nebris | Entries tagged with the end of men

~Europe is finished. That's a pretty harsh statement. And, in this context [eg Her Prophet Speaks] it generates two questions. First, how do I justify that statement? And second, what does it have to do with The Sisterhood?

Germano-Roman civilization has stood for over twenty five centuries. It has dominated the European continent even in its 'dark ages' and has gone on to conquer and reshape the rest of the world in its own image. In fact, the entire modern world is really an Anglo-European invention, the British Empire having had the most significant influence.

Some will read that and start bleating that this is an apologia of European Colonial brutality and racism, to which I reply 'twaddle'. European Colonialism was indeed quite brutal and racist. That's how Empire rolls. If instead the Chinese had kept going in the late Fifteenth Century, their empire would have been at least as brutal and racist. European success as merely generated the popular illusion that they have a corner on that market, which is, ironically, just another example of the Mythos of White Superiority, except inverted.

No, the peoples of Europe are not 'racial superior'. ['Race' is just a social construct used to justify bad behavior.] But the European 'cultural mindset' was superior that is what allowed them to conquer most of the world. It was the social, economic and political environment of Europe that created the aggressive and relentless nature that gained Europeans the world, not any inherent racial traits.

So, back to Europe being finished. It is that very aggressive and relentless nature that led Europe into a pair of global wars that wrecked them and their empires. And Nazi Germany's 'crimes' were merely the application of European Imperial methodologies to Europeans, their own 'racial mythology' having labeled their victims as 'non-White'.

Now Europe is being submerged in refugees from The West's Neo-Colonial Resource Wars. Soon more shall follow as the effects of Catastrophic Climate Change really kick in. And there is really no way to stop that.

Well, there are ways, but Europe no longer has the social or political will to engage in them. It would require an 'ethnic cleansing' that even Nazi Germany would find hard to implement. Tens of millions would need to be expelled and by now the 'target populations' have second, third, fourth generation citizens of Europe, quite a few in government, business, the military and security services, and many of them would be radicalized in the face of such an undertaking. Millions among the 'target populations' would die in the process as would a few hundred thousand Europeans.

So, what does this have to do with The Sisterhood?

The answer is very simple; Modern Feminism is very much an Anglo-European concept and, yes, America is very much an Anglo-European nation. [more on that soon] Therefore the philosophical and Spiritual foundations of The Sisterhood are very much grounded in Anglo-European culture.

The Sisterhood [SH], as a Goddess driven Transhumanist Female Supremacy movement, is also a dedicated enemy of all the Father/God Cults; Judaism, Christianity and Islam, which are Masculinist and Primitivist. Judaism is not much of a threat beyond being the 'foundation faith' of the Father/God Cults. Christian is an active threat, especially Dominionist Christianity in the US and Orthodox Christianity in Russian. They are both misogynist and homophobic. But they are both 'last gasps' of White Male Supremacy, though such makes them desperate.

However, the brand of Islam flowing into Europe is vibrant and growing, the Salafist Wahhabism funded by the Saudis and it is Tribal, Rigid, and deeply misogynist. And many those refugees are young men with no real future, what SH calls Useless Beta Males.

They are not really ‘Islamists’, though they use Islam as an excuse. This is a type of street gang, made up of young males from a highly misogynist tribal culture for whom Western society has zero social or economic use. They have been driven from their own countries by the West’s Neo-Colonial Resource Wars. They’d still be of near zero social or economic use in those places, but now they are in The West.

They take their revenge for that by brutalizing and violating young Western women because they know that will create the most outrage, because that gives them a sense of power and because they hate women anyway. Have no doubt that they do the same to the immigrant women and girls in the camps wherever they can get away with it.

The Imams and Mullahs take advantage of this, urging them on with rhetoric about 'conquering Europe for the Caliphate', thereby giving them a 'purpose' they have lacked in their lives and in effect making them an army, one that feeds and motivates itself.

As pointed out above, there is no workable solution for this because of 'politics’ and 'social morality’.

What SH is going to do is get as many of our European Sisters out as possible. We will focus on recruiting Sisters who are Right Wing etc. They tend to have a more harsh and ruthless mindset, which is what SH needs. Our challenge is to shift them from Nationalism to Gynofascism.

Most Left Wing Sisters are simply too soft hearted and wracked with White Guilt to do what is necessary at this point, though as the rape victims keep added up, I suspect many of them will come around to our view.

There will also be some Sisters who will come out of the refugee population itself. They are not immune to the brutality of this vicious form of Islam. In many cases, they are its first victims.

We of course will be accused of racism and xenophobia. But 'race' is a social construct with no real foundation in science and SH rejects it. That SH will also welcome Sisters from the refugee population as well shows the latter canard to be false as well.

This struggle is not about Race. It is about Gender. SH maintains that “Men will never willingly give their power to women, so Sisters must take it, by whatever means necessary,” and that “Patriarchy is destroying the world and therefore must itself be destroyed.”

This struggle is also about Culture. As stated above, “ Modern Feminism is very much an Anglo-European concept”. And America is an Anglo-European nation, though one of a unique character. America has always absorbed other cultures, digested them and shit out what didn't fit, all while maintaining its basic cultural nature.

American popular music is the perfect example. Created by the exchange of folk music between West African slaves and their Anglo-Irish masters, it has gone back and forth between those groups and all the others that have immigrated to America over the centuries and now in many ways dominates the world's music. [note that it has always been some Father/God Cultist that has condemned this music in all its forms]

SH will do the same, absorbing other cultures, digested them and excreting was does not fit, while maintaining our basic cultural nature. That is how a culture and its social order remains dynamic. This is also consistent with The Third Valance of The Pentavalent; "Women Must Reclaim All That Is Theirs". As women give birth to The World, everything is theirs.

But this is not 'multiculturalism'. That is a Neo-Stalinist methodology meant to destroy European culture as part of the old Soviet plan to undermine The West, which now that USSR is gone makes it something of a 'zombie ideology'. While all cultures have value, those values are not all equal. Some cultures are superior. If you doubt that, remember what language you have been reading the last ten minutes and what civilization created the platform upon which you have been reading it.

To recap, Europe is being drown in highly misogynist radical Islam with little hope of surviving. The Sisterhood believes that European culture is worth saving and that America is the best refuge for that. And obviously the best place for The Sisterhood to thrive and grow. As ever, more shall be revealed in the Goddess' good time.

Blessed Be

~'Degenerate', 'Degeneracy'....these are Code Words used by Fascist Masculinist Patriarchy to express its not so secret fear of the All Consuming Female, the Womb, the Vagina, the Sexual, the Effeminate, the Moist.

But The Sisterhood shall have buckets of 'degeneracy', great wet slopping buckets of it. And we shall use them to consume Patriarchy while we build our Transhumanist Empire, which will have as much 'wetware' as it does 'hardware'.

Current Mood: chipper

~The modern world is the result of nearly six hundred years of European Economic, Political and Cultural domination. As such Patriarchy has become synonymous with White Males. But that is really just a cultural conceit that grew out of the Imperialist propaganda of White Superiority used to justify said domination.

