Men have hacked Feminism.

Congratulations, brothers! We did it.

Women started a movement that was rooted in their differentiation from men on account of a specific identity trait.

Women started a movement because they noticed that on account of this particular identity trait, they were being treated differently. They wanted to be seen fully for the humans that they are.

Because the movement started in opposition to men, it struggled to move past its association with men.

Whenever an oppressed group lunges towards power, all of the past hurt surges to the surface. Once the numb calluses are scratched off, the first layer of past hurt is Anger.

Anger against the perceived oppressors. Whenever the thusfar oppressed coagulate around a common identity trait, Hatred flares up against those associated with the opposite trait.

Proletariat vs Bourgeoisie
Colonists vs Loyalists
Indians vs Firangs
Women vs Men

Hatred surged against men.

Men, however, are ingenious.

Battle-hardened through the ages, Men don’t cave in so easily. The Warrior inside every Man knows that when overt attacks don’t work, you shift your strategies to guerrilla warfare.

Smaller, lightly armed men became women. Using this element of surprise, and by successfully enlisting the local support of the highly resentful subset of Feminist women, they have effectively defeated Feminism.

Women wanted the same rights that men have.

One of the rights that men exercise regularly is to walk around with a relative sense of ease and safety.

Feminism has had a long journey of affording women that very basic right.

Men, the stronger they are, walk around with a relative lack of fear of violence. It might sound paradoxical but I believe it’s partly because men are inherently violent beings.

There is a part in every man that is itching for an opportunity of violence. So that he may unleash the Warrior inside him. Such opportunities are rare in a civilized world. But the instinct is not so easily killed off.

If there’s a part of you that loves violence, it deductively follows that you’ll be less afraid of violence.

Men have had generational exposure to killing and being killed because of their own proclivities for violence. If you have a proclivity for violence, you better learn how to not fear Death.

Violence inevitably leads to Death.

Have you seen that Internet meme of women leading with verbal or physical violence and then breaking down in tears when they are offered consequences? In women’s journey towards greater agency, including the agency to kill another, this is the lesson they are being presented with right now. When choosing violence, be prepared for escalation.

Violence escalates towards Death.

You can engage in violence but then you have to cultivate a lack of fear of Death. The beautiful cosmic paradox is that as you cultivate that lack of fear of Death, you become less violent.

As you prepare yourself for violence, you naturally become less violent.

Cultural memes are the best evidence for relational truths. What I wrote about is best evinced in the cultural meme of high quality martial artists being oriented towards de-escalation.

If you’re sparring for the very first time, you may find it thrilling to throw punches left and right in a haphazard manner. It’s understandable. You’re getting to play with violence and enjoying the excitement of hurting another for the very first time.

But then you get partnered with someone who is experienced in the art of violence and they are just quietly observing you.

Observing your frantic moves. Waiting for you to tire out a little bit. And then they land one punch squarely on your nose.

Squarely on your nose, with great restraint.

When you receive it, you are shocked at the surgical nature of the delivery of that punch. You can tell that that same punch could have come in at much greater force than it did.

But it did not.

You learn more about violence and restraint than you might have by reading the Art of War.

Women wanted the same rights that men have and one of these rights was to have access to a sense of safety as they move about in the world.

Feminism fought for that right.

Men’s guerrilla attack on Feminism began by invading the spaces that epitomized safe haven for women as they navigated the trials and tribulations of the external world

Toilets.

In that invasion, these men found allies in the subset of Feminist women who clutched onto hatred of and resentment towards men.

In this very particular frame of what’s going on in Western society…

(a segue)

And I hope you never take any of my writings as capital-T Truth. Especially when I’m talking about societal subjects.

It is always a Frame. A way of making sense of phenomenon.

If a Frame occurs to me, then it exists in the collective space of Ideas that we all share access to.

Expression is how these Frames feel the Fire of Truthiness.

When we express an Idea, it gets to jostle with other Ideas. Allowing the best Idea to win.

So in this particular frame of looking at the evolution of society as a series of spiritual battles being fought in service of killing the enemies of Love…

(segue completes)

… some men saw that there was a strain of Feminism that got too lost in hatred and resentment towards men. That strain needed to be brought back into the fold.

So they became women.

What a sacrifice! Truly, what a sacrifice!

These men have offered some of the greatest sacrifices a human can offer for society.

Some of them have offered their cock.
Some of them no longer carry a cock.
Quite literally, becoming eunuchs for the Kingdom of Heaven.

Some men are even wearing panties.

It is so uncomfortable to wear a panty. I’ve tried it. It kind of keeps getting up in your butt crack all the time. Some men are doing that on a regular basis.

Before I tried wearing panties, I had this expectation that every woman that I want to explore physical intimacy with should ideally wear a thong. Because it looked so hot.

And then I tried wearing—I forget what it even was, it wasn’t even a proper panty—just lacy underwear for one of the temple nights that I attended. I felt hot, but not comfortable. I concluded that I just wanted to wear simple cotton underwear. Most of the time.

Now ideally, I would just walk around naked. But you can’t do that, unfortunately, in civilized Western society right now.

