I know I talk about a lot of serious, heavy stuff on here, but I feel like for my 113th post, I gotta go nuclear. ☢️
You all wanna know why I hate the “bad guys”? Why I rail against the Freemasons and trash talk the Illuminati to just about absolutely no end? They’re RAPISTS, physically, but also mentally and spiritually. They rape everyone: men, women, and children. All day, all night, everywhere on this besieged planet, there is someone with all the power taking the ultimate advantage of someone with none. And they ritualize that shit: they do it in their (un)”holy” ceremonies to the beat of unholy drums surrounded by pictures of Jesus and Mary and whoever else. And really it’s worse: they do it at these special places on the planet where ley lines meet and spread energy out to the rest of the planet, so that even if we aren't being raped, we feel it coming up through our feet. Our very earth is being used in this unholy game of who takes advantage of who.
Did you know not so long ago, if a man in Italy raped a woman, and she married him, he wasn’t prosecuted? Did you know that in biblical times, if a man raped a woman, even if he took her virginity, all he had to do was pay her father for “damaging his property” to “make it all right?”. Did you know that Harvey Weinstein still maintains his innocence, Jason Mamoa talked about how he liked science fiction because it allows for the rape of beautiful women who then fall in love with their rapist, and that some politician in Wisconsin talked about how some women “rape so easy”? He “meant” some girls think what you did to them the night before was rape.
First of all, let’s talk about the actual word; nay, let’s talk about the letters that make it up. Cuz it’s fuck shit to the 10th power on crack at your mamas house on Christmas kinda whack.
First, the letter R. My God, could they have picked a worse letter to start that horrifying, horrible word with? Probably, but they did a damn good job of being poor excuses for humans this time, too. R is the letter of the “true path”, the "right way", the “good thing to do”. It speaks to a sound vehicle, as well, which is super not cool because a car is like a body, which, if it’s being raped, it’s not “sound”. It’s also the rune of good advice, so, yeah fuck ALL that twice with a jagged garden hose.
Next is A. Ughhhh. Whhhhhhy????? A is the letter of GOD, for Christ's sake. It is the spoken word of God, let loose on this world to change it for the betterrrr. Ughhhhh. Fuckkkkk. Whhhhhy???
It just gets worse: P is the letter of pleasure, for all fucks sake. It is literally communal joy, the ecstasy experienced together, felt through holy union with a loved one. Whhhhhy?????!!!!!
Then the coup d’etat: E. E is the letter for fucking partnership, people! And not just “yeah, they’re my partner” shit; this rune speaks to a total meshing of body, mind, and spirit and a venturing forth together to seek your fortunes in this crazy world as ONE, united against the madness, forever together, in each others corner, and on each others side, mother fuckers. Like WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK??!!!!!
And someone DID this. Some insane FUCK, with full knowledge of what they were doing, put these letters together and said “yeah, that sounds about right for this.” And you know, you KNOW, it was a guy. Dude, fuck you. Get fucked and die. Eat shit, then get raped, then die, and THEN tell me you like those letters for that word. Bitch.
The entire reason I am writing this post is because I just watched North Country, with Charlize Theron, about the institution of the first sexual harassment policy in a male-dominated work place in Minnesota back in the 80s. And there are like three rape scenes. Now the movie has the usual symbolic subversion of the “good” storyline, but it’s better than most, and way better than fucking Silkwood. (Thanks for nothing, Cher, Meryl, and Kurt)
Here’s my experience with rape: I’m pretty sure SOMETHING happened to me at some point and I’m just suppressing it. Because I super react to rape scenes. The first one I really remember seeing was in The Americans when I was living in Washington, growing weed with my ex. I remember I got sooooo upset, for no obvious reason other than it was sick shit. But what really happened was I got mad, mad at my fiancé; which, I know, makes no sense, but it’s what happened. He was the only dude around and I guess I targeted him with my displaced anger.
Another reason I think I’ve been sexually trespassed upon is because the first time I got my face read by this like total holy man I ended up getting to know quite well when I was reading fortunes down in Little 5 Points, he told me I had been molested, but that I had suppressed it. Now, I knew this could happen because some other fortune teller type told me he had repressed a rape that had happened to him. And, honestly, it kinda filled in some gaps for me.
