Women – Page 2 – Modern Romanticism

Philosophy – “Why a Man is Weakened, not Weak, when Weeping” – 2/20/2021

“No wall is indomitable. To each inch that covers one, there might still be a crack, enough to shatter the entirety.”
– Modern Romanticism

Just as people might believe that age guarantees wisdom, it is the reverse. Wisdom guarantees age. As in, to apply wisdom, means survival is in the independent hands. To be wise, means that the second mistake, after learning for the first time, will not end this train of survival. We mean to people who shouldn’t make the same mistake twice, that their immaturity might be their burial. Same to weep, when the greatest weakness is to believe there is none. An immaturity as this, opens up all weaknesses. It opens. We release. We weep.

To weep, after much to keep concealed, is much like a dam being broken. It was weakened. A mistake having been made, to then the person ignoring it, is the immaturity to believe it won’t break them, when they believe it hasn’t weakened them. The second mistake of the same kind, will break them. It will force them to no longer ignore what they’ve concealed.

To a man, weeping is much like dying. To lose strength upon who he protected, what he held upon his shoulders. Being weakened, does not refer to weakness. To weakness, one has to be inherently so. Though, to be weakened, means that recognition for strength has been blinded. Of tears, that now burn the lids of the eyes, to water the cheeks that have long been like dried gardens. Of weakness, we are. Though, in being weakened, we have become.

A weak man, can only mean he is inherently so. This means there is no such thing.

Though, a weakened man has become this way. It was a “turning point”, so to speak. A simple realization, that a second mistake of the same kind has left him speechless, enough to no longer form an excuse. His immaturity has regressed him into childhood, once more. Perhaps, even infanthood, where if the grief is too castrating, will make him leave this world how he entered it. Crying.

In being weakened, there is no more to say. There is only much more to do. To grow. To mature.

Philosophy – “The Primary Reason for Chivalry” – 2/19/2021

“Protection is a sign of preserving intelligence, while bodies can be dispensed. For what is the difference between two models of differing appearance, and two wounded men on the battlefield whose severity of injury is also differed?”
– Modern Romanticism

If intelligence can be saved, then we have no need for seeing difference of forms where flesh is altered in contrast.

Men protect women. They do so, to keep the latter from being stupid, just like him. A man most recognizes himself as remorseful, not comprehending why he commits to all his actions.

Out of what motives, keep him committed to the most idiotic endeavors? This is a question, he does not understand of himself.

However, when a man discovers a woman, knows love, unearths this mighty force from within himself, there is purpose. Would a woman ever understand why he fell in love? There is only one reason a man falls in love. It was because he was a nothingness, before he met her.

Before meeting her, all his actions were blind. Superficial. Unimportant. Upon meeting her, his ambitions are her. They go to her. All he has built, are now hers. All he once wielded, she owns. They are gifts, of the many.

Though, his loyalty is his greatest strength.

If a woman rejects this, she leaves him powerless. She strips him of purpose, as it is the ultimate betrayal. Why would a man go through with the effort of leaving behind his past, if not to love? He loves, because he forgets. What he forgets, is the reflection of himself he cannot return to. Without her, and that image is lost. He would return to nothingness.

Then, why would he protect her, if not only to keep her from a duplication of that nothingness?

Of a woman’s continual desire to be empowered by the world, will make a man powerless. It is because, out of love, he does not want to see her fall. Though, if Nature wills it, the tale between Adam and Eve will bring The Fall of Man as an unending repetition. He will fall, for her sake. For that is what a man’s purpose is. It is also his destiny.

Pre-determined and thought out by something more divine than flesh, a man protects what cannot fall. It was his idiocy to be something of nothingness. It is now his loyalty that keeps her away from that identity.