Therefore, lot of you, my Sisters, are understandably operating under the delusion that the end of White Supremacy will mean the End of Patriarchy.

But think about this: non-White males have had the White Man's boot on their neck a long time, those nearly six centuries. When it comes their 'turn at the wheel', do you really think they'll be willing to share that with women, even women of their own color, ethnicity, etc?

No, after so many life times of powerlessness and abuse, non-White males will react very badly to giving up any power at all, violently I expect, and will slip comfortably into all the old Patriarchal prerogatives as easy as you please. You see, all men ARE created equal and the Cock is The Cock no matter its color.

You'll hear a lot of 'aggrieved manhood' noise and be told “It's not your time yet”, which are the exact words Frederick Douglas used to Susan B. Anthony when he resisted her attempt to include the word 'Sex' [as in gender] in the 15th Amendment, which would have given women [of all colors] the Right to Vote. 'Your turn' had to wait another fifty five years.

If you allow that happen, my Sisters, you will find yourselves longing for the 'good old days' of White Male condescension, because my non-white Brothers will clamp your asses down at lot harder than many of my White Brothers would dare to at this point and they will call you 'racist' or 'race traitor' when you question them. So will many of your Sisters, trapped in a toxic mix of the Patriarchal Slave Thinking 'stand by your man' paradigm, deep seated racial resentment and festering White Guilt.

The harsh truth, which so many of you, my Sisters, are loath to hear, is that the only way the End of Patriarchy will come is with The End of Men.

...and so it is.

Current Mood: cynical

~Club Dynamic was Manhattan's hottest party spot. At least for this season. Being in the East Village Inclusion Zone – the most storm vulnerable IZ on the island – made it all the more enticing. The imagined proximity of Death was always erotic.

It opened at 8pm and closed at 8am, so things usually didn't get going until around Midnight. That is was New Year's Eve made that doubly so....and the countdown had just begun. The place thrummed and droned with Deep Vibe EDM and lots of beautiful bodies. Like most partying these days, it had a sharp edge of hysteria.

One hot brunette at the bar in a super tight black and red mini-dress seemed too calm for the place. Some had tried to chat her up, but she politely rebuffed them. The more insistent got a look from her real self that caused them to scurry away quickly. That glimpse of Death was a little too proximate.

Erika had not been in a psychic shithole like the Dynamic in a few decades. She'd grown out of this type of scene in her early twenties, but had kept coming back because it was a fertile hunting ground for slave boys, though less for recruiting Sisters. The females tended to be too drunk or drugged to properly assess.

Tonight, she was on a different kind of hunt. And she wasn't really wearing a mini-dress. She actually wore a Mark XXVI Combat Suit. Its outer layer was TeleCamo and was only projecting an image of her in that outfit. She did in fact own such a dress. She'd just been scanned wearing it and had that downloaded into the suit. Integrated into the suit on each forearm was an MRG-6, a Mini-Railgun, as Primary Armament.

Her body and skin had needed no editing however. Erika was a fully Enhanced Sister. Her bones and muscles had genetically increased density. Her blood teamed with nanobots that used her regular infusions of raw stem cells to repair and replace every single cell in her body on a moment by moment basis. And her brain, eyes and ears were embedded with millions of nanofibers – Neural Nanonics – all connected to her dozen personal on-board computers, keeping her aware of everything around her as needed.

Because of all that, while she was little more than a month shy of her seventieth birthday, she still looked to be in her late twenties and she had always been a beauty.

Though still a new political entity on the world scene, The Sisterhood had become immensely rich very quickly. Because of its foundational beliefs, it had the most advanced cybernetic and genetic Human Enhancement technologies in the world. All Sisters received whatever level of Enhancement they desired, which was the near maximum in most cases, and steady upgrades were the norm.

Even their infamous male Servitor classes were given various Enhancements and lived far better lives than the major of the world's non-wealthy population. This meant that the best and brightest women from all over the world sought to become Sisters. And no small number of pretty young men sought to become Servitors.

Everyone here at the Dynamic were Enhanced in one fashion or another. Only the wealthy lived in Inclusion Zones. The poor lived outside in The Shit, as Incluz called it. Too hot or too cold or too wet or too dry, Catastrophic Climate Change had showed up with a vengeance about twenty years ago, followed by all the expected horrors; war, pestilence and famine on a grand scale. Over three billion had died off.

The wealthy had built their protected enclaves and left the poor outside. The security personnel who guarded the enclaves lived in their outer rims, though they were well paid. Their children and those of the wealthy only mixed socially in the party scene. That helped provide the wealthy with 'new blood'.

Erika had noted those semi-desperate mating rituals while keeping an eye out for her real prey and monitoring the Hunting Trikona that also moved through this crowd. Her Neural Nanonics fed her visual, auditory and text information from all members of her team in real time. Like her, those three Sisters wore Mark XXVI's projecting 'party clothes'. If the revelers had known there was a Sisterhood kill team in their midst, there would have been a brutal panicked stampede toward the exits.

Normally, Mistress Erika, First High Priestess of The Cult of Mictecacihuatl, would not have been involved on the tactical level. She had done a lot of this kind of work 'back in the old days', but she was Upper Management now and too valuable to risk. But this was a Very Special Mission with Very Special Prey. Besides, she had to admit she did miss the thrill of The Hunt. Calm as she appeared, her blood was coursing hot tonight.

There was a second Hunting Trikona outside in an armored limo acting as the B Team, watching the comings and goings and monitoring the various Comm Nets. Plus they had heavy weapons 'just in case'.

Still, this was a dangerous mission. They were along way from home and deep in unfriendly territory. While the Union of Matrilineal Republics, The Sisterhood's 'political manifestation', was in firm control of all North America west of the Rockies, this was New York City, capital of the 'rump' United States of America; the old Upper Midwest, North East and eastern Canada. Their political relationship was tense. The USA still claimed all of North America.

If things went in the soup, the Sisters would have a hard time getting out and there would probably be an international incident. But the USA did do a steady amount of business with The Sisterhood – and was notoriously corrupt and decadent – so something would be worked out.

No way they'd try anything like this in the Christian States of America, the Old American South. Those fuckers were batshit crazy and proclaimed The Sisterhood to all be Hell Spawn. There was regular bloodshed in the buffer zone between them. Any Sister caught in the CSA, for whatever reason, would be literally be burned in public.

Mistress Eva, Erika's sister and Spiritual Leader of The Sisterhood, had been unhappy about her going on this mission and had made her objections known in no uncertain terms. But she conceded because of the nature of the thing. Sisters had died because of the Greed of Men, therefore Pain and Punishment would be meted out.

The target tonight was named Christof. He had a dozen or more aliases, but was always known by his first name. And reliable intel said he'd spend New Year's Eve at The Dynamic. If he did show up, The Sisterhood would make sure he'd see less than a full day of the coming year.

