Why Men are the Best

Yeah Bernie has that ad face of half woman half man

Proud to say I’ve read the cry for justice at least 3 times in my life

Jesus never established a church didn’t even want a church

The women went to the desert they fasted they took it internal

There is no show

It was Peter the rock who founded

The church

And it created religion as we know it

I think men are the best too. :wink:
But women are also awesome.

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Thanks for bringing us back.

I say most men are pigs.? It’s the women who are virtuous !

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Sanskrit of others

Jesus still went to temple

No madness only every other miracle even small to us can be

My daughter modeling Kari wants her space

Break down natural

The mind though in prime

Body went thru flowering heavy scent

My son hated it

Worst mental attributes then

Running dialogue all day

My daughter repeating

Didn’t do it though

Insulated

Meds corrected

The running dialogue was everything I thought or said that day while cooking dinner

Heard or saw they’ve got my mind

Checking it and checking it over and over

I got one…men can pee while running…i was in the desert stopped to pee…but a rattlesnake already claimed that spot…so i ran…got a little on my shoe but thats better than a snake bite…lol…thus is a joke topic right?

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I certainly see a lot of women dressed like men… they don’t to be prostitutes… but they might be who knows…

If she’s a lesbian and still provides a motherly role to her offspring that’s fine with me… Divorce happens all the time straight/gay/bi whatever…

And some educated females may very well marry anyone they choose… to say that has never happened is pretty presumptuous…

“She college educated… she graduated.” Some hoodlum type rapper singing about his girl… You know as men in the past used to be the sole providers and didn’t have to constrain themselves to any certain class of women… why should modern day women capable of provider-hood be any more limited?

There is always a narrative that goes with any age, but that narrative is like a blanket that is too small for its bed. If we pull it one direction, another place is left bare, and so on, until someone throws off the blanket and looks for another cover to make the night more bearable. The writers of any age invariably show what is wrong with the narrative that circumscribes that age, and often they are hated for it. People desperately want that comfort from their blanket/narrative. I am reminded of this scene in that great novel “Frankenstein” by Mary Shelly. This ship is trapped in the ice at the northern polar ice cap, and they see this guy chasing this nine foot monster on a sled through this vast arctic desert. They catch this strange fellow and question him. This person says, “I suppose you wonder what I am doing chasing this nine foot monster across the ice at the top of the world”, to which the captain of the ship says, “Of course not. It would be impertinent and inhuman to ask such a question.” Here he has seen someone doing something truly extraordinary under extraordinary circumstances, and he is too polite to ask him why. That should tip the reader off that their is an almost hysterical blindness in the people of this time, a desperate and willful refusal to accept the truth.

Mary Shelly came from the romantic age, and she dissects its shortcomings well. This monster has been created by a “Dr. Frankenstein”, and when it comes to life the doctor is too repulsed by its ugliness to accept it and give it the care it needs. He abandons the monster and leaves it alone to its own devices. This creature sees the warm and close relationships of the people of the era, and he is driven to madness because everyone finds him too ugly and too frightening to endure. Like a starving man standing in a bakery, the monster sees examples of all the warmth and good in humanity and he is desperate to attain that for himself. The problem is that everyone is afraid of him. Ms. Shelly exposes the blindness of the people of this era - the hysterical refusal to look at reality for what it is. Something that ugly doesn’t fit into their world view.

Romance at best is fleeting. Over the slow decay of time faces wrinkle, and bodies sag. Those who are old are forced to live vicariously through the romance of others. That’s romance in the best of circumstances. In the cold reality of real human relationships, of course economics determine who gets the beauty of the young. This beauty goes to the person with the most money and power. Granted, people of this time clung to the narrative of star crossed lovers, and while they wept over the fate of Romeo and Juliet, they sold their daughters to the wealthy landowner. And there is the narrative of beautiful women won by knights in armor doing heroic deeds, but in reality those knights had more in common with Al Capone than King Arthur and his knights of the round table. The story of Lancelot and Galahad make for good reading if the reader likes fantasy, but the messy facts of the time were that they brutally exploited their serfs and lived off the backs of powerless peasants. Heroics came from the savage exploiters, people who have great wealth and who have produced nothing.

Then there is the romance of anti-romanticism. In this case the romance of the drunk. This character can be compelling. Movies have been made about him, like “Under the Volcano” and “Leaving Las Vegas”. In both of these movies a man crashes and burns because of alcohol. In both of the movies the main character dies. These characters are, in the end, just drunks. They have their charm, and they don’t hurt anyone too badly, but they totally negate their lives by drinking and die ignominiously. There is no epitath that can absolve them of the guilt of the slow murder they commit upon themselves.

There is the romance of fearless reason in the face of the terrifying realities of existence, the brave questioning of God about why so many horrible things happen in his universe. This brings a quote by Nietszche to mind: “If you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” I am reminded by Dostoyevsky’s “underground man”, who at the end of his story realizes that he has become the anti-hero of his life. He gazed into the abyss and found a cold blank face of nothing staring back at him.

So romance is basically a fantasy - something airy that we cook up for ourselves to relieve the tedium of daily existence. It is a tapestry we weave around our vain exploits that keeps us from stopping when we have something important to do. So whoever cooks up romantic stories is welcome to whatever comfort they provide, but in my case I will always remain the skeptic and the contrarian. I prefer my narratives hard and gritty, with little embellishment.

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