Quote – “The Man who Cries” – 2/5/2021

“No man will cry over sentimentality. He will, however, weep when the boulder during the present, buries him further into the earth. The guilt, harbored upon his shoulders, docked as a ship within his heart, overloaded with the cargo of self-disappointment, offers him the curse of blame for what he could not protect. Competence is, to a man, his own pride. As he kneels over the ruin of what was once so beautiful, so gorgeous, there comes an innate sense of remorse to swallow his senses, and to ever be the last understandable thing to come embrace him.”
– Modern Romanticism

Philosophy – “How a Man Loves… and How He Doesn’t” – 1/31/2021

“There are disgraces in this world. Of those sorts who would dishonor an importance, place ambition above it, and never share an empire for which all that has been built, is now meant to be something of equal purpose; they are wretches. Let slip through the fingers the objective petulance that does not ever come close to the pair of eyes that wander observation into the soul of the one who should abide by importance.”
– Modern Romanticism

Men love, and then, men do not. A man’s life is merely an extension upon things thought to be important, until the love he finds at the crossroads allows him not to make anymore choices. His freedom, a forfeiture. His life, now in love’s hands, though only when he gives up what is no longer important.

A pair of eyes. Slender and outstretched hands. A dashing smile. Of garments that surround a figure that’s been too often ignored, for its beauty. Of vulnerability that gives weight to the wind that stings the cheeks. A man is meant to love these things, and then some. Whereas, there are men who leave. There are men who depart. There are these men, and they are disgraces. No love is ever unimportant enough to one day wish for freedom, from it. The man who departs his love, was a coward, and was someone who finds the objectively trivial as showing more worth than what was found.

From love, to the relationship, what is more important than its envisioned force, meant to wield us, meant to save us? Importance, to a man, should be it. There is no other definition to “importance”, other than what it stands for. Importance. It is a word that describes nothing else, other than where love is placed. Of the one so vulnerable, where love is placed, where arms surround, where sadness is resolved, as that is importance.

Love, unto what is important, is the eternity for which would make a true man unable to leave, unable to yearn for freedom. And, should anything be broken, he would fix it, and not take to his former, childlike ambitions that are indeed immature enough to pertain to the toddler. A man who could fix what is broken at his vocation, in politics, upon his inferior trinkets in the garage, though cannot recreate nor rebuild what has been shattered in his love, is the disgrace that the world must spit on.

For there are many things said to hold worth, though none of them that are so material can be compared to the love in a certain man’s life. Nothing material holds worth through its limited duration, automatically contrasting from the eternity meant to be part of love.

Philosophy – “Why Science cannot Study Love” – 1/27/2021

“There comes a moment between a daunting pair for both sets of eyes, when something occurs from nothing. That is love. That is what nothing can observe, other than the two who came to comprehend what they felt.”
– Modern Romanticism

There are far too many scientific research studies attempting to predict or to replicate the sequence of when love takes place. This is an impossibility for science, because it relies on the subject of “the choice”. As in, who would one choose, based on these characteristics, for instance. Or, who would one choose, based on outward appearances, as another example. That is not love.

When it comes to preference, it is about lust. It is about the gain, the reward, the materialistic prize for which all things lie embedded in the flesh. When a man and a woman are connected in sexual intercourse, both sides feel pleasure. As in, both sides gain something. No one is meant to be lacking from the “satisfaction”.

Satisfaction relies on materialism. Whereas, anything other than the material, of something so invisible to the eye, would relate itself to love. In fact, it might relate itself to divinity. Of divinity, to something so immaterial that it would be called “imaginary”. As it is within such scientific studies of love, to “imagine” the preference of a person, displayed before the subject to find worthy of a relationship, is again, to see something material. It pertains to preference. As the subject imagines the specific characteristics for the study, it becomes materialized in their mind. They imagine it, to materialize it, so that whatever is seen in the imagination can be received with either approval or disapproval.

If something so powerful as love cannot be imagined by humans, then it must not even be an emotion. Pertaining to the divine, it must be beyond what makes a person so imperfect due to emotions. Love must be the perfection that cannot be imagined, because it has not yet been seen. For nothing of the future, where love always goes in the heroism for which it stands, can be comprehended without feeling fear, being love’s opposite. If we are too uncertain about the future, then we feel fear. Though, of what has “not yet been seen”, would make of love the most unpredictable of processes to occur. We cannot simply predict what can either be given or taken of us, in the next moment. Such would pertain itself to life or death.