Christof was a particularly vile breed of vermin; a trafficker of curve goale, literally 'blank whore' in Romanian. These were individuals, of both genders and all ages, who had been brain wiped and reprogrammed as sex slaves. Christof's organization had become the number one player of this game in Europe. They controlled their entire chain of 'product', from abducting victims outside of the Inclusion Zones of the major European cities, through the wiping and implanting, to operating the brothels where the goale 'worked'.

It was well known that Christof's sexual appetites included mutilating and murdering goale, especially young females who were 'rewired' to interpret pain as sexual stimulation. As Europe had become a quite depraved sinkhole, his operations had flourished.

The Sisterhood's General Security Directorate were well aware of this creature. The tech he used had been developed by The Sisterhood itself during The Dissolution Wars. They'd brain-wiped enemy male combatants, reprogrammed them and turned back against their various opponents. The fear of suffering such a fate had caused many of The Sisterhood's enemies to finally let them be.

But even though he was using their tech, Christof and his organization could not be a top priority. Everything worldwide was in flux and while The Sisterhood had become very powerful very quickly, its survival was not yet assured. So numerous horrors like him went unaddressed.

All that changed four months ago in a particularly awful outer zone of Munich.

Erika and Eva had been born and raised in Munich, and though they had lived in SoCal for a half century now, Eva still loved their hometown, even if it had mutated beyond the place of their childhood. Because of that she had requested of The Priestesses of The Cult of Sekhmet, The Sisterhood's primary Medical Cult, that they create a special Sub-Cult to attend to the poor and sick of Munich's outer zones, The Cult of Eir, a Norse Goddess of Healing and Medicine.

A Trikona of The Cult of Eir had been going about its regular rounds when it encountered one of Christof's abduction teams. Once upon a time the team would have backed off. But he and his people had become arrogant and a fight ensued.

Even though these were Healing Sisters, they were still Sisters and were trained and armed. But Christof's men numbered in the dozens and the running fight last nearly an hour. When it ended, two of the Sisters were dead and the last one badly wounded. Christof had lost at least twelve, with more wounded. The locals guarded the wounded Sister and threatened Christof's men, so they withdrew.

This truly had been an International Incident. The EU could not track down Christof. It was simply too corrupt. Its leaders were terrified that The Sisterhood would launch an overt strike against them because of that failure. The Sisterhood's political and spiritual leadership was in an uproar. Even Mistress Eva herself, The Sisterhood's Face of Welcoming Love, had been in a towering rage.. But to everyone's surprise, it was Mistress Erika, The Darkness, the Sharp Blade of The Sisterhood, its terrifying Priestess of Blood, who urged restraint.

Erika was well known for her fierce hatred of men. And her rage at them had never abated because men kept providing new reasons to be raged at. But where it had once burned like fire, her rage was now as cold as the depths of space.

“They expect a hammer. Let us use a scalpel instead,” she had said. Eva calmed as she saw the wisdom in that. The rest followed their lead.

And so nothing seemed to happen for months. Of course, the EU's intelligence apparatus willing opened all its doors to The Sisterhood, which is what Erika really wanted. Unlike her more tender hearted sister, she had little love lost for her old home town. She had landed in Southern California a half century ago and fallen in love with it almost immediately.

Erika took charge of the entire operation herself and bent a significant amount of Mictecacihuatl's assets and resources to tracking her enemy. Because she did have a perverse sense of humor, she titled it Operation Daisy.

And now, on the last day of the Patriarchal year, Daisy was about to bloom.

A few minutes before Midnight, Erika received an info packet from Bryn, the B Team leader outside in the limo. “Target Sighted,” is said, along with all the relevant data. The A Team inside received their own copies. It contained images of Christof and his security team, with a through analysis of their real time positions, bio-readouts, gear carried and projected movements. They were fairly well Enhanced and very heavily armed.

Everyone acknowledged and waited.

In the two hours they had been at The Dynamic, Sula, the B Team's cyberwarfare operative, had whispered through the Enhancements of the five hundred or so club goers looking for systems to jack into. By the time Christof and his crew arrived, she had ghosted over a hundred of them. Everything they saw, heard, felt, tasted and smelled was being monitored and passed on to Erika and the A Team inside.

The club's security system they bypassed and ignored....for now.

Christof had a twelve man security detail. Two proceeded the main group into the club, labeled A and B, and scanned the place. Six closely surrounded Christof himself, labeled Target One and E through J, while two more led, labeled C and D, and two others followed, labeled K and L.

Erika would stand by at the bar while the kill team did its work. They were veteran operators and knew exactly what they were doing. Minka, the team leader, was in the middle of the dance floor. Selene and Artemis were equidistant from her and each other on either side of the main entrance. They'd wait until Target One was in the center of their triangular kill zone until they opened fire.

At two minutes to Midnight, A and B passed through the Kill Zone. They would be Erika's first targets. Her Neural Nanonics had them highlighted in red, club security in yellow, the revelers in a dull green and her team in white.

All four Sisters heard a soft tone in their heads. Christof and his men were entering the Kill Zone. Each Sister pulled the hood of her combat suit over her head, which activated Reflective Mode. They are all now effectively invisible. In the mounting excitement, no one noticed.

Erika raised her arms, her targeting indicators showing a ninety seven percent accuracy ratio. The other Sisters were doing the same at the corners of the triangular Kill Zone. Their indicators showed a near one hundred percent ratio. And at these ranges, only heavy combat armor could stop the weapons being used.

The hard sharp snaps of hyper-sonic ferrodarts pouring from eight MRGs did breakthrough the din, though only a few people recognized the sound. All thirteen of the targets were down within little more than two seconds, shaking and writhing on the floor. The darts were neurotoxin delivery systems. It cause muscles to contract so violently bones broke and it caused neural inflammation that felt like molten metal poured into one's veins. The Sisterhood meant for Christof and his men to suffer before they died.

The sight of a cluster of large dangerous looking men suddenly falling to the ground and spasming violently did get people's attention and the rush for the exits began. Though faster and more orderly than Baselines would have done – these were all Enhanced humans – it was still a panic by any measure.

The Sister's suits shifted image. They now appeared to by NYPD officers in heavy tactical gear. The clue goers worked hard to avoid them.

Erika strode over to Christof, placed her gloved hand upon his face. Microfine tendrils lanced into his flesh, seeking all his on-board cybernetics. They jacked-in and downloaded everything, his entire network configuration and all his data. That took thirty seven seconds. The A Team stood guard while this took place.

Jacking out, Erika looked up at the nearest CCTV cam, pulled her hood back to fully reveal her face and said clearly, “Greetings from The Sisterhood.” She then pulled her hood back and they headed for the back of the club toward the owner's private entrance.

At this point the bodies of Christof and his men began spurting blood from every orifice. That was captured on vid. Sula then totally crashed the club's security system. All that would be left was Erika's 'greeting' and the images of those deaths.