Because, you see, the reason I’m so powerful a witch, is that I’ve never orgasmed. Yeah, suckkkkks, I know. Trust me, I fucking know. And I've tried everything you'd think of like masturbation, toys, and finding a person I "really trust"; but I've also tried things you've never thought of, like I saved so much money (for me) to visit a past life regressionist to see if it's something that happened in a past life. All I got out of this was that it was likely that I had a past life as a woman in Africa where I was castrated, wore ankle bracelets, and likely died on the savanna running away with my girl child, afraid they’d do to her as they’d done to me. I also paid some "witch" $260 to work a spell to make me cum, which was obviously a waste of money and I still think about writing on her Yelp page. I think sometimes this may be why I feel such kindship with, compassion for, and obsession with the sex slaves: I'm pretty sure those people really don't cum much, either.
But really, I don’t exactly know what I’m missing, and it does afford me great power, so maybe it's all part of the plan. Because when you cum, you release your energy, your chi, your life force. That’s what the “explosion” is, I guess. Well, having never done all that, I’ve got every single iota of chi inside me I’ve ever had, garnered, or created. And, mind you, I still have sex (cuz it still feels good), so all that energy that gets put into me, or that I generate, has just stayed there. For 35 years, people. That’s why I kick ass and take names on the spirit plane. But whatever.
My point is: this “problem” originated somewhere. I didn’t just decide not to orgasm one day. Nah dude, 'tis the bane of my existence, for sure, but eh, can’t miss what you never had. Also part of me is glad because I think all these women fall so slavishly in love because men can do that to them. Do you know how easy it is to get up and leave, or kick a guy out, when you don’t cum? So so easy.
The ironic thing is, I’ve been told I have a very beautiful pussy. Actually, I was born with a “beauty mark” on my vulva, which was later removed, before I knew what that really meant. And I mean, my parts do look just like the anatomical drawings of one, and I’ve only seen porn a handful of times, but I assume those are like top of the line snatches, right? Mine looks like theirs so… obviously I’m a bad lesbian, because I have actually seen a very limited number of vaginas in my sexual history. I’ve also been told it tastes good (I used to inhale pineapple) and I KNOW it smells good. My vagina smells soooooo good, y’all. Like, can’t stop sniffing my fingers good. The last guy I slept with was like this super jacked body builder who was 47 and freaking out about my pussy. I guess because it was still wet? Idk but maybe he’d been fucking broads a bit more mature than me for a while and then got a taste of my young(ish) ass and just thought he’d died and gone to Heaven.
Anyyyyywayyyyy, I think maybe my sexual perpetrator was my grandfather. The important, Freemason, political one. You see, when I was like four, after some recital or show or pageant my older girl cousin was in, my grandfather “decided” to take me and my only boy cousin on his side to the beach. Just us two: not the four grandkids, not my sister and his sister, my older cousin; just me and my slightly younger boy cousin. And I remember it vividly because I was so excited: I felt all special, or whatever. I remember going to sleep at his house, waking up at the crack of dawn, and going to Waffle House, something my papa liked to do.
And that’s it. No more memories. Nothing. Even though it was all so emotionally charged for me, and deep emotional involvement in an event is what causes it to become a memory, I don't remember anything else. I’ve asked my cousin about it and he didn’t even know it happened. I asked my mom and his mom about it and they remembered it, so I know it actually happened. Now, something people don’t know about Freemasons, even some of the serious conspiracy theorists, is that those insane fucks are like potion-making alchemical extraordinares. It is not out of the realm of possibility that my grandfather drugged me and my cousin and took us to the beach and did stuff to us, or, more likely, made us do stuff to each other. In fact it's totally in line with the Freemason agenda, and something partially documented in place like here: https://nova.newcastle.edu.au/
Because all my life my cousin and I have had, idk, stuff between us. Nothing physical or direct, but subtle, tangential; like I’ve had a bunch of dreams where we’re married, and in high school I think he was kinda crushing on me for a while there, and this got expressed through the behavior of one of his sister's male friends who apparently was so taken with a photo of me on their refrigerator, my aunt had to take it down. Also, we just like always end up next to each other at family functions. Also we’re just like kinda equivalent: we’re basically as smart as the other, nearly the same attractiveness, both equally good at ping pong and pool. It’s nuts. Plus when we were still young, there was an "incident". It's all very Blade Runner and sometimes I wonder if these memories have been "programmed" into me like they were to Sean Young. There was a you show me yours, I’ll show you mine thing that could certainly have been some sort of reenactment/subconscious copping mechanism for whatever happened to us at the beach.