How is it that science can attempt to replicate or predict a future relationship, when such a thing, as love, “has not yet been seen”? This would pertain to some religions, that speak of how such a love can be seen, after death. Or, such would refer to the “quitting of life”, to how love can replace the continual stream of life’s desire to replace materialism with materialism. As in, to heal a wound of the flesh, such as the breaking of a woman’s virginity. Replacing flesh with flesh, is a lot like a person replacing brokenness with something else easily able to break. How hard is it for a person to replace who they love with someone else to love? How cruel is it to even suggest it?

As it is, a relationship is as unpredictable as not fully realizing the self. One cannot “prefer” whoever it is they indeed fall in love with, same as one cannot predict such a person before them. There could be many happily married couples, who have said, repeatedly to themselves, “The one I love was not who I ever expected. However, I love them, because there is no one else.”

No one else to love, because there is no one else to prefer. Love eternally satisfies a person, unlike how materialism soothes one in the mere short-term. There is no science that can study love, without relying on material evidence. Such evidence would only inevitably prove itself as counter-productive to understanding love. For that is because we, as humans, cannot understand love, divine of an emotion as it is. It is beyond the mere study, in comprehension.

Philosophy – “Why Men Die More Often by their own Hand” – 1/22/2021

“The monster is only ever soft when they are finally vulnerable, no longer feared, and once more, able to protect another whom the beast did love.”
– Modern Romanticism

The concept of the “Beauty and the Beast” is one to represent what is seen to be weak, from what is seen to be strong. A man, one to be strong, is also considered to be a beast. To himself, most frequently, is this how he convinces himself all wrongs are upon his shoulders. As it is, men and women feel their guilt in two separate scenarios. Men, with their guilt, feel it for actions having been committed. Women, for their guilt, feel it for the actions not committed. If this were not the objective case, then no movement would attempt to empower a woman, like some form of battery, long-lasting enough so that eternal protection is unneeded. For it would be that from a man to a woman, his protection in making himself vulnerable before her, to conceal her from danger, is the notion of eternal love that does not die. To a man, of his true nature, nothing beautiful can die to his eyes, while she still breathes.

If a man feels guilt for actions committed, then it would be to the final act of suicide that erases all his guilt, erases his past, erases the loneliness that kept him in the darkness.

A man, a beast, or a man of his actions, makes him most noticeable for what is committed in the world. Especially by suicide, when to the opposite of guilt, being of shame, is poured upon him. To that extent, his vulnerability is kept in a state of loneliness. For how can the strongest people of this world ever feel worthwhile when vulnerable, in the condition of loving another, when such a weakness is shared as a solitary feast?

A man who commits suicide, was a man who felt it a serious necessity. No hope is left for those whose loneliness is kept with the seemingly eternal vulnerability upon the simple self. When shared only with the self, it becomes a hollowness. For a man is only able to weep, when he shows the vulnerability of what is lost. Is it a man’s duty to love, or is it a man’s duty to betray, to destroy, to break what is beautiful? If a woman is ever beautiful to a man, he only says so because he could protect no one else, keep no one else alive, and share the most precious moments that only she would ever hold meaning for.

To end one’s own life with seriousness, was only ever through the realization that hope, kept in the long rivers of love, is gone. A love is gone. She is gone. To a true man, a woman is what allows him to break his own ambitions. All ambitions, are now of her. All happiness he feels, is of her. Whatever empires he created, are now hers. Her presence among his own fortress, is as much of a protection as for herself. To lose all of that, is to lose himself.

Romantic Dialogue – “How I Never Gave up” – 1/21/2021

A: Oh, beloved. Was I always your only mistake?

B: As just the very one who abandoned me, the only regret who has come to be both truest and most false.

A: You regret so much, of so much abandonment, though I led you through your darkest trials.

B: You led me, to then bring me towards my ruin.

A: Was I too much?

B: You were enough, though it became enough for me to take no more of it.

A: The abandonment?

B: You loved, though you abandoned me when the tasks were done, when the darkness was over. When you did leave, the darkness returned. You led me towards that, though I never did the same unto you.

A: Was it because you never led me?

B: It was because I always trusted you.

A: I’ll not ever give up. I was merely a man without anymore purpose. It was not the darkness to make fade, that ever gave me purpose. It was to embrace the light, being you, that I held onto. I wanted you. I needed you. I bled the darkness away, so that I might find you, the light. What was I? Never your light. I seemed to have only erased the darkness, to become it, myself.

