Men. Women. Children. Society and civilization as a whole.
I find myself stepping back, looking around, and then looking once more to the wisdom of Zenpriest when he said: Feminism is an Extended Infantile Tantrum.
All people are selfish: What's in it for me? It makes total sense, and it's not selfish to ask that question - if done rightly. That is the most basic question of all, where Men decide what they will do for things they desire plus set and enforce their boundaries. (It's where many women decide to try and get everything they possibly can from Men - which greed is another subject to cover sometime.)
This is where we stop, look, and say: I don't have time for this crap. Your life is your own. It is not there for someone else to hollow out for their entertainment or personal gain.
We suffer from a lack of maturity. We have for a long, long time. I'm beginning to think: many generations, perhaps hundreds of years.
I have been looking at feminism and its fruits for the last five-odd years. It's taken time for me to develop these Crap Colored Glasses™. Many adjustments were made, more will be made in the future. What do I see through them, when I look at feminism and females and the slut-culture and the Sex and the City lifestyle and the marriage-and-frivorce system as a whole?
I have just begun looking at the manosphere through the same Crap Colored Glasses™. Men running through The Matrix on God Mode, wondering why they become bored and burned out on the childish, twisted, bitter sluts they are surrounded by.
Men buying into the mess for their own sexual gain. Men shaming Men because they bought unthinkingly into the feminist mindset. Men shaming Men because they don't want their demographic wandering away plus they're competing for the newcomers into the Manosphere. Men shaming Men so that they can make a buck.
I see a Man saying: "Don't waste your time seeing X movie, it's probably going to be full of feminist garbage." Thanks for the heads-up mate - you're probably right, they've slopped their garbage over pretty-much every other film out there. To the point where there are very few modern films that I feel like watching any more.
Then the media picks it up and starts jumping up and down and screaming about it, indulging in paroxysms of childishness, spreading the message further. Then the main actress says "yes it has a strong feminist message". Still the screaming and dribbling continues from all quarters, with redoubled fury.
I see people touting global-warming hysteria. I see people backstabbing each other and throwing each other under the bus for a buck, or to cover their back. I see people stealing from each other. I see people pissing away their inheritance, stealing from the younger generations, stealing from generations not yet born.
I look at my own writing here, past and present. Probably future too. I realize that most of them are thoughts that have already been thought by great men in the past. That my thoughts are barely the minor founding-pebbles of their thoughts and philosophies.
The world is comprised of 3.5 billion infants, pouting and grabbing for the lollipop, screaming frantically when they can't reach it. Expecting the other 3.5 billion rather-confused inhabitants to give them a helping hand. Then waddling away in search of the next lollipop - perhaps absent-mindedly tossing a "thank you" over their shoulder to their helper.
Say that they get the best-ever sex of their lives. As they're curled up purring and basking in the afterglow, their sex-partner gets up and puts on his clothes and leaves. Perhaps with an absent-minded "that was real good" over his shoulder as he goes out the door.
Her, screeching: "What?!"
Him, absently as he closes the door behind him: "Yeah, that was real good. Yeah."
So I have the hubris to attempt to write a book, to attempt to pass on some shreds of wisdom to others. Half the world expects it's nose and chin to be wiped on cue and gets shitty if you don't read it's mind as to when it's due - plus other stuff as well. The other half is confused as to what the fuck is going on with the first half.
Like one small book is going to help. Laughable.
Even more laughable: I've made three separate attempts to get started so far. I've just trashed the third. I say to myself: "You haven't achieved wisdom yourself. You haven't achieved maturity yourself. You're trying to write a book of this nature? Fool."
Yes. A fool. I'll keep banging my head on the wall. If it only helps one person, then it's worth it.
The steps to wisdom and maturity. An unending road. I feel like a toddler again.