And the beach. I started hating it probably around the time I left my ex and moved back to Georgia, in 2016. It just sucks. After my papa died my mom bought a condo in the building next to where his was. It has terrible numerology, some bad memories, and just feels icky, possibly because she rents her unit out and I feel like there’s jizz everywhere. But also because I feel like I have residual memories of what happened to me when I was young on that island. Also one of my only childhood memories actually at my papa's beach condo was getting some dumb, fancy Barbie bed there for one of my birthdays. And Barbie is super sexual trauma trash and I’m sure that toy bed was equally insane. I also used to not play in the pool with the other kids, preferring to spend my time catching lizards when I was a kid there. For those of you who don't know, lizards are symbols for negativity and the lizard people aliens who are really responsible for ruining everything are like super attracted to sexual energy, especially fucked up sex stuff.
Another weird thing is that I super reacted/react to the scene in The Butterfly Effect where the drunk, red head father makes his own daughter fuck Ashton Kutcher when his character was a kid. Remember, he like films it? Ugh sick fuck. Anyway, yeah I like viscerally react to that shit. Which makes me think that my grandfather may not have super done stuff to me/us, but made us engage with each other.
Another fortune teller said I can’t cum because that trauma, which I guess she recognized too, is like lodged in my pussy and every time I have sex, I trigger it. Which makes me think of how I believe there’s some sex slave situation right near the front of my current condo complex, and like every time I drive in or out, I see the door where I think it’s all going down, and I get mad/upset/feel impotent and futile and hopeless. And I feel like that’s a pretty good description of what sex is like for me ultimately. Every time I do it, they/I/we have to pass through my traumatized “pussy doors” or whatever.
Getting back to the main point: I know two people who are the product of rape as well. One is like my stand in grandma who lives down the street, and one is a friend of a friend. They both have sort of complicated and compensatory relationships with sex. Like the dude is hell bent on pleasing all women everywhere and the older lady is kinda a nympho who compulsively feeds everyone.
And then there are the women I know who’ve been raped. I can really only think of three because I generally don’t have that energy in my atmosphere, but still, three is a substantial number given how many people I don’t know. The thing I noticed about their energy was yes, they were often salacious and did have that come-hither thing going, but more than that, they objectified themselves. They walked around seeing themselves through the male gaze, thinking they were only as good as men thought they were, feeling like their looks were their only commodity. (I remember one of them saying that when she felt bad, she put on a sexy outfit and walked around downtown. Another one made Instagram video of her dancing in outfits from Foreplay.com, looking you/the camera right in the eyes. The other one was a cheerleader.) And while I suppose anyone can be raped, I walk around the ghetto in the middle of the city at night lookin for bad magic, and no one even talks to me, let alone assaults me. No one ever has and I suspect no one ever will. No one sexually harasses me, no one touches me inappropriately, no one even speaks to me like I’m a whore. Idk. It’s probably because I have such hostile, prickly, fuck you energy, especially toward men. I once had a dream men were scared of me because I kept hissing and clawing at them. But idk, it may be a trade-off because the only guy who ever really sexually harassed me apologized like five minutes later.
Now I'm sure the question on everyone's minds is: do I fake it? The answer is kinda but not really. The thing is, when I do what I do in response to what I feel during love making, it's more than I imagine most women do when they cum. When you're as emphatic, sensitive, and excitable as I am, you ain't gotta cum to make most guys think you did. As to how I feel about my inorgasmic state and the fact that its origins are unknown, I'm divided. On one level, I'm grateful to my grandfather (if indeed this lost memory is the origin of my problem) because I've read about the way those, like, somatic, visceral memories of being raped can really, really haunt you and cause you to cope in all kinds of harmful ways. At the same time, maybe if I could remember what happened to me, I could heal it, ya know. If I could deal with it, it would disappear, and this issue would cease to be. But I can't right now, because I can't even access the trauma to erase it. I am cut off from that part of myself, for good or ill. And, really, most days I lean toward good, because some things are more important than an orgasm, like all the things I do with my magic to help people. And I do believe that God planned this, even if the mechanism came from Satan. Plus, I feel like I am cosmically compensated with my magic, languid life. I don’t work, if you haven’t noticed. I wake up, go to sleep, and do whatever I want in between and I thank God nearly every minute of every day that it is so. And, actually, I believe it’ll happen for me one day; I think it’ll be from anal sex, actually, which I have yet to fully engage in because, ya know, it’s a whole thing. You gotta find a guy who knows how to do it without hurting you, he’s gotta have the perfect penis for it (there ARE requirements), and, I’d have to do all the things; breathe, relax, focus. And, really, some days it makes me laugh, because the whole thing blew up so substantially in "their" faces: they meant to cripple me, and yet they made me stronger than they would ever know.
