There is a “thing” about equations of the form A=BC. The form is prevalent throughout nature and commerce, and therefore it’s imbedded in the fabric of basic mathematical study. Remember ‘helping’ the kids with their homework? Area equals length times width… principal equals rate times time…? And, in the study of electricity, voltage equals current times resistance? That “thing” is a “holy trinity,” a certain special relationship among elements of a system designed for a specific purpose. Whether it’s measuring the landscape, figuring interest on a loan, or limiting power loss in a circuit, the relationship among the trio of elements involved is innately analogous.
Consider, for a moment, another “holy trinity,” one where the ultimate viability of a proto-species can be accurately assessed. The elements of this system and their interrelationship are: Humanity equals Gyneolatry times Misogyny. Humanity is the result of the interplay between man and woman… woman and man… the kiss of the earth and the sprout of the earth (oops, ..never mind). The sacred interplay is a dance between the two poles of a continuum. One pole is indicative of that which hates the feminine, and the other, that which is willingly, hopelessly, and most literally under its spell. The oscillation which is the back-and-forth movement of the energy between the two poles establishes humanity’s fundamental frequency. Etymology of the verbal symbol ‘cunt’ may well be a clue to the possibility that the ‘voltage’ felt or produced by humanity is directly proportional to the interplay between the flow of “cunt current” and the masculine’s ‘resistance’ to that flow. Why then would such a charged word as ‘cunt’ have evolved rather simultaneously in the language of both male and female among cunt kisser and cunt disser alike… and with such rich diversity of meaning along the continuum?
To some, the word ‘cunt’ has no charge whatsoever. To others, simply hearing the word is an unexpected blast of ammonia in front of the nose. Some recoil violently while others tolerate the initial jolt and eventually become fond of its energy and the narcotic quality of the word and of the thing it represents, both potentially and kinetically (depending on the quality of mental imagery the word evokes). Other names for this infamous void include: goatmilker, botany bay, cookie, low country, tickle-toby, pen wiper, unforgettable, rose of flesh, funniment, chum, undeniable, cave of love, wonderful lamp, jelly bag, coffee shop, parenthesis, fumbler’s hall, heaven, hell, dick skinner, itching jenny, aphrodisiacal tennis court, fancy bit, nature’s tufted treasure, and end of the sentimental journey. There are hundreds of other names [per etymonline.com] in other languages and cultures throughout the world, and the same is probably true of that counterpart part which is (…nearly) uniquely male.
For whatever reasons natural, the female form, to some people, is moving poetry, even when standing perfectly still. Her bottom half is a bell. She rings it loudly with her gait, and many within her radius are subject to its call. Should that ringing be muffled or silenced…? Why? Why not? Why care? For whatever reasons unnatural, the female form, to the remainder of people, is a lethal weapon – a threat to the sanctity of mind and spirit, good order and discipline, and a thing that must be covered up completely lest iniquity escape like beams of sunlight to contaminate the darkness.
Once upon a time, goddess culture was prominent. Women themselves, nor their bodies, probably weren’t necessarily worshiped, adored, and sensationalized any more than is the case today – something akin to the utopia one might find in the pages of some erotic, sci-fi-fantasy novel. But the feminine principle was allowed to guide human activity, the raping, slaughter, and wholesale hatred of women as a gender was practically nonexistent, and humanity’s link to nature was much stronger then than it had been at other times.
Until such time recurs that women are paid attention to in ways unanimously acceptable to them, we now operate in the reign and domain of the pimp. Such an archetype best epitomizes the gist of misogynist manifesto… or ‘male rights’ activism by any other name. The word ‘pimp’ may suggest smoky downtown bars along dark and busy streets, yet pimps of past and present had achieved relatively high station, among them, Aristotle, and Sigmund Freud. The hating of an entire gender (absurd as such a notion is to some) is not really all that complicated a concept. What’s required is only that women are made to feel as much like crap as possible, for as long as possible, from the earliest possible age. This is the pimp’s job. Life is business, and women can’t fit in a stale leather wallet.
In a goddess centered culture, one might see quite an inversion of relationship. The big, strong male figure of one reality is the gentle giant who plays in the grass with giggling children in another reality as he entertains them with tricks and stories. Perhaps it’s not a terribly dignified day job, but the point is that instead of young females being targeted as merchandise for a lucrative but deadly market… and modeling like behavior to boys who take notice, girls, from a very young age, are emblazoned with loving support so that they retain a solid grip on confidence throughout their lives – confidence to shout “I enjoy being a girl… it’s so cool!” That particular shout can certainly be heard today, but it’s generally not easy for many girls to say that. An alternate society would allot more of its resources to ensure the viability its most valuable resource.
Current flows through the circuitry of human life. When there’s too much current, the circuitry will burn itself out. When there’s too much resistance, no current will flow. Neither element is inherently right or wrong. Balance is reflected in our humanity as pimp and goddess dance together hand-in-hand.