The Sister's exited into an alley behind the club just as a NYPD cruiser pulled up. It was driven by Alita, Erika's personal assistant. They all piled in. A block away from the club the vehicle's exterior shifted to a normal looking luxury sedan. In the meantime, Sula had borked and scrubbed every CCTV cam in a three block radius.

In front of the club, the B Team's limo was moving with the orderly chaos of people fleeing in self driving vehicles. They let the limo's AI do the driving, but Jo was ready to go manual and Bryn was jacked into the weapons suite, prepared to reduce any active opposition to flaming wreckage. But they glided out with the rest of the escaping clubbers without incident.

By the time the authorities had sorted everything out, they would all be well on their way back to SoCal on a diplomatic jump shuttle belonging to the Union of Matrilineal Republics.

Sula had received the data Erika accessed in real time and had uploaded it to a Sisterhood satellite directly overhead. The first operations against Christof's organization would be underway within an hour. And all would be completed within three days. Several hundred people would be violently terminated – The Sisterhood was making public examples here – and a few hundred more would become 'coerced assets' of the GSD.

That would leave over four thousand goale. Most of them were not retrievable and would be euthanized as painlessly as possible. The remainder would be transported back to SoCal for reprogramming.

~*~

The next morning there was a VidCon between New York and Los Angeles, capital of the UMR. The vid of Erika's 'greeting' and the gruesome deaths was played. Pixels undulated. Then a man and a woman faced each other.

The man was Frank Hammond, US Secretary of State. The woman, Renatta Sundersen, Minister of External Affairs, his opposite number in the Union of Matrilineal Republics' government.

They looked similar in their different ways, short professional haircuts and expensive business suits. Hammond was more 'masculine' of course. Sundersen's haircut was more 'feminine' and her suit was clearly of The Sisterhood's style, with the Star, V and Wreath pin on her lapel.

She had known Hammond for over four decades from when she herself was a US Foreign Service Officer. That made their conversation familiarly confrontational.

Hammond looked tired and angry. “That is clear evidence of a violation of U.S. Sovereignty and the commission of what is effectively a terrorist act by a high ranking member of The Sisterhood's leadership,” he said. “What in God's name was she thinking, Renatta?”

“More like Goddess' Name, Frank, and you know which one.”

Hammond flinched slightly at that remark. Sundersen knew she had the advantage over him. She was sure he'd been up celebrating until last last night, while she was well rested, the Sisterhood's New Year's celebration, The Festival of The Turning, being five days in the past.

“I Swear by The Goddess' Many Names that I did not know anything about this until a few hours ago.” She was telling the truth about being out of the loop on this and Hammond knew that by her Oath.

“So then how do paint ourselves out of this corner? The president doesn't want a war, cold or hot,” he said. “But half the Congress is on the warpath, mostly The Federalists, but some of our party, as well.”

His party were The Liberals, who were far more realistic about reclaiming the U.S. Former territory. The Federalists were the 'war party' and hated The Sisterhood. But all sides feared and loathed the CSA, which kept all this in check. For now.

“I received a full briefing on this about an hour ago and the GSD gave me some information your president should find useful. We will sit on it, so how you use it will be at your discretion.”

Hammond looked skeptical. “I'm listening."

Sundersen tapped a hologram on the virtual console that illumined her desktop.

“I just sent you a file with the information,” she said.

Hammond paused while checking receipt, then opened the file. Because of his long friendship with Sundersen he didn't engage any of his Neural software to 'pokerface' his expression. He read, his mouth and eyebrows slightly twitching. Then he smiled broadly.

The data revealed that the leading Federalist Senator plus seven Federalist Congressmen – and they were all men – had been clients of Christof's organization and that Federalists in New York's municipal government had been on his pay roll.

“Yes,” he said with satisfaction. “This will do very nicely.”

Sundersen smiled back at him. “I thought you'd like it.”

He turned serious again. “Renatta, I know it is a tall order, but could you please ask Her Grace to be a bit more discreet in these matters in the future?”

Sundersen gave him a rueful smile. “Mistress Erika is a force of nature, Frank. But I will convey your request.”

~*~

Erika was still too keyed up to sleep. She'd dozed a while on the shuttle from New York, but that jump lasted barely an hour. At the moment she reclined on a chaise lounge in the ocean view parlor in her rooms in the Cult's Headquarters. She wore a short fine silk robe of a pale floral design Eva had given her.

A male Body Servant massaged her feet. At the other end Seemkoo, her favorite Pleasure Server, a tall slim pretty mulatto, sat on the floor. He passed her a pipe full of hashish, a local Sisterhood blend. She planned to have him ride her hard in a short while, then have a deep well fucked sleep.

Being early winter, the Plexiglas doors were closed, only letting in the still warm Southern California sun. The Mictecacihuatl Cult's Headquarters, a solid mass of tempered steel and smart concrete, sat upon the western end of the Santa Monica Mountains, just north of what was left of Malibu. Two decades of typhoons had washed away most of that old neighborhood. The sliding steel doors just past the Plexiglas ones where a reminder of that reality.

The door chimed, then opened. Renatta Sundersen had been expected. She entered and dropped into a well stuffed chair opposite Erika.

“Your Excellency,” Erika said with a nod.

“Your Grace,” Sundersen replied, returning the nod.

“So, Renatta, how did it go?”

Renatta smiled. “He was quite pleased with what we provided him.” She placed a mini-drive on the side table next to the chair. “The whole thing.”

Erika smiled wolfishly. “I thought as much.” She frowned. “Goddess, where are my manners? Would you like a drink?”

“Yes,” said Renatta. “Some bourbon please.”

“Seemkoo?” said Erika. He moved gracefully to a cabinet, then looked quizzically at Sundersen, who had watched him appreciatively.

“Two fingers, neat,” she said.

She and Erika sat quietly for a moment while she took a few sips of of her drink, then sighed contentedly.

“Are you planning to share this with Saxon Park?” Sundersen said.

Saxon Park was the HQ of the U.S. Unified Intelligence Agency located in central Westchester County north of New York City. Along with the irradiated ruins of Washington, the abandoned CIA and NSA HQ's now lay in the Disputed Territories between the USA and the CSA.

Erika sighed a bit. “I thought it best to leave that to President DeKay. It might ding the relationship with the GSD a bit, but they'll have to understand the security protocols in this situation. The Federalists have their own people in the agency after all.”

Erika gave Sundersen a thoughtful look. “Forgive me for dropping that bomb in your lap,” she said.

“Sundersen smiled, nodded, “No forgiveness necessary, your Grace. That nasty little fucker required a public execution. Besides, that's what y'all pay me for.”

Erika flinched as the Body Servant worked a painful spot. He did not pause at all. Everyone knew she had a high pain tolerance.

Sundersen finished her drink, stood. “I expect you're rather done in by all of this, so I'll leave you be.”

“Thank you for coming by, your Excellency,” said Erika.

Sundersen made a slight bow. “It was my pleasure, your Grace.” She then exited.

Erika sighed deeply, motioned the Body Servant to stop. “Thank you,” she said.