B: If you’ll never give up, then why did you give me up?

A: I make excuses. It is why.

B: What is your excuse?

A: To never see myself, in the reflection. I saw you, and only ever you. All was for your sake. All was never for mine. I make excuses.

B: These are your excuses?

A: These are my pains, that I suppose you won’t comprehend.

Excerpt – “9 Months to Live” – Novel – 1/19/2021

It is to him that this pain, in deepest relation to his wife, can be a thing that reminds him of the moment. As love cradles, so does the ocean become carried with a few droplets that disperse from this man’s eyes, adding more to the flood. For nothing else darkens more of a wave, than the sadness released from a heart. It is here, when Johnathan carries the weak Lisa, that a crown can be placed upon his head, to label him the monarch of this feud between love and the moment. The moment in which tells him to stare to her, contrasting from the future where there are the lowest clouds smearing fog upon the streets of his mind.

A golden moment, where realization stifles the great steps ahead. For it is why Johnathan has not moved, when there is a loveseat before him. A moment where he may give his praise through a simple stare of his two teeming eyes, where a wilderness inside has sunken through puddles.

Here, a reflection may be witnessed from Lisa, the one who is carried, to the man who loves her. A simple gesture, of his quivering lips, then to two more tears that drop from his eyes to branch forth to his lips, is all to realize the deepest emotions he now evokes. He captains a ship of his own, making no remembrance to the world behind himself, though to keep his path at a constant steadiness for what shall transpire. Of a beauty that shall flake off from his grasp, creating a painting or mural of ashes, scattered in multitude. What sticks them? What remains them, to be set in place? It is the mere act of what is “gone”, to then be wrapped in a blanket inside of Johnathan’s basement of the mind.

A kiss. A solitary one. One replacing the scarring emptiness upon Lisa’s forelorn lips. One that keeps her knit, keeps her heart firm and gathered. One that creates the solidarity for which heeds the moment, though wares the future. Not to suffocate that which could collapse in a distant heartbeat that is a mere second across the field of time, nor to give to Lisa’s remaining grace a greater feebleness. Not to shock, nor to confuse, as this kiss goes to merely shed a sameness of himself, of Johnathan, to bury in her the emotion he has felt for this long-lasting moment.

It awakens her. A kiss that awakens her, as she motions both arms about his neck. She swallows his breath, and glides each of the every little millimeter to her tongue within his mouth. A passion that brings her forth, raises her up, and then loosens her. She is alive, though sick. She is sick, though remains with the fire she keeps alive.

Philosophy – “When a Fool Believes in Truth over Facts” – 1/10/2021

“To perhaps the political realm or even the marketing realm, truth is like silver, malleable enough to be twisted into a different shape. Each person will look upon that shape, see something different, though only because the sculptor to truth has molded it that way.”
– Modern Romanticism

Truth is deceptive to the eye of the person who cannot see sameness. For what stays the same in a person, is not like what conceals that underlying universal understanding. If the difference between truths and a fact is the difference between what can change versus what can improve, then it is to truth that changes people while it is to a fact that improves us.

If a fact is logical, then it is truth that is emotional and chaotic. If truth can change to be a different shape to each person’s attention and awareness, then who is the sculptor? Who has placed the deception before sameness? Or, who sees in art, from the “different viewpoint”, just the truth of it, not the sameness that makes the viewer also an artist? Does an artist understand themselves, because they constantly state that no one understands them? If such is the case, then they are the same as what they are, within, to everyone else. A person is loved for being one, not by the differences to which create that chaos and conflict.

If truth is seen as subjective, then the sculptor to it has placed it upon themselves as a cloak or as clothing. If a viewer to the sculptor of that truth only sees something different, then they’ve been deceived into never seeing something that is always the evidence universal between each person. Our evidence, is not the differences that make each person disconnected. We are not to be unique nor proud when we stand alone, for we are always to be humble we are at the same level as when we were created. A person learns, as much as they live.

It is because truth cannot be universal, though a fact can, that everything exterior must be penetrated to create the connection. It can be said of a woman whose virginity has first been pierced, of the physical kind, that a “connection” has been made between man and woman. It can also be said of a woman, as well, that when her “metaphysical virginity” has been pierced, she retains memories to when everything that had occurred to her, for the first time. To this example, it is the same as understanding her, within. Loving not what is said to be beautiful, though what makes perhaps a man and a woman a oneness, is what makes love as the same.

