Brownian Notions

     Look: even I, the foremost essayist since George Bernard Shaw if not Ecclesiastes, need to kick back now and then. This, plus the books, plus maintaining the Fortress against all enemies foreign and domestic can become too weighty for anyone. At such times, I just let my mind wander. (Yes, I put a tracker on it first; I’m not stupid.) If I’m lucky, I’ll stumble across a few snippets that might prove useful...or at any rate entertaining.

     And you, Gentle Reader, are the beneficiary! (Don’t you feel special?)

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     To a sane man, women are a complete mystery.

     I spent a little of yesterday reading about the affair of Mrs. Wallis Simpson and Edward VIII of England. Baffling! The man gave up a crown – the last Imperial crown in the world! – for a twice-divorced cast-off of two other men. She wasn’t a raving beauty. From the records, she was an imperious, demanding, never-satisfied social climber who resented Edward’s need to abdicate. Did she have that legendary left-handed thread, or what?

     But even more baffling is this: She married him. Why? Third time’s the charm? He was completely besotted with her, so there was no possibility of his slipping away. Besides, if they’d remained unmarried, he could have kept his crown. Was she so envious of Alma Mahler Gropius Werfel that she had to do something as pointless as wedding a former king?

     Women make no sense to men. Do they make sense to one another...or to themselves? Or is the whole notion misconceived?

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     While we’re on the subject of the fairer sex – and in that phrase is contained one of the supreme ironies of the English language – let’s talk about beauty and fashion.

     Women constantly complain about clothing, fashion, and the “arbitrary standards of beauty.” Yet rare is the woman who doesn’t spend her entire disposable income (and as much of some poor guy’s DI as she can glom) on those things. Yes, even after she’s hooked her fish! And then what: she complains. The cosmetics don’t make her look at all like Angelina Jolie. The pretty clothes don’t flatter her the way they flatter the models in the magazine ads. The bras cut into her shoulders and the underside of her boobs. Wearing a thong is like having someone rub a bandsaw across her anus. And don’t get them started about the shoes. Oy!

     But they continue to torment themselves with those things, throughout their lives...and when we ask why, given their complaints, the reply is always the same: “It’s for you, dear.”

     The C.S.O. is no exception. I’d ask her if she’d consider staying at home, permanently naked, as a suitable alternative, but I’m no longer young and fleet of foot.

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     Since the publication of The Wise and the Mad, a number of readers have written to ask for more fiction featuring Fountain, the somewhat mysterious futanari character who first appeared in Innocents and who’s acquired more stature as the series has continued. I’m tempted to oblige, but I fear I’ve written myself into a corner with Fountain. She’s too innocent, too good in too many ways...and too powerful. She’s gotten out of my control. Readers of the earlier volumes in the Onteora Canon will recognize the pattern.

     Fountain has begun to approach “Mary Sue” status. There’s only one thing to do with a character that close to perfection. I’ve already done it to one beloved character, and my (female) readers have castigated me for it ever since. (My male readers are mostly relieved that the little bastard is well and truly dead. Especially the married ones.) I don’t think I could bear to do it to a character as sweet and innocent as Fountain.

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     And now, a few words about politics and political affiliations for the hard-core addicts in the audience. These thoughts arose from this recent essay of Sarah Hoyt’s.

     We’ve all heard stories about families fractured along political fault lines, such that even the closest of siblings are no longer willing to endure one another. I’m personally acquainted with two persons so afflicted. It’s a painful condition. At this time there’s no cure. The core of this bitter apple is contained in one of Ann Coulter’s pithiest observations:

     Liberals hate religion because politics is a religion substitute for liberals and they can’t stand the competition. [From Slander: Liberal Lies about the American Right.]

     Though snarky, it contains an enormous insight, the sort of unspeakable truth for which Coulter has justly become famous.

     The left-liberal political creed has assumed the character of a religious faith. In its current state there’s no other way to approach it. It incorporates more internal contradictions and more commands to believe the unbelievable than any other faith except Islam. (Islam is for savages, and while left-liberals may occasionally sadden us, they do shower once a day. Most of them, anyway.) The point is that affiliations based on faith are inherently beyond argument. Thus, anyone who dares to dispute the left-liberal creed is attacking that which is sacred to its holders. We in the Right are would-be destroyers of all that’s holy to them.

     There’s no getting along with someone on the other side of such a political divide. Note the word “political.” Members of differing non-political faiths can coexist if they agree on certain premises, which C. S. Lewis has called the Law of General Benevolence. But politics is about the quest for power over others: power whose foundation is the privilege of dealing death to those who refuse to submit. Left-liberals cannot allow anyone except their own True Believers to wield that power.

     In their underappreciated book The Descent of Anansi, Larry Niven and Steven Barnes include an insightful exchange in which one of the antagonists says to another that religious warriors never admit defeat: they win or they die. That is the Left’s posture. It’s why no setback can convince them to lay down their arms...and it’s why we in the Right, who defend individual freedom, impartial justice under objective law, and America’s national sovereignty cannot allow them to win.

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     That’s all for today, Gentle Reader. It’s a fine Friday here on Long Island. The lawn needs cutting, the fences need repairs at several points, and the dogs need to be walked. With luck, I’ll be back tomorrow with something coherent. Meanwhile, enjoy your weekend.