Philosophy – “Identity Politics, the same as Monarchal Bloodlines” – 9/12/2020

“Written in the ways of purism, is the idea that one blood is inferior, or lacking in quality, over another. To base politics around race, around gender, around creed, is to recede to the aristocracy mentality, though swapped. It is to say that impurity is purity. Perhaps it is that we are all the same, though not in the way everyone wants.”

– Modern Romanticism

Who is pure, in this world of worlds? Who can say whether one person has more in-depth understanding to their “self-discovery”, over another? Who is purer, to another, whose bloodline, whether crossed or stagnant, is only ever different?

It can continually return to the idea that a person, whose bloodline is only different, can be made brand new. Of a bloodline, brand new, it is the same as a bloodline, pure. It is the same as to see something more divisive than any aristocrat, who had power in the past, could make for competition’s sake. For do these people with their “identity” not relate to very obscure bloodlines, so alien from the common man?

All a person knows, so well of themselves, is that they can bleed, just like anyone else.

“Identity politics” is, therefore, an exact relation to aristocracy, in terms of the curiosity for the potency of blood. We can comprehend our ancestry, through a simple “Google search”. Whereas, in the past, we knew it by whoever had sexual intercourse with a woman. We can dig so deep in the past, to discover our identity’s “potential”, and then, become proud of who we are. For to be proud of who we are, is no different than any tyrant who would want to appear good, rather than do good.

The love of blood, is the love of making a statement. And, when do we become the vampires, who like Elizabeth Bathory, drenched herself in a virgin’s own? We do so, by accumulating newness. We make new bloodlines, discovering percentages of ourselves in our supposed “ancestry”. Again, in the pride of who we are, we forget to be proud for what we can do. That makes us ruling tyrants, that without the offered shame for this identity, we can conceal guilt.

People can be wounded, not of guilt, though for pride. Though, whenever will we give in, to a guilt that tells us we have bled others, for the sake of keeping what we most know of ourselves? We have bled other people’s pride, not ever giving in to this guilt we know we feel. Because, for how sour an aristocratic person’s expression can be, we overlook our guilt for how much we bleed. We put to death, another person and their supposed guilt, whether at the stake or at the hanging. To burn, or to choke, is the only punishment a person with a supposed sin, can receive.

It is to those that know we all bleed, that make those who are so vain for their identity, released of their head from their shoulders. Yet, they’ll still run around without intelligence, without recognition, and without identity. Because, as they believe in blood, the rest believes in sameness. The common man believes in same blood, same identity.

Consume the offered shame. Feel your inner guilt. Punish yourself.

Quote – “Why Identity Pride is Pointless” – 7/5/2020

“There is a statement: to be proud for what you can do, and to be humble for who you are. Though, what if this was reversed? What if people were proud for who they are, and they were humble about what they can do? Does this not feed into negligence for actions, and then also a continuous demand for ‘acceptance’ in the name of that identity?

Negligence will be of the person too siphoned into their pride for who they are, because in their humility for what they can do, they are lazy.

How many dictators and how many other tyrants of the past, were more humble for what they can do, more lazy and more neglecting of others, to be proud of who they were?”

– Anonymous

Excerpt – “A Dream once Loved” – The Rundown of Guilt and Shame – 2/13/2020

Guilt will override shame, so that the betterment of behavior creates the betterment of the self. Guilt and shame, with the former being a personal feeling, and the latter being directed from an exterior viewpoint. In a man’s world, guilt is felt by himself, for his action. In a woman’s world, guilt is felt by herself, for her inaction. In a man’s world, shame is directed upon him for his cowardice, due for his inaction. In a woman’s world, shame is directed upon her for her courage, due for her action.

All is inevitable in the world of the personal conflict, and the external conflict. This is how the world runs, with each sex being the opposite, and having polar opposite differences. Nothing is wrong in these scenarios described. When the prison population is overrun by men, it is only due to that the justice system is centuries-old, and not bound to change, unless corruption and advantageous gain takes hold.

Actions, for a man, are easy to be seen, and are most visible. One cannot blame a woman for her negligence, so therefore, guilt is not placed upon her. It is, instead, that shame is placed upon her for her actions.

Blame a man, as the external self, and shame him only for his cowardice. He will feel guilt, nevertheless, for his actions.

Guilt will override shame for a woman, so that her personal feeling of guilt for her negligence, will better her behavior to perform courageous acts. Guilt, for a woman, overrides her shame, and the shame being directed from external sources, make her not heed those who shame her.

Guilt will override shame for a man, in that his personal feelings will suppress all feeling of cowardice, so that he continues to act with courage. His courage is perpetual, in this regard, and arrogance or overconfidence, is common for him.

Poem – “Love, at my Left Hand…” – Romance – 8/19/2019

I walk beneath, the shower, of your eyes,
And cast above, strong gazes, towards the skies.
I make Heaven, bleak,
And myself, turn weak.
“I found love, as a treasure,”
Said the man, as the welder,
A man, of no purpose,
No fate, of any design.
But with, all turmoil,
I’ve rearranged, what is mine.

“There is no shame, in this curse,”
Spoke the fool, idle and worse.
There is much pain, to behold, and to hold,
For a woman, in blue eyes, nestled bold.
She whimpers, in an alley.
She begs, to be found,
Huge eyes, of great sound,
A blue soul, without mercy.

Love tolerates no one, to console herself,
Death has found, a conscience,
We deal in takes, of bonds, and merry selfish
Findings, within science.
And a woman, named a whore,
Has seen torment, forced to adore.
Of wings shattered, and faces battered,
No trust, in reach,
But a man’s, leech,
Will swim in ruined flesh, clinging safely.