He bowed deeply. “I live to Serve, Mistress.” Then he exited.

“Seemkoo,” she said languidly, pulling her robe open and spreading her legs. “Come here and prepare me.”

He smiled softly, his shorts bulging. “I live to Serve, Mistress,” he said, then brought his tongue and fingers down between her thighs. Erika gasped lightly, arched her back. All would soon be right in her world.

Current Mood: chipper

~The enemies of Feminism have used a pair of epithets fairly consistently. The most common – FemiNazi – is quite obviously absurd for anyone who knows anything about actual National Socialism. But most humans are idiots and it's 'catchy', so it caught on.

The other is not used much, probably because one has to have some education to understand its meaning; Gynofascism. However, in formulating the construct for a Female Supremacist social order, it is perfect, so we have stolen it from our enemies and now turn it upon them.

Gynofascism, n: a social and political movement that seeks to establish a Female Supremacist society based upon a BDSM FemDom paradigm. See also, Mistress, Matriarchy, Pegging, Financial Domination, Boot Licking, Cock & Ball Torture, Male Chastity Slavery, Forced Feminization.

An honest appraisal of contemporary global civilization will show that Britt's "Fourteen Defining Characteristics Of Fascism" listed below are increasingly present, especially in the American Republic, where they have blossomed greatly since 9/11. While those who impose them claim they are meant to stabilize, they are all really symptoms of Collapse, as Fascism is a static system and therefore stagnant in nature. And that which does not grow, dies.

Because The Sisterhood is required to put down roots and grow such an extreme and hostile environment, it will need to employ harsh measures, at the very least until the New Matriarchy has established a firm foothold politically and territorially. As such, Gynofascism is meant to be a transitional phase whose methods are designed to be used almost exclusively upon Baseline Males. This also means that it is a dynamic rather than static system.

1. Powerful and Continuing Nationalism - Fascist regimes tend to make constant use of patriotic mottoes, slogans, symbols, songs, and other paraphernalia. Flags are seen everywhere, as are flag symbols on clothing and in public displays.

A. Certainly The Sisterhood will make use of mottoes, slogans, symbols, songs, flags, etc, though obviously they will be Female based in their nature. These things are key elements in how one starts and maintains a revolutionary movement. But our entire ideological foundation is driven toward establishing Matriarchal Supremacy, not mere nationalism or patriotism. Those are constructs Patriarchy uses to keep Sisters separated from one another.

2. Disdain for the Recognition of Human Rights - Because of fear of enemies and the need for security, the people in fascist regimes are persuaded that human rights can be ignored in certain cases because of "need." The people tend to look the other way or even approve of torture, summary executions, assassinations, long incarcerations of prisoners, etc.

B. Within the bounds of The Sisterhood, the Rights of Women shall be absolutely paramount. During the transitional phase of Gynofascism, the 'rights' of Baseline Males will be considered only in regard to practicality, as excessive oppression breeds rebellion. But once Baseline Males have been outbred to extinction, such methods will no longer be required. The genetically engineered Y Chromosome based Servitors that replace them will be humanely treated in the manner of beloved pets and valued service animals.

3. Identification of Enemies/Scapegoats as a Unifying Cause - The people are rallied into a unifying patriotic frenzy over the need to eliminate a perceived common threat or foe: racial , ethnic or religious minorities; liberals; communists; socialists, terrorists, etc.

C. The Sisterhood has no need for 'scapegoats'. Patriarchy's long history of oppressing and brutalizing women is painfully apparent. Our Enemy has identified itself quite clearly.

4. Supremacy of the Military - Even when there are widespread domestic problems, the military is given a disproportionate amount of government funding, and the domestic agenda is neglected. Soldiers and military service are glamorized.

D. The Sisterhood is at its core an Amazon Warrior Society that emphasizes Discipline and Martial Virtues. We know that Violent Force is a Universal Language that all Baseline Males understand and respect. In the long term Military Discipline will also be essential for the conquest of space.

5. Rampant Sexism - The governments of fascist nations tend to be almost exclusively male-dominated. Under fascist regimes, traditional gender roles are made more rigid. Divorce, abortion and homosexuality are suppressed and the state is represented as the ultimate guardian of the family institution.

E. As Gynofascism is a social and political movement that seeks to establish a Female Supremacist society, this paradigm will be completely inverted and 'traditional gender roles' turned upon their head. The Sisterhood is Polyamorous, women have Absolute Sovereignty over their bodies and all Sisters are bisexual or lesbian. Our Daughters will be raised by all Sisters together.

6. Controlled Mass Media - Sometimes the media is directly controlled by the government, but in other cases, the media is indirectly controlled by government regulation, or sympathetic media spokespeople and executives. Censorship, especially in war time, is very common.

F. At the present moment, Mass Media in every nation on Earth is at best dominated by Patriarchal thinking even if it is ostensibly 'free'. Of course, Mass Media these days is hardly ever free at all. The Sisterhood will always tell the truth about who and what it is, not out some position of 'moral superiority', but because that truth serves us. Even when we are firmly established in our own political entity, that shall be the rule, rather than the exception, and for the very same reasons.

7. Obsession with National Security - Fear is used as a motivational tool by the government over the masses.

G. The Sisterhood has no need to 'use fear as a motivational tool'. Any woman who pays attention knows that women live in fear nearly all the time. Patriarchy is always Enemy Territory and to varying degrees it transcends all national, religious and ethnic boundaries. The Sisterhood will create a space where The Female Dominates and The Male is subjugated. That is our 'national security'.

8. Religion and Government are Intertwined - Governments in fascist nations tend to use the most common religion in the nation as a tool to manipulate public opinion. Religious rhetoric and terminology is common from government leaders, even when the major tenets of the religion are diametrically opposed to the government's policies or actions.

H. The Sisterhood is in fact both a Spiritual and Political movement, so “Religion and Government are Intertwined” from the very beginning. Religious rhetoric and terminology will be common from government leaders, but because of the nature of our goals – the establishment of a New Matriarchy – they will always be supportive of the government's policies and actions and vice versa. To be otherwise would be self defeating.

9. Corporate Power is Protected - The industrial and business aristocracy of a fascist nation often are the ones who put the government leaders into power, creating a mutually beneficial business/government relationship and power elite.

I. Capitalism is the bastard child of Patriarchy. It is that most ancient and honorable of masculine pursuits - The Hunt - distorted and perverted into a massive, omnivorous beast that is devouring its host. The Sisterhood shall Collar and Dominate the men in that industrial and business aristocracy, bring them to heel, Sororitize* their all of their assets and then bring this monstrousness to an end.

*Sororitize; verb. When The Sisterhood takes control or possession of a place or thing. "The Sisterhood sororitized that company." also Sororitization

10. Labor Power is Suppressed - Because the organizing power of labor is the only real threat to a fascist government, labor unions are either eliminated entirely, or are severely suppressed.

