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Notes from the Yellowground: On Women


On Manners. Whatever happened to women saying thank you? I have been noticing this recently and the more I see it, I have come to the conclusion that not only men but women have been becoming ungrateful when it comes to the smallest things--which translate to the biggest things. For instance: whenever I open or hold the door for women that I do not know in coffee shops or in other places, they do not acknowledge my gesture. Or when a lady asks if she can have a light and I do not just hand over the lighter but go out of my way to light her cigarette myself, the lady does not even say anything after--making me retreat or walk back with wonder as to what happened: Did she just assume that all men would be at her beck and call and would wait for her to summon them like slaves? I think I know why such women can be such snobs: because they have fallen prey into the belief that men no longer do anything for women without vested interests, that is, men can no longer be gentlemen anymore. So women are now afraid of showing any emotion to such men who--for all they know--might be "up to something." What does this tell me?--that, again and inevitably, it's a man's fault. Yes: it is my fault to keep on opening doors and lighting cigarettes. What a snob I am!


On being cared for. Nietzsche said that women are like magnets: they are strong enough to attract you but weak enough to hold you. How, true! All men are such weaklings and fools before a beautiful woman who offers the possibility of tenderness and care; and like blind men marching happily to the end of a cliff, we follow the pied piper's song dreamily with the hope that a woman can deliver us from the hell which we are ourselves. But lo and behold! Like rats we fall into the abyss and they are never there to catch us and never there to tend to us. What a folly! to even think so when it is always the other way around--we end up doing all the work, all the caring and tending, all the catching. All I ever dreamed of a woman was that she need not be beautiful, fair or rich--but when those times come that I can no longer care for myself (which rarely happens) that I may find solace in her arms, that she do what I no longer can for the meantime, and that she bear with what I can no longer bear, that is, myself. Otherwise it's just too much trouble.


On intelligent women. There are no such things as intelligent women because all intelligent women act and pretend to be like intelligent men.


On companionship. One thing I have found out in this young and petty life: that after romance fades, or when plans for the future (children, house, bank accounts, etc.) are found out to be vain, all that a man wants in his partner is a companion. Not a wife (responsibility) or a dog (mastery) but a companion (friendship).


The perfect woman: a beautiful face to gaze at unto forever without making you bored, a mind you can learn from without making you insecure, a kind heart which proves to be more powerful than yours.


Men who both love and hate women are afraid of women.



  1. i especially like the last sentence (=


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