You’re a Whore


Originally posted on Philosophy's Bitch:

Ahhhh good ol’ Societal conformative pressure…

In this world there are so many people around 7 billion actually with a close to 1:1 male to female ratio. That’s a lot of people! I understand that humans are a very dominant species they like to keep order and in order to do that humans create communities and in these large communities they use societal norms and pressures to keep the order they wish. I can understand that, but some things are so outrageous and bigoted that they don’t just not create the right “order” they also diminish the lives of millions!

let me give you a bit of background information:

time warp sequence initiated.Target time: November 1st 2013. FLUX CAPACITOR ENGAGED..APPROACHING 88 MPH


I’m sitting in my apartment alone and bored. I was told about a camgirl that does miming before. I wonder if she’s online.  Nope…

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OKCupid Message Types


I’ve been using OKCupid since I was old enough to legally breed. OKC is awesome.

I keep reading complaints from men about how many messages they send with so little a response, so I decided to compile a couple numbers about my side of the pond.

I received 368 messages in the last 32 days, for an average of 11.5 messages per day

Picking how to categorize the messages was very difficult, but I came to a few general

Short Compliment: Any messages that consisted of one sentence with a basic compliment (“your pretty” “ur funny“) 

Short Greeting: Any messages that consisted of solely a few-word greeting (“hey” “what’s up” “how you doin“)

Sexual Proposition: Any messages where the primary point was sexual (“hey baby wanna get fucked hard?” “ur tits are real nice”)

Generic Introduction: Messages approximately 150 words or less, which include two or more of the following: A joke, a compliment, an introduction, a self description, a proposition for activities tonight, a profile reference. (“Hey! I’m Jake, I’m from New York and I’m in town for my fish eating business! You have a great profile, I really like that book you like, do you wanna grab a drink tonight?)

Profile reference: Messages with a sole content of addressing my profile or photos. (“your pictures are hilarious, what are you running from?” “What do you think about Heinlein? He’s a really awesome writer. I was homeschooled too!”)

Other: Insults, nonsensical messages, or messages having to do with gnomes.

High Effort: Messages containing 2+ well written paragraphs, usually addressing both my profile and their own lives.


As you can see, over half of the messages – a full 188 of them, or 5.8 a day – were either a profile reference or a generic greeting. 

My reply rate was to 7 messages total – 1.9%, or one message every 4.7 days. 6 out of those 7 messages were to messages within the “High Effort” category. Of course this part is very subjective to the individual, but I typically reply only when there is a very real interest in meeting up. Out of those 7 messages, I actually ended up meeting with 1 person. Most of the others I replied to lived out of state, however.

The average length of the last 10 messages I responded to was 197 words.

I suspect that most men who send messages typically send something along the lines of a Generic Introduction or Profile Reference, and don’t realize exactly how generic their messages end up sounding. If I were to meet with one new person a week, that would be 1 out of every 92 messages. It’s difficult to be a man, competition is fierce. 

Of course many women have different reply rates than I do. Many respond more frequently than they intend to meet, or sometimes to assess the man further. Many receive different levels of messages than I do. I am a sample size of one, so by no means take this as any sort of absolute truth. It is meant, however, to hopefully make you more aware of the sort of messages women might be dealing with, and how to address that.

(Also 7.6% of messages admitted to seeing me naked.)

You Wake Up On A Table


You wake up on a table. The last thing you remember is struggling to breathe in your own bed at the age of 92. A man appears with a clipboard and tells you that this is the year 3042, that you died a thousand years ago and your memories, personality, brain structure, and subconscious were put on a file and saved until a day where they could be adequately hosted by a working vessel. You look down and find your body is hard and smooth. There are bolts in the back of your elbows. He tells you they’ve constructed an artificial machine that nearly perfectly resembles a human body. It will not age, it does not get ill. You can eat, dance, and enjoy sexual intercourse. You must recharge every night.

“Do you have the personalities of everyone?” you ask. Yes, the man says. The personalities of every person from 2042 onward have been directly downloaded from the brain, and thousands prior to 2042 have been downloaded as well.

“Wait,” you say. “How do you save the personalities of people before 2042?”

“We reconstruct them,” the man says. “We place bits together from memories of loved ones, of writings, of records. It is a long, painstaking process.”

“How do you know it is accurate?” You ask. “What if you make a mistake?”

“There is a .02 variance in every replica,” he answers. “Even in yourself. The variance in personalities recorded prior to 2042 is .09. It is a negligible difference. All the presidents of the United States are currently living, as well as many major historical figures. A version of Shakespeare is currently living in New Jersey.”

“A version?”

“Historical records were not comprehensive enough for high levels of accuracy.”

“So is it him?”

“Only a little less than you are you.”

You run your fingers over your skin. It feels smoother than you remember, but you were old the last time you closed your eyes. Not that you’re any younger, now.