J. In the current socioeconomic paradigm, the power of organized labor has already been largely broken. The end goal of The Sisterhood is to create the aforementioned Servitor class to totally supplant all Baseline Male labor. Automation will also be used where appropriate. All labor power will be harnessed to Serve The Sisterhood and its goals.

11. Disdain for Intellectuals and the Arts - Fascist nations tend to promote and tolerate open hostility to higher education, and academia. It is not uncommon for professors and other academics to be censored or even arrested. Free expression in the arts and letters is openly attacked.

K. The Sisterhood is not so blindly fanatical as to think Patriarchal Civilization to be uniformly evil. While its Science is obviously to be exploited and expanded upon, there is also much of its Art and Culture that is worth retaining, though the misogynistic elements therein will be clearly pointed out, a useful exercise in and of itself.

The most creatively fertile periods in human history tend to be decadent and chaotic. Wiemar Berlin is a perfect example. The Fascist regimes that tend to follow – Nazi Germany for example – reject that chaos and the artistic expression it generates. This is both a Political Control Issue and a Puritanical Reaction that stems from Fascism's own suppressed homoerotic impulses.

The Sisterhood, while being an Amazon Warrior Culture, is also highly sexual and hedonistic, which honors those Aspects of The Goddess as Mother and Lover. It must ever be remembered that Puritanism is always a Tool of Patriarchy. Sisters must always use their Sexual Power to smash Puritanical paradigms wherever they find them.

12. Obsession with Crime and Punishment - Under fascist regimes, the police are given almost limitless power to enforce laws. The people are often willing to overlook police abuses and even forego civil liberties in the name of patriotism. There is often a national police force with virtually unlimited power in fascist nations.

L. During the transitional phase of Gynofascism, the proximity of unmodified and un-Collared Baseline Males will be a clear security issue. Faced with their inevitable extinction, they will naturally be restive and dangerous. This a critical window. The Sisterhood's Internal Security apparatus must balance the Iron Fist and the Velvet Glove, as too much or too little of either could provoke open rebellion. Minor criminals will be offered the choice to emigrate from territories under Sisterhood control or submit to a Hard Collar and possibly castration. Major criminals however shall be terminated and their DNA harvested.

In time The Sisterhood will develop effective Brain Wipe and Memory Implant [W/I] technologies that will be used upon difficult Baseline Males. Minor criminals will be offered the choice to emigrate or undergo W/I, but Major Criminals will be automatically be W/I'd and turned out to Service.

13. Rampant Cronyism and Corruption - Fascist regimes almost always are governed by groups of friends and associates who appoint each other to government positions and use governmental power and authority to protect their friends from accountability. It is not uncommon in fascist regimes for national resources and even treasures to be appropriated or even outright stolen by government leaders.

M. Patriarchy sets Women against each other by controlling the Standards of Beauty and constantly sending the scarcity message that 'a women is nothing without a man'. But it is the true nature of Women, when not constrained and distorted by Patriarchy, to be Cooperative. With the Greater Goal of creating and building a New Matriarchy, that cooperativeness is focused and enhanced. Therefore 'Cronyism and Corruption' becomes antithetical to that natural order of things. With the deconstruction of Corporatist Patriarchy and the Sororitization of the entirety its assets and operations, all of those resources are then fully dedicated to the Greater Goal of creating and building a New Matriarchy.

14. Fraudulent Elections - Sometimes elections in fascist nations are a complete sham. Other times elections are manipulated by smear campaigns against or even assassination of opposition candidates, use of legislation to control voting numbers or political district boundaries, and manipulation of the media. Fascist nations also typically use their judiciaries to manipulate or control elections.

N. Masculine Egotism has degraded Patriarchy to the point where it no longer has any goal beyond maintaining its own power. All its Greater Goals have been forgotten. Therefore the Electorate has become disillusioned and decadent and must be bribed and lied to. The Sisterhood is entirely about The Great Goal of a New Matriarchy and therefore always tells the truth about what needs to be done to achieve such. Sometimes that truth is harsh, but Sisters are prepared for that. And only Sisters will get to vote, as they will be all trained and educated to the highest standards and because The Sisterhood belongs to them.

Current Mood: chipper

"I’m not interested in dedicating my feminist effort to making masculinity more comfortable for men, I could not care less; they created it, they uphold it, so they fix it. I’m not gonna wade through their toxic waste to try to awaken some core of softness and compassion in men. If men are supposedly as good at analysis and reflection as they like to claim then they can fix their own shit. Demanding that women use up our effort to do it for them in the name of feminism - a women’s movement - is just another facet of the same masculinity they supposedly disapprove of." ~lesbiancraft

"The way that my Brothers would truly be ‘comfortable with their masculinity’ is in The Subjugation of The Female, with Slavery and Breeding for those who comply and Rape and Murder for those who resist. Leaving them to ‘fix their own shit’ would be a fatal strategic error." ~Moi

Current Mood: cranky

..comment to a Sister who is presently volunteering at a rape crisis center..

"This has also reignited my thinking on how Rape Culture is a feature, not a bug, of Patriarchy. I know in my guts, in my fucking balls, how true that is. And how a lot of what I call Victim Feminism is a both an acknowledgment of that and yet also a denial of what that really means because it advocates 'half measures' in dealing with the logical harsh solutions. In the end, laws and social custom will not restrain my Brother's deep embedded desire you hunt you as sexual prey."

Current Mood: contemplative

~The musky odor hit Tanith the moment she stepped through the portal. Man smell. It always got her queasy and excited, made her yoni tingle and moisten.

She marched with purpose down the wide debris strewn avenues, lined with derelict warehouses converted into rat warrens of cubicles called 'apartment' or 'club' depending upon their usage, the huge facades covered with brightly colored artwork, its techniques crude to sublime, and often violent and sexual in nature.

This was Semefour, a sector of the abandoned dirtside space facility of Bessport and original ghetto of The Men.

The Men were not actual males. True Men were extinct, outlawed for centuries, their heritage diffused and divided into the myriad Mandroids; Y-chromosome cyborgs, a vast genetically engineered servitor class that ranged from the ubiquitous simple minded AgroDroids, patiently tilling fields on a thousand worlds, through the slim graceful Harlequins, serving the personal needs of Sisters everywhere, to the brilliant star spanning Sliders, The Sisterhood's living spaceships who merged with their pilots, Mind, Body and Soul.

No, The Men were really Sisters. They wore Bitch Rods all the time – detachable bioform phallus's ...big, thick ones, too. They took hormones to shrink breasts and grow hair, lots of hair. They lived The Man's Way, a throwback cult of 'masculinity'. They steeped themselves in intoxicants, wrote nihilistic poetry, had bare knuckle brawls, and sodomized each other. They were The Men.

For most, it was a phase. They would Live The Life for a while, then put their Bitch Rod back in its Fake Box and go live as a Solitary in the woods or the hills or the desert on some world for a Solannum or two until their minds and bodies settled.

But some Lived The Life as their Life with total commitment. Like Frank, who had been one of The Men for well over a century now. That is who Tanith had come to see.