Philosophy – “Truth, Life, & Beauty – Criticism against Body Positivity” – 12/27/2020

“The life or beauty none so flawed is a lie none so truthful.”
– Modern Romanticism

Beauty is the image of any one person, so flawed as to consider their errors, their lack of accountability and responsibility. To the person who claims they are entirely beautiful or wholly without error, while in fact possessing ugliness, must also comprehend themselves as having a life of no flaws. Is not all life flawed? Is not all life so problematic? Therefore, to the one who claims their beauty to be flawless, must be the one with the mentality to say they are the lie without a hint of truth.

To the truth without a lie attached, or the beauty without ugliness involved, or the life without its committed errors, makes flawlessness or perfection an impossibility. Unless we are those who can live without mistakes, or those can speak without telling lies, or those who can appear as something without looking hideous to a person’s eyes, we are flawed. As humans, we are.

Body positivity is no more than the lie that claims to speak of truth, the beauty that claims to mimic perfection, and the life that claims to never learn from any error.

Truth, life, and beauty hold the same meaning. They are equivalent to things so errored, so imperfect, that anything other than their definition would be heinous and deceptive.

For the person to say their beauty is not a mark of ugliness, is same to say that their life is not a mark of error, which is also same to say they cannot be truthful to themselves. In this case, they are endlessly lying to have their way. To “have one’s way” means to deceive, to leave out the necessity for responsibility, and to cheat one’s way to the top.

We cannot be positive, unless we are negative to the greatest weakness any human can possess. And, that is, to believe one lacks a weakness, for that is a lie, is against life, is against beauty.

She calls a strike,
A final deed to the rupture
Of several forgotten seeds.
Hold one hand,
Release another.
Stay what will,
Place her to the thrill
Of loving Hell,
To the whispering sound
Of her tolling spell.

She pulls the sheet,
For a close night
Upon the breezes,
Still a smile,
Loving to the mile,
Where walk the cadavers
For her
Sheer amusement.

Femme fatale,
Taint to the wall,
To the blisters within fingers,
And blood rising with bile.
A life of curses,
Blessings with bottles,
As hearts shatter,
While Heavens scatter.

Philosophy – “The Reason Men Weep” – 12/6/2020

“Never believe it is a choice to weep, for when a man does, he is no longer protecting himself. A choice to weep, would directly relate to force. When does a man force tears, other than to lie? When does a man cry so naturally before a woman, other than to be truthful?”
– Modern Romanticism

Men do not choose to weep. They choose to not weep. For their choices extend upon the protection of themselves, and were they to weep, they’d vehemently express their need to protect another. When a man hardens himself, to never weep, he is protecting what is within. If he cries for another, that is his expression to say the words, “I am protecting you, by making myself vulnerable.”

To say it is society to force a man to never weep, to encourage no tears from a man, is a falsehood. It is not society that tells a man to never weep. It is men who tell themselves, when facing their worst personal moments, to never weep. Men encourage themselves, teach themselves, force themselves to never weep. For this is how a man lies to himself, placing a mask upon his face that tells the world that truth does not need to be said, by him.

How are we to say that society is teaching us, when we are the makers to it? We are not the reflection of society, so much as it is a reflection of ourselves, of damage caused by our own hands. Of all things we see around us, of poverty that litters the streets, to sickness that withers a crippled man, is either the negligence or the deliberate acts, of us, to have caused it.

Humans have already given up their freedoms, if they believe some phantasmal force called “society” teaches them, and they are not in control of what can be created, instead of caused.

And, what happens when we break society? Do we break ourselves? As in, does a man find breaking down a wall, something that makes him cry? When he destroys a building or even his own marriage, is that only when he is meant to weep?

Must it be something a man can destroy, that makes him cry over its damages? What if, when upon a better moment, he can shed a tear over something meant to be protected?

Men weep over what can be protected, because he no longer protects himself. Soon as he buries himself in the feeling of self-punishment, saving those he loves from it, he weeps.

Tag: Women