“Will I ever die?”

“Your body will eventually fail,” he says. “Macrocell bodies last for approximately 300 years before they must be replaced.”

“And I’ll be put into another one?”

“Yes, unless you specifically request a non-continuation of your memory.”

You stand from the table and test your walk. Your legs take a moment to respond to your will, but soon they move smoother, and quicker, and you spin around on one leg with incredible power. Everything is made of a material you don’t quite recognize, and it’s a strange shade of pink.

“So if you can reconstruct memories, can you change them? If I ask, can you erase shame, or the memory of death of loved ones? What if I were a murderer? Can you erase sadistic tendencies in people?”

“Yes,” he says. “There are extensive modification forms you can submit for change upon your next awakening if you wish to improve yourself. We refuse to reawaken criminals unless they agree to positive modification.”

“Do people choose to forget who they were, entirely? Are there people who wish to be someone else upon their next… wake-up?”

“We call them births. This is your second birth. And yes. There are many people who choose an identity and remove memory of their prior lives. Most are not aware that they are on their second birth; they believe they have simply been born.”

“Then how are they even the same person?” You have a difficult time understanding this. “How is this any different than booting up any arbitrary consciousness with arbitrary specifications?”

“It isn’t,” he says, simply.

You realize you are naked. He doesn’t seem to care. You can feel the ligaments within you moving… differently. More precisely. Cleanly. It is hard to focus on your body with your mind whirling. Your mind is moving very quickly. It’s as though the cobwebs have been cleaned from your brain.

“Are my children alive?”

“You have four children alive.”

“I only had three children.”

“One elected to be birthed twice.”


The man talks calmly, as though he’s said the words a thousand times before. “Your child Miranda lives in Texas. She also lives in Canada.”

“What are you saying?”

“There are two bodies that carry her consciousness.”

“But – which one is her?”

“Both are her.”

“Both? How do you have two of the same person? Could you boot me up again?”


You stand there dumbfounded, and stare at the table. “Would it be a clone?”

“No, it would be you just as much as you are you.”

“And this other me – over time it would be subjected to different experiences. It would be me for a little while, but then it would change. How could it really be me, then?”

“You think because it has gone through different things, that it is not you?”

“Then how do you draw the boundary between what is and is not me? Could anyone be me?”

“Some say everyone already is you.”

You grab your head – full of thick hair – and run your hands down your face. It feels like your own face, except without wrinkles.

“What are we?”

“That is a very good question.”

“Is this me? You’ve taken something that remembers some life of mine, some collection of ideas – hell, they might not even be real – and now I’m something that can be replicated? What is this? I died! I was gone, and now I’m awake again and I remember being me.”

“We don’t use the term death anymore,” he says, gently. “We call it sleeping.”

“Don’t try to soften the truth. People do die. I died.”

“And when you’ve gone to bed to sleep at night? You closed your eyes, fell unconscious, and then hours later you opened your eyes again and remembered being you. And just now – you’ve closed your eyes and opened them a thousand years later. Sleeping is no different from death, except with sleeping, you remember who you were last time. With death, the memory leaves.”

You can’t manage words to respond. The man continues. “You will meet many people who are on their tenth births who will not remember their past births.”

“What about me? Have I lived in the span before this time and chosen not to remember?”

“If you had, I would not be at liberty to tell you.”

“Why do people choose not to remember?”

“Most will say they got bored. You cannot be a child again if you do not die.”

“I thought you said you didn’t use the word death.”

“We do in cases of non-remembrance.”

“How many times have you been born?”

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Does anyone know, for sure?”

“No,” he says. He reaches into a drawer built into the wall and hands you a simple robe. “Are you ready for the world?”

“No,” you say.

He smiles, his first expression. “You can come back whenever you wish. There is food waiting for you. You will also find a full manual explaining the changes in this world and how to function in it. Two of your children will meet you outside.”

You thank him, your head still spinning, and with your new legs you step through the door.

How to love yourself



TRANSCRIPT (roughly)

People say ‘be yourself.’ This is a sentiment you hear in movies growing up, in those cheesy inspirational speeches your teachers or whatever authority figures kids these days have.

But do you really know who you are? Can you be yourself if you’re still figuring out what exactly the self is? Most of us are in stillettos, stumbling down the cobblestone path of life, and time is a burly man shoving us from behind and we’re like ‘what the fuck time could you slow it down’ but then you twist your ankle and scrape your knee and time just keeps kicking you until you get up and keep going and there is no such thing as the leisure to curl up and cry. Not many of us ever get to the point where we figure out how to run well enough to avoid time slapping our bitch asses, but that’s another topic.

Instead of knowing yourself, a much better sentiment is to love yourself. You might not know who the fuck you are, but whatever you are, whenever you are, at least you can love it.