Tanith was a Jane, a Sister who sought out The Men for pleasure. She couldn't call Frank a 'lover'. Sex among The Men was ritualized consensual rape.

She turned, went into a shadowed door, up narrow stairs. Frank was waiting for her, 'his' wiry black hair, beard, chest, legs, making her body vibrate with an atavistic thrill. Frank took her straight away, brutally, with a cruel smile that no Harlequin pleasure server would ever match.

Time passed too quickly.

They smoked and drank, coupled with fury and languor. Frank sang her songs. Two friends came over, got drunk, had a fist fight, then all three of them 'raped' her for hours.

On the afternoon of the third day, Tanith stumbled down the stairs, bruised, sore, and wholly sated. On her way out the door, Frank had smacked her on the ass. “Say hello to your husband,” 'he' laughed.

“My husband,” she thought smiling. Her darling Maddox, thirty six thousand tons of Slider floating serenely in orbit. She knew he would relish every single detail.

Current Mood: calm

~Janel was nervous to the point of nauseousness. At least, she called it 'nervousness'. Truth was, her tumble of emotions – fear, excitement, rage, guilt – was too much of a cascading mess for her to sort out any single one for more than a moment.

So she started cleaning the house again.

Mara watched the skinny raw boned brunette as she vacuumed the living room. At half past one in the morning. For maybe the tenth time in the last twenty four hours. She laughed a bit. “Coping,” she thought.

Mara was doing the same thing in her own way, a drop cloth spread over the kitchen table, her Ithaca 37 12 gauge military model pump action disassembled neatly, each dulled gunmetal piece getting loving attention. Again. At half past one in the morning. She grinned to herself.

Cassie was asleep in the back bedroom. Mara knew she didn't mind the sound of Janel's relentless cleaning. “Maintenance noise,” she called it, said it reminded her of Camp Anaconda back in Iraq and she found that comforting.

But no matter what Janel was doing, or not doing, either Cassie or Mara was awake. This operation was in its final phase. Randy, Janel's ex, was on the road.

He'd tracked her down before, three times in the past five years since she'd taken their two daughters and left. Left the yelling and threats and beatings and drunken rapes.

There'd been cops and restraining orders and battered women's shelters. And he never gave up. Janel knew that one day Randy would kill her.

When she'd wound up in one of The Sisterhood's battered women's shelters and told them her story, they agreed with her conclusion. And offered a final solution to her problem

So now, two months later, Randy was on the road.

He'd gotten a call at his job three states over. “Your cunt ex-wife is fucking some nigger,” the 'black sounding' woman's voice said in a growl. And gave him an address.

The Resolution Team tracked his truck's GPS, giving regular up-dates to Mara and Cassie. Mara was Inside on this one, Cassie was Outside.

Janel vacuumed. Her girls were hundreds of miles away in the desert learning how to ride horses. Hundreds of miles away from this two bedroom ranch style in a cul-de-sac, the place where they would soon be released from their past. They still woke up screaming these days, though less than before.

Cassie trotted into the kitchen in a t-shirt and boxers, poured herself some coffee. She looked at Janel pushing the vacuum back and forth, smiled.

“My old master sergeant would fucking love her,” she said. Mara laughed, slipped another well cleaned piece into place.

“I was thinking of getting her some whitewash.” They both laughed loud enough for Janel to notice. She blushed, turned off the vacuum, wandered into kitchen.

“I wonder where he is?” she asked no one in particular.

“An hour or so away with a Glock and a bottle of Jim Beam,” Mara said dispassionately. Janel jumped as Mara worked the shotgun's slide a few times.

Cassie pulled out the chair next to her, patted its seat. “Sit down and breath, Janel. Don't want you crashing before show time.”

Janel smiled wanly, sat down. Cassie rubbed her shoulders. “This will all be over soon, honey. And then you and your girls will be free. Now take some deep breaths.” Janel did so and began to relax just a bit.

Forty minutes later Cassie sat in the van parked in the driveway, once again wishing she still smoked and grateful that she didn't. She patted her own pump action, a near twin of Mara's, a short barreled, folding stock, pistol grip baby.

A voice whispered in her ear piece, ” This is Sky Box. The subject's vehicle just turned onto Dorado Drive, going north bound.”

“This is Top. Copy that,” she said.

“This is Bottle. Copy that,” came Mara's voice on the push.

After a few minutes, a pick up truck drove into the cul-de-sac, then stopped a couple of houses down, turned off its lights.

Cassie checked its plates with a night scope. “This is Top. Confirmed subject's vehicle has arrived. Repeat, subject's vehicle has arrived. Over.”

“This is Bottle. Copy that,” said Mara.

“This is Sky Box. Copy that,” said the 'whispered voice'.

Randy sat in his truck looking at the house where 'his cunt ex wife was fucking some nigger'. He took a slug from the Jim Beam, a big one this time. His Glock .45 lay upon the passenger seat.

He knew he was going to kill Janel tonight, if he found her, then himself. Maybe some nigger, too. He didn't think about 'his girls', but he'd probably kill them too if they were there.

He took another big slug, picked up the Glock, and got out.

“This is Top. The subject has exited his vehicle. ID is confirmed. Wait one.” Cassie peered intently into the night scope. “The subject is armed. The weapon is in his front waistband. Repeat, the weapon is in his front waistband. Over”

“This is Bottle. Copy the weapon is in his front waistband. Standing by. Over.”

“This is Sky Box. Copy that.”

Randy walked up to the door, knocked hard. “Janel! Janel!” he shouted, “Are you in there?”

A moment passed...

“Randy, you fucking piece of shit loser! Get the fuck outta here and go fuck yourself!” Janel screamed from behind the door.

Randy vaguely thought she seemed like she was purposely trying to piss him off, but he was too drunk and too angry to give a shit.

“You fucking cunt! Open this fucking door!” he screamed as he pounded on the door.

“Take your tiny pinky dick and go fuck some dog!” she screamed with real rage.

“You're fucking some nigger, ain't ya!?” he screamed through a red haze.

“Yes I am! He's got a big black cock and I suck it every night!” She was laughing hysterically now.

The red haze consumed him. He pulled out the Glock and kicked the door. It flew open and half off of its hinges with surprising ease. He rushed through the doorway, but then stopped dead in his tracks.

Not six feet away was a large blond in black BDU's pointing a shotgun straight at him.

Cassie heard the single shot, tensed.

After a beat, “This is Bottle. Code Black. Repeat, Code Black. Bottle out.”

Cassie took a deep breath. “This is Top. Acknowledge Code Black. Over.”

“This is Sky Box. Roger Code Black. Over.”

Cassie jumped out of the van and went up to the front door, watching out for blood spatter. Randy's corpse was crumpled in the doorway itself, nothing left north of his lower jaw.

Janel was about ten feet back, looking it the thing in the doorway with an indescribable expression. Mara carefully handed Cassie her radio. “Scoot,” she said, blowing a kiss.

“Ten four,” said Cassie with a smile.

