhinoceros can be wiped off the face of the earth so rapidly after reigning for more than twenty million years, how can we any longer deny human impact on our planet?  How can we, with our weakness and lack of armor, possibly live in the face of change for as long as the rhinoceros did?

 

 

 

Uncategorized

Toxic Masculinity as a Way of Life

 

Who remembers the old days, or at least the days when we were young?  Think about the schoolyard, or out roaming around the neighborhood, maybe on bicycles, often on foot, sometimes finding secret or new places to explore regardless of the background where you lived.  I’m talking to the boys right now, those people who rarely get upset being referred to with that childish label (and not the self-important jerk-offs who correct you if you mistake mister for doctor.  And I want to ask these boys–ask these fellows who might not truly deserve the appellation ‘men,’ exactly what happened to your sense of childhood dominance over the world?

 

Oh, we can all admit in adulthood that adolescent boys are unbearable.  They bounce off the walls in highs and lows, and rush through things making stupid, impulsive mistakes.  All they seem able to do is either annoy people or seriously piss them off.  Girls of this age are no better of course–in fact in many ways they are much worse.  While boys are generally dumb and hyper-emotional, teenage girls are just plain mean.  The differences in fights between boys and girls is that boys may have a brawl, but when it is over it is over (sometimes to the extent that one of them winds up dead, but that sort of demolished ego usually takes a few more years to develop.)  Girls . . . girls will try to ruin your life.  They won’t stop.  They will recruit your friends to turn against you.  They will seduce your boyfriend or girlfriend.  They will invent crimes you committed, or moral outrages, and report these lies to the people who least want to hear them and will cause the boy the most grief.  Boys . . . boys are just momentarily violent, and usually end up filled with regret.

 

I think about youth baseball versus youth softball.  The girls playing softball always seem to be having fun.  They might be losing 16-0 in the fourth inning, but they are still busy singing campfire songs, clapping their hands, and cheerfully rooting everyone on.  Boys . . . boys on the other hand get angry, throw their gloves and bats.  They scream about being cheated.  They laugh when others are in pain.  And every game–every game until the kids graduate into having a sense of shame–sees at least one boy burst into tears for either dropping a ball or striking out.  It is a gruesome, depressing thing to witness.

 

Even worse, you get some of the coaches who make the game exclusively about their own sense of pride and masculinity.  They scream at the boys, sometimes even shove them, humiliate them.  They drag them off the mound, enraged.  They stand as a third base coach, telling the boys when to steal a base or race for home and they argue with the umpires (who generally work for free, off-duty police officers and firefighters who love kids), shrieking absurdity about how a twelve year old pitcher just balked and they should have another run.  What can you make of a person like this?

 

What I see is their failure, their own shattered dreams being shoved down hard onto their own children and the other boys only there to bring him glory.  These guys exaggerate their past, mumble about how they could have or almost went pro.  They trump up their statistics one season as the numbers they attained in the video games these man-children constantly play when not at work.  Here, take a look:

 

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And some of these guys either bow to or condemn the world out of reach, facelessly online.  Sometimes they’re such a bunch of pussies that they march behind people like this:

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There is another class of these doomed people, beyond the lazy nobodies still living at home.  These broken men are far from careless, overwhelmed thirtysomething children for whom the world is too much.

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This is the culture taking over the world, these men, these children, wracked with uncertainty and raised to doubt themselves.  And yet they are still arrogant know-it-alls, even more insufferable than those pompous blowhards of the past because they have grow shrill and irrationally outraged.  In fact, there are so many stereotypes men have taken on that sexist pigs used to attribute to women, that I have no idea how these guys, in moments of self-reflection, can justify their idea of manhood in any way at all.

 

Remember when women were the ones with a hundred pairs of shoes in their closet?  Remember, men, sitting there and waiting, bored, finding a chair in a store while your woman browsed with excitement (or perhaps just necessity) over the shoes?  And while some women certainly still do this, it was always a behavior  generalized as feminine.

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The last one is DJ Khalid’s shoe closet.  Now yes, he’s a rich guy, but this strange obsession that he has with sneakers, down to the shoe box styled benches, gives one a sense of eternal childhood.  That childish phrase on the floor–the arrogance of youth, that smug kid in high school dancing around and showing off his new $200 Jordans.  This is not an example of manhood.  It is boyhood, a permanent refusal, Peter Pan-like, to ever grow up.

 

There is little wonder that so many men are frustrated and angry today, yet they never seem willing to admit that so much of their misery they have brought upon themselves.  Take these sad, pathetic douchebags:

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The incels: involuntarily celibate.  These are men so consumed by self-doubt and lack of self esteem that they have transformed it into a righteous rage, like any fanatic, and lash out at a world they believe has wronged them.  They are an insult to true victims.  If one of them were actually to get laid after all this time, how do you imagine that would go?  Is he simply withholding some special technique that can bring a woman so much bliss she will never leave, no matter how terribly he treats her?  Is he denying them his sexual magic because she does not deserve it?  Do they imagine women yearning for them in their celibate stance, wondering how they can talk him into having sex with them?  Isn’t that how guys once treated women?

 

They even believe nonsense like this:

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And this is who they are:

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They even have a flag!

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Men like this even turn their failure with women into a fetish, imaging them with somebody else, mocking them.  They have classic cuckold fantasies, yet are not happy about it.  They find themselves angry about their strange desires, these incels.  And so they start a movement–pure woman hating–and believe that they are responding to women’s movements of the past and present, attempting to force their own ideas on what they deserve onto society.

