No, I've just been doing waaaay too much thinking and I often find the subject of tribal societies coming to my mind, truly. The idiocy of hegemonic, largely patriarchal society (which is what the Borg-like United States [neeRome] is, at its core) is inherent in a system that is based on creating lines, distinctions, and appalling atrocities and vagarities of what it is to be human. So you saved a whale. Big fucking deal. Try saving a human - they fight back, resist, and have thumbs, too. And like any panicked animal, they run. Or try to. The whale probably might need saving from a whaling ship, but trying yourself to it, while the big Greenpeace boat dumps noxious gasses out into the air and the latrines have to empty somewhere, don't they? So you air lifted Meals on Wheels ("Courtesy of the people of the United States of America," according to the label) by the thousands to Pakistan and the hills of Afghanistan. That feeds 'em today, but what about tomorrow, hero? Ah, the damage we do in the name of nobility. Always searching for some new way to placate ourselves into thinking we're not monsters, but fine and good, upstanding members of the human global society. As rebuttal, I would like to touch on my theory of menninism... You take a tribal society, and evolve it. Give it houses, no need to hunt, no need to exercise to stay alive, and no need for that greater upper body strength, faster healing time, increased sexual potency (in that it doesn't wean nor become impregnated; it can seed more eggs faster than an overy can pop 'em out once fertilized), and no need for a clan-like structure. In other words, evolve. Grow societies. Raise crops. Grow new blood lines, new blood types. Shift the genetics of the majority of your species, even developing different skin tones, builds, et cetera, and as you shape the land, watch it shape you. Now circumcise it in the name of hygiene. In other words, tell your little boy from the time he's four that he was born 'dirty,' he's not supposed to feel all of those agressive insincts, and beat the tar out of him (emotionally, physicaly, spiritually, or psychologically) and prove your dominance. Now, Theoretic Dad of Today, fast-forward twenty years. Junior's rebelling. In the ages-old struggle for territory, which he feels, let me tell you, as surely as he feels some urban renewal going on in his BVDs when Mary Lou Crotchrocket bends over the water fountain. Now tell him to be nice. Cordial. Civilize the ape. In his mind, he's noble and good. He goes to church. He pays his taxes. He says away from girlie bars, and only watches porn and action movies to be 'one of the guys.' Yet he has no gender-specific identity. He has no one taking on his metaphoric first hunt. He has no one indoctrinating him into the cult of manhood, and explaining that "Yes, there's alpha males, betas, and even gamas and secondary eschelons of these. But that's okay, son. You're a healher, not a warrior. You don't have to attach the actions of other members of your species (because 'tribe' is never mentioned; we grew out of that looong time ago) to your own identity. The alpha needs the beta and gammas, and you'e a gamma. Just as important, even if you are smaller, weaker, slower, or less inteligent (and the reverse is surely true for the alpha, indeed)". You take away his identity, and tell him to find it by denying his instincts rather than working around them. You tell him to grow up, get married, have children, and become a productive member of hs society at a vocation he's good at and finds rewards in. But like the courtly love of the Middle Ages, in practical terms, this does not happen save on the glossy shell of God Bless Mom and Apple Pie and Baseball Goodness. Beaver Cleaver and Wally are feeling each other up in the dark of night. Ward is dominating June in the bedroom, because he feels empowered there, and if June grits her teeth and bears it (or even, by virtue of what said society has done to her gender, believes she deserves it or even likes it... which are infinitely more self-depricating and damaging to herself, as well as any young females she may encounter and influnce), Ward feels good, and doesn't, for just a moment, let his upbringing (or lack thereof) make him feel guilty for some good old fashioned bumpin' and grindin'. Which is what he's calling dominance via his penis...which is really kind of sad, folks. A star halfback shoots the prom queen when she gets pregnant (as opposed to not going for the NCAA slot, and accepting responsibility and perhaps making a decent living as a carpenter, playing football on weekends and raising four beautiful children who find that their father is, indeed, a man to respect when they hear about what happened when the rabbit dies). A leader spaks out about unity and is shot, remembered well and revenged (as opposed to finding a new one with all of that sorrow-fueled rage). A building is blown to pieces, killing thousands, and an entire planet reacts as Rome is dealt a blow, while the metaphoric Goths and Vandals are hunted (as opposed to revealing that Rome trained the dog, knowing its rapaciousness, and tried to set it out on the side of the road when they were done with it, rather than admitting their erroneous judgement and ending a few political careers). In the midst of the most fucked-up, perverse period of their racial and societal collective conscience, humankind sits rabidly praying for someone to save them (as opposed to saving themselves). We often say not to bottle things up, to our children. We say to take pain and turn it into a strength, Oprah. We say tribal systems don't work (but we haven't yet moved post-tribal). We tell 'em to always try to be better people, better souls than those that would opress them. We give our boys, in particular, a suit of armor. Then we tell them that yes, the chinks are weak spots, but if they just try and use what's inside the armor, the chinks can allow free movement, ventilation, and versatility... becoming a strength. But we never look inside the visor, and like Mad Max in Beyond Thunderdome, see the little boy inside the great big strong man's body. Authentic male emowerment. That's our problem; and I hypothesise, a great part of the origin of the world and our own households' animosities. Women, I salute each and every one of you (and me) for having it. You earned it, after what the other gender, by the large, did, way back when the Aryans started esteeming cows and daughters became valuable property (the word actually stems down to, entymologically, 'cow herd'). Men? It's your turn. So the next time you feel angry and want to punch someone, why not use that rage to reason with them? It's all a matter of choice. And I assure you, your penis is not dirty, nor is it your enemy. Any more than it defines you as more than biologically male. So yer an outie. Deal with it. Now try and find what makes up your masculinity. I guarantee it ain't between your legs. And go give Dad a hug. No matter what kind of father he is or was. If he's the worst, give him a huge hug. He may not get any benefit, but I guaranfuckingtee you will. And ya gotta start somewhere. And, whew! I'm done for the day The flowing wave returns not, nor does the passing hour.