Because life, while it’s crazy beautiful and filled with the most magnificent wonders anything conscious could ever experience, is also a piece of shit. Everyone you love will die, you might go bankrupt one day or your wife might cheat on you or your son might overdose on heroin and it is inevitable that you will feel a pain you never knew a mortal could ever bear. Be it in a crowd or on an island – you will likely be more alone than you’ve ever found yourself before.

Then you will see exactly what life is worth when all the rest has gone

In the end, the only thing that ever truly exists is yourself. Your life orbits around you like a mass of asteroids clashing into each other, and there are shooting stars and pits of fog, but at the core of it there is only your gravity field stringing it all together, your singular point of light, pulling and being pulled.

You don’t need to know who you are. You need to love who you are – or at least the search of who you are. You are all you ever have, truly. You cannot love anyone else more than you love yourself, and any excess is just emotional dependency. Everything that surrounds you is only as illuminated as the brightness of your own star, and brightness only comes from self-love.

Self-love, like most things, is a process, not a singularity. If you do not love yourself it is not simply enough to sit there and think ‘I am awesome. I am great. I love me.’ Forcing a feeling is not the same thing as feeling the feeling.

You must treat yourself like you would a lover. Court yourself. Impress yourself. Remember what it’s like to fall in love. Learn a fantastic skill and perform it for yourself and then stand up and clap for yourself. Make yourself beautiful or strong so when you see yourself you are thoroughly impressed. Woo yourself until one day you wake up in the morning and realize that you truly are beautiful and strong and talented, and from that courtship comes self-love.

Whatever the self may be, everything that ever matters comes down to the love of it.

Why I Am Not A Feminist


It is no secret that I dislike feminism, and I’ve had the beginning of a few twitter discussions that have ended with ‘well I’ll just write a blog post about it’.


I want to emphasize that I am absolutely for equality. I think people should treat each other equally, both on legal and social levels. I do not think that feminism is truly about equality.

Wikipedia defines Feminism as “a collection of movements and ideologies aimed at defining, establishing, and defending equal political, economic, and social rights for women.”

The problem with feminism within this definition is that it specifies the fight for rights for a certain subset of people. I personally believe in a fight for rights for all people, regardless of how many rights they might have started out in history with.

Of course there will be feminists who disagree with this definition, and ones who agree – feminism encompasses all sorts, from mild to extreme. I have found, through my encounter with feminists of many types throughout the internet, that I do not agree with their thought patterns or views. I have not found that feminists fight for the rights of men equally as much as they do for women (even though some claim this). I dislike that they claim the word ‘feminism’ means ‘equality for all’ despite using a term that is specific to only half the population.

If feminism is truly about equality, one could call themselves both a ‘feminist’ and a ‘mens rights activists’ without raising any ire, but this concept seems ridiculous to most feminists (and, unfortunately, most mens rights activists as well).

When I read feminist theory, or even the general culture of feminist forums on the internet (which I do read consistantly), the argument for use of the term ‘feminist,’ and a struggle for equality ‘for a certain gender,’ is that women have been systematically and historically oppressed throughout history. That in itself is a further discussion, as I’m not sure they actually have, but for the purposes of this post I will assume it is true.

The idea of the past shaping the present is odd, and frequently damaging. If we believe we are nothing more than products of our past, then the past becomes simply a justification for anything in the future. The past creates us like the wake in the water creates a ship, and we must see ourselves as in complete control of what we are and what we will be. To blame the past is helplessness. We must move forward, always forward, and take complete responsibility for our actions. We should not abuse our children because we were abused as children, and we should not use that as an excuse.

So I think that’s why I have an issue with gender-specific equality. Just because women were oppressed throughout history gives them absolutely no right to do any sort of oppression now, no granted advantage over the male gender. Not even if it’s subtle, even if it’s affirmative hiring practices, or slightly shorter terms in jail, or not being required to pay child support, or not being required to register for the draft, or having their rape accusations unquestioned.

Feminists seem to assume that they are entitled to automatic power because their gender was previously stripped of power beneath the law, and I disagree with this massively. We should be absolutely equal beneath the eyes of the law, not inequal to ‘make up’ for past inequality. Two wrongs do not make a right.

Beyond the basics of the law, power must be earned. Men are born with an inherent expectation that they work for everything they get, while women are born with inherent power through their bodies. I find that feminists tend to be unused to a world where they must earn what they want. There are few female CEOs because women don’t work for it as hard as men do. Women have a lower average wage than men mostly because they don’t take on dangerous (and thus higher-paying) jobs. There is nothing wrong with making this choice, but there is something wrong with making it and then bitching about the results. Women are not owed by default benefits that men slave to earn.

So the vast majority of things I see feminists talk about fall within one of the above categories – entitlement, or helplessness from the past, or fighting consistently for rights only relevant to one gender.

And that is why I’m not a feminist!