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The second picture was taken at an annual celebration called “The Blue Ball.”  Childish cleverness.  These are maladjusted men, unequipped for society.  These two have actually made news:

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The guy on the left is Alek Minassian, a socially awkward man who had spent the time he may have used to meet woman, whether they rejected him or not, online reading and writing hate-filled rants.  He rented a van in Toronto and drove it at a high speed onto a sidewalk, aiming at women.  He killed eight of them, as well as two men.  Sixteen more people were injured, several severely.

 

The other guy–another monster, and perhaps the perfect poster boy of the growing failure of men in the modern world, is Eliot Rodger.  He waited in a dorm room and stabbed to death, one after the other, three men because they were sexually active.  He then drove himself to a sorority house and demanded entrance.  He was rebuffed, so he turned around and walked over to several of the woman lingering outside, watching and perhaps laughing at his pathetic display.  He shot them over and over again.  Two of them died in the attack.  Then he got back into his car, speeding along, firing his gun randomly out the window, killing another man, and wounding several other people.  He drove erratically and slammed into several more.

 

Eventually the police arrived and exchanged gunfire with Rodgers.  He was shot in the hip, but kept driving.  Finally he slammed into a car and, not wishing to deal with the consequences, blew his brains out all over the dashboard.

 

This guy–again, a face we need to truly consider with the decline of masculine identity–he wrote a hundred page manifesto called My Twisted World: The Story of Eliot Rodger (wanna read it?  Here:  https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/1173808-elliot-rodger-manifesto.html).  Some of it’s highlights include:

  • “The boys in my grade talked about sex a lot. Some of them even told me that they had sex with their girlfriends. This was the most devastating and traumatizing thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Boys having sex at my age of Fourteen? I couldn’t fathom it. How is it that they were able to have such intimate and pleasurable experiences with girls while I could only fantasize about it?”
  • “I began to have fantasies of becoming very powerful and stopping everyone from having sex. I wanted to take their sex away from them, just like they took it away from me. I saw sex as an evil and barbaric act, all because I was unable to have it.”
  • “. . .  sex should be outlawed. It is the only way to make the world a fair and just place. If I can’t have it, I will destroy it.”
  • “. . .just because I was condemned to suffer a life of loneliness and rejection, doesn’t mean I am insignificant. I have an exceptionally high level of intelligence. I see the world differently than anyone else. Because of all of the injustices I went through and the worldview I developed because of them, I must be destined for greatness. I must be destined to change the world, to shape it into an image that suits me!”
  •  “I saw people bragging online about their sexual experiences with girls. . .and they used the term “virgin” as an insult to people who were more immersed in the game than them. The insult stung, because it was true. Us virgins did tend to get more immersed in such things, because our real lives were lacking. I couldn’t stand to play (World of Warcraft) knowing that my enemies, the people I hate and envy so much for having sexual lives, were now playing the same game as me.”
  • “. . . she was like a goddess who came down from heaven. She was walking alone, in her bathing suit, with her luscious blonde hair blowing in the wind. I couldn’t help but slyly admire her beauty as we passed by each other. I was scared. I was scared that she might view me as nothing but an inferior insect who’s presence ruins her atmosphere. Her beauty was intoxicating! And then, just as we passed each other, she actually looked at me. She looked at me and smiled. Most girls never even deigned to look at me, and this one actually looked at me and smiled. I had never felt so euphoric in my life. One smile. One smile was all it took to brighten my entire day. The power that beautiful women have is unbelievable. They can temporarily turn a desperate boy’s whole world around just by smiling.”
  • “On weekend nights, I took a few shots from my vodka bottle and set out on walks around the town, desperately hoping that I would stumble across some opportunity to make friends. I often ended up sitting alone at some café, hoping girls would talk to me before I sobered up. No girl ever did. I then went back home to lie in my bed alone.”
  • “I arrived at the house one day, my mother being at work, and heard the sounds of Samuel plunging his penis into my sister’s vagina through her closed room door, along with my sister’s moans. I stood there and listened to it all. So my sister, who was four years younger than me, managed to lose her virginity before I did.”
  • “One time, as I was walking across the huge bridge that connected the two campuses, I passed by a girl I thought was pretty and said “Hi” as we neared each other. She kept on walking and didn’t even have the grace to respond to me. How dare she! That foul bitch. I felt so humiliated that I went to one of the school bathrooms, locked myself in a toilet stall, and cried for an hour.”
  • “What I truly wanted… what I truly NEEDED, was a girlfriend. I needed a girl’s love. I needed to feel worthy as a male. For so long I have felt worthless, and it’s all girls’ fault. No girl wanted to be my girlfriend.”

 

This insanity goes on and on and on, building chronologically until he outlined exactly what he planned on doing.  Then he did it, posting his pitiful story for the whole world to see just prior to going on his spree.  I hope, other than the police and investigators, that I am one of the few people who has read this.

 

The point is that this is what men seem to be slowly becoming (or not so slowly, advanced technology speeding everything up.)  There is a legitimate reason for fear–for everyone.  Angry, frustrated men, or their broken, subservient counterparts, are a suicidal, genocidal movement.  As Eliot Rodger said (and do not doubt that this feeling is widespread in our increasingly selfish times), “. . .  sex should be outlawed. It is the only way to make the world a fair and just place. If I can’t have it, I will destroy it.”