Comfortable underwear, sometimes pejoratively called granny panties, is the best that the civilized Western world has, to offer to us wildlings.

Since the time I tried on lacy underwear, the contractions I used to feel when my lover showed up in granny panties, have significantly diminished.

Looking back, I realize it was a form of objectification of women. I was objectifying the women that I was exploring romance with.

I was expecting them to show up in a way that prioritizes my visual pleasure over their bodily comfort.

Now I’m not declaring a fatwa against prioritizing the visual pleasure of your lover sometimes. I’d do that for a lover. Suits aren’t terribly comfortable. But I’d wear a suit every now and then for a nice little date night. On such an occasion, I’d probably like it if she shows up in a hot little black dress with lingerie underneath.

It is fun to adorn the body in a manner that it gets your lover’s juices flowing just through the visual senses.

There is room in a romance for roleplaying to explore the variety of sensual adventures life offers.

But on a regular basis, it seems terrible to prioritize your partner’s visual pleasure over your own bodily comfort. Every woman should have access to a life where she can choose not to wear underwear that keeps getting stuck in her butt crack.

I had a beloved once who wore granny panties exclusively. She also had armpit hair.

I was already on my journey then to be a wild man. I am no longer a civilized man. I am a wild man pretending to be civilized every now and then so I don’t get thrown into jail.

But I had a beloved once who wore these spandex boxers. And I remember encountering the last slivers of “why can’t you wear something sexier?” leave my system.

It was quite the fork in the road.

Through romance with her, I was opened up to the joy of nuzzling my nose in armpit hair. Oh Lord, it was so good! I learnt that armpit hair is just like pussy hair. The armpit is essentially another pussy. Try it once and tell me that it’s not.

Now, of course, this came after the era where I used to be obsessed with bald pussies—like every brother who was sexually trained by pornography from the 90s.

I used to carry a pornographic obsession with bald pussies.

Then I recovered my own horrific memories and I no longer found sexual arousal in bodily features that emphasized pre-pubescent underdevelopment. Or rather, the arousal would arise briefly but dissipate very quickly into the heartbreak of living in a society that is so caught up in infantile sexualization. Sometimes sexual arousal can be released through tears, brothers.

Now when I encounter a sister who regularly subjects one of the most tender organs of her body to waxing and razoring, I just feel deep heartbreak. Whether it be an armpit or a pussy.

The flipside of that heartbreak is the deeply erotic joys of nuzzling my nose in pheromonic body hair. So good! Body hair that you can taste without escalating all the way to genital contact. Quick nuzzles while walking around in broad daylight. So efficient!

Then I realized that my aversion towards armpit hair on women’s bodies wasn’t really an aversion towards armpit hair. Because on this particular woman, I was all into it! She later revealed that she had initiated many a men into this particular joy of a sensual life. So this switch wasn’t just limited to me.

I believe that reveals something about the nature of aversion, no? Whatever trait one is averse to, the cosmos will show you the same trait in a human being in a manner that evokes the opposite of aversion in you.

You may resist it for a bit, by strengthening the aversion. Till you cave in.

That’s the wisdom of the universe. Because love is a capital-T Truth. And aversions based on initial judgments—often due to physical or visual traits—get in the way of love.

After that awakening, I no longer felt aversion towards armpit hair on women. Underneath the aversion was my lack of confidence in my own erotic boundaries.

There are women with armpit hair that I’d rather not be in erotic intimacy with.
There are women with armpit hair I’d love to nuzzle upon.

Ergo, it’s not really about the armpit hair. It’s about whether I have clarity and steadiness in how and with whom I explore Eros.

Women awakening me to something within me has been a recurrent theme in my life. Were it not for the recurrence of this experience, I might have just become an ascetic. It takes a lot to navigate relationships. But, truly, there’s no other better self-discovery mechanism. Especially when there is that magical quality of attraction in the relationship.

My aversion towards armpit hair was really about my own poor boundaries. The underlying fear was that I’d find myself in an erotic embrace with someone that I wasn’t attracted towards.

That fear was two-fold. That the woman would force herself into my boundary. That I would step out of my own erotic truth to explore sex with a woman I wasn’t attracted to, because my Lust would overpower me.

I fixed the latter and realized that the former is hardly an issue. Relatively speaking, as a reasonably strong man in his late 30s.

My present edge is knowing when to stop with an attractive woman who has quite opened up to me, so that I may act in service of both of our soul journeys.

I feel fine with armpit hair now.

In fact, with the romances I’ve explored since this awakening, I’ve sometimes caught myself imagining armpit hair on the women who did not have any. It just feels so natural. If I’m already open to a woman, attracted to her and feel safe with her, armpit hair is an extra turn on. If I’m not, then I don’t feel any charge towards it. You do you, sister.

Armpit hair is a turn-on for the wild man inside me. The part of me that is sexual has no ounce of civilization left in it. The civilized exterior is to just navigate the journey into copulation. In copulation, the animal body comes out. I truly don’t know what civilized sex might look like? When I remember my past of living civilized, all I remember of the sex I had was that it was entirely driven by pornographic conditioning.

So men are wearing panties now to hack Feminism. To destroy the hatred in Feminism.

And that is a sacrifice I won’t be able to make.

As much as I want unity and love between men and women, I would not be able to sacrifice wearing comfortable underwear to achieve that.

I would not sacrifice keeping my body free of allopathic toxins to achieve that.
I would not sacrifice my cock to achieve that.

Perhaps because it’s just not my path? I don’t know. May be we should check-in again in 10 years.

If I end up transitioning, then I’ll probably have a different framing of this. Hopefully the framing I land on, is a more complete version of the frame I’m presenting right now and is able to explain the inconsistencies in this framing.

Frames are to be held lightly. When you play with a variety of frames of making meaning of societal phenomena, one really can’t help but become aware of the reality of the realm of Ideas. A realm that exists independently from the material human realm. Ideas flow in and out of different brains, yearning for expression. This is evinced most clearly in the historical phenomenon of the discovery of a particular theory simultaneously by a handful of humans, who then start arguing about who came up with the theory.

Because they’re identifying themselves with the Idea instead of just letting the Idea be birthed.

Men have convinced women that they can also be women. And the women caught up in this convincing are the ones that carry the most hatred of and resentment towards men.

I have sometimes wondered if a man, who has been sexually abused as a child, either through circumcision or the more regular forms of sexual violence, experiences chronic dissociation for a long enough period of time causing him to believe that he is a woman. It’s possible that the women who deeply hate and resent men due to past acts of sexual violation might also be caught up in such chronic dissociation. So perhaps the bond between trans-women and man-hating cis-women is one of truly getting each other’s lived experience of chronic dissociation?

And here’s the interesting piece—it isn’t the humanity of men that these women hate. They hate the physicality of men.

These women are early adopters of concepts like TERFs. TERF as in trans-exclusionary radical feminist—a pejorative used by women to mock Feminists who have not jumped onto adopting trans ideologies without questioning. It’s an identity-based manipulation tactic.

“Oh you call yourself Feminist? Well, a real Feminist won’t exclude trans-women.”

When Daddy has hurt you bad, it can build a tendency in you towards wanting to be seen as a good girl in society. One way of being seen as a good girl is to adopt all the new fads floating through without raising any questions. Just like you never questioned Daddy while he was hurting you.

The Society is now your Daddy.

Such women hold anger and resentment towards the physicality of men. Because it was the physicality of a man that hurt them.

Not the man’s soul. Not the man’s heart.

His physicality.

Such women have adopted, embraced and even fucked men who have wrecked their own masculine physicality.

What a great physical manifestation of their hatred of masculine physicality! How could it not be a turn-on?

A man who chops off his cock, injects feminizing hormones and carves off his jawline to look less threatening, so that women feel safe in being intimate with him.

Such women are not doing anything that is misaligned with their orientation. Such is the ingenuity of this Trojan attack on Feminism.

Men have made a strong incursion into Feminism by basically allowing their bodies to become representative of what their hatred of masculine physicality envisions.

It is quite ingenious.

Covert attacks require ingenuity. Overt attacks rely on courage and willingness to die.

Overt attacks are confrontational. Covert attacks rely on subterfuge.

It’s the difference between Aries and Scorpio manifestations of Mars.

Aries is overt, direct, sparky. When the swords clash, sparks fly.
Scorpio is deceptive, covert, steady.

That is the flavor of resentment. Resentment is Scorpionic. Steady, covert, hidden. It’s difficult to spot. Outside or within.

Men have launched a Scorpionic attack on Feminism through the concept of trans identity.

Some women have gotten caught up in it too, where they have become trans-men. But, if you’ve tracked the conversation at all, they are not the heart of the subject. They are the side story.

That’s how you know it is the same form of the Masculine that pre-dated Feminism, that has launched a counter-attack.

Pre-Feminism men liked it when women were side stories.

That trans-men are a side story in conversations on the subject, is proof that this has been a successful attack from the same strain of Masculinity that pre-dated Feminism.

Now, why are some men choosing to do this?

There could be many reasons.

It could be because some of them have unresolved sexual trauma that makes them want to get rid of their cocks. Or anything really in their own physicality that reminds them of their Masculine perpetrators. My face resembles that of my grandfather and the resemblance is likelier to deepen as I grow older. I have had urges in the past to want to pull my face off my skull. If my traumatic memories had remained repressed as those urges flowed through, I could imagine being in a place where an externalized ideology could have served as a catalyst to take steps.

Some might just find it peaceful in this era to exist with a feminine presentation. They don’t have to face the heat of women’s anger against masculine physicality as much. Which can be a lot to navigate.

In some cases, it could be so that they are truly leading us to the next evolution of humanity. A world where the androgyny of the soul is presented physically too. Perhaps they are a part of a handful being chosen to yank human society out of obsession with physical trait-based mental constructs.

At the end of the day, it is all, in an odd way, in service of Love.

If you have followed my arguably polemic frame, you might notice that even in this very controversial manner of meaning-making, it holds the intent of bringing more Love into society.

By attacking the hate-filled strains of Feminism.

Good job, boys. Well played.