Driving out of the cul-de-suc, she radioed, “This is Top. Code Blue. Repeat, Code Blue. Top out.”

“This is Sky Box. Roger Code Blue.”

Deputy Sheriff Bonita Garza sat in her black and white sipping green tea from a bottle. A large black van drove down the other side of the street, flashed its brights twice.

Garza turned over the engine, turned on the lights, stepped on the brake pedal, put the cruiser in gear, waited.

Her radio squawked a few seconds later, “All units in the vicinity of sixteen hundred North Dorado court. Shots fired. Possible one eight seven.”

Garza responded instantly. “This is Adam one seven. Proceeding north on the thirty five thousand block of Dorado Drive. Responding Code Two.”

She roared up the block, sirens wailing and light bar flashing. She knew exactly where she was going.

II

Two months later the case file landed on the desk of ADA Jim Dubchek. And then sat there for another ten days.

When he finally reviewed it, he was unimpressed. Randell Pinkston shot dead breaking into the house of Janel Raed, his ex wife. He had a gun and a high blood alcohol level. She had a TRO and a bodyguard, one Mara Jensen, who was the actual shooter.

Now Ms Jensen looked impressive. Bonded and Licensed security agent. Veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom. Ex-US Army Military Police NCO. LA County Reserve Deputy Sheriff.

The Robbery/Homicide investigation had signed off on this a 'clean self defense shooting'.

“Public service homicide,” Dubchek muttered, and dropped the file in his Decline box.

There was a small nagging part of his subconscious that wondered how Pinkston had found his wife and that it all seemed a bit 'too neat'. Dubchek was a pretty good ADA. But he stashed that nagging feeling away.

He could work that out tonight while groveling before Mistress Carmella, licking her boots, and taking her lashings. He did need to be guilty of 'something'.

Current Mood: chipper

~Tzisoc knew they were about fifteen miles south of Zhytomir, but until they saw the rail line and the village just to the east – Vertokyivka she believed – they had no map fix.

Artillery 'crumped' to the north, fellow Black Guard units fighting their way into Zhytomir itself.

She brought the troop to a halt in the village's abandoned fields, letting the horses graze upon whatever they could find. In the dry heat of mid-August, that wasn't much. She was still amazed at the stunning primitiveness of Russia during this time, even this far west.

She sighed, checked out her little command; twenty six Sisters, their horses, three extra mounts.

“Too many First Timers in this Wave”, she thought. She had gone from private to sergeant in five months because of that. That was also why they didn't spot the Maxim gun until it opened up, a languorous 'tat-tat-tat-tat'.

They had learned enough to pull back rapidly instead of gazing about open mouthed. The Germans missed completely.

“Green,” Tzisoc hissed, as she dismounted several yards back.

“Corporal Kaminel, take Second and Third Sections around to the right! Pin them down!” she told her second in command. “First Section come with me!”

As Tzisoc and seven troopers moved around to the left, the sharp crack of Mosin-Nagant carbines could be heard, answered by the Maxim gun...and the flatter crack of Mausers.

“They've got infantry,” Tzisoc said. The others nodded.

They found a low rise on the German's left flank. Tzisoc spread her troopers along it and kept moving left.

She could see the Germans now, their coal scuttle helmets moving around in a trench line. She brought her rifle up, fired.

One of the helmets flipped back with a satisfying spray of blood and meat.

She hugged the earth as slugs zipped over head, thumped in the dirt. Then First Section opened up and the bullets stopped. She took a quick look; no Germans.

She was up and running in an instant. “This is going to get me killed,” she thought. But she had signed up knowing The Black Guard's motto; Mors Amatricum Nostrum. “Death is Our Lover”

Halfway to the trench a German appeared. She shot him in the chest.

Then she was in the trench. Another German. She shot him in the face. A third German came at her with a shovel, knocked her rifle away.

She screamed a war cry, leaped upon him, dagger out. She could feel the bone and gristle through the hilt, feel his death rattle, smell his bowels voiding.

She heard a 'thunk' to her left. The chest-shot German had just pounded a potato masher against the dirt.

“Oh, shi...” The blast set her hair and uniform on fire. Metal tore into her face, eyes... PAIN!

...whiteness...

Her body was still spasming violently when the Mandroid Medtechs cracked the Sim Tank. A Pneumodermic injector shot her full of hormones and supplements. She went limp.

She awoke in a deceptively simple hospital room, bright, sunny, no medgear visible, but it monitored her to the subatomic level.

A Sister came in wearing a white coat, her hair in a Service Pageboy. Tzisoc noticed the silver outlined black star insignia of The Black Guard pinned to her coat.

“I'm Nesrood, your counselor,” she smiled. “I hear you bought the farm.”

Tzisoc laughed. “Only five months in.”

“You'll do better next time,” Nesrood said. She pointed to her insignia; the black star had a red III and a white V. “I died the first two times, survived five in a row, and then got killed again on the last.” She smiled. “Luck of the draw.”

She pulled a clear package out of her pocket, handed it to Tzisoc. “Welcome, Comrade.”

It was a Black Guard pin. When Tzisoc's skin touched it, a red I appeared. She grinned with sheer joy. “Yes, I'll do better next time.”

Current Mood: calm

~Junior Lieutenant Menat Borsa, Space Force Marines, had the Third Watch on Barracks Platform 2/26 [2nd Regt/26th Batt] because, bluntly put, she was a 'noob', barely four months out of the Academy. And she was fine with that Tradition from 'beyond the mists of time'. The Sisterhood was ever conscious of not throwing out the practical baby with the Patriarchal bathwater.

Besides, the view was gorgeous, a five by ten transparent plasteen window in High Earth Orbit. Menat spent a significant portion of the watch simply staring out that window. The rest of the time she read books, Mimsdottor's “Concise History of The Horse Clans, Vol 1” at the moment. Electronic media were forbidden on Watch.

Oh, and she checked the systems, a swirl of intermeshing holograms. Systems that never failed. Ever. And every time she thought that, she heard her Tech Instructor, Captain Haduri, saying emphatically, “Something. Always. Fails.” Which was why her warm body was here on Third Watch.

A proximal danger alarm activated.

“Shit,” she muttered, letting “Horse Clans” float away.

An impact alarm flared/squealed.

“Shit!” she barked. That was too quick for space junk. Data flows informed her that a micrometeorite had pierced the platform, damaging Drop Troopers in their Sleep Pods. One set of life signs flat lined and others were 'unhappy'.

A hologram coalesced, Senior Chief Warrant Officer Mwera. “El Tee, I'm on my way to Hold Seven.”

“Roger that, Chief.” Technically, she was a 'superior officer', but Mwera, born a True Male, had, at the age of fifty three, become a Space Force Mandriod. That was over three decades ago, so Menat fully deferred to him.

“Chief, be advised that Corporal El Em One Two Seven is up and about.” Mwera blanched. “But he has exited Hold Seven,”

“Roger that, El Tee,” he said flatly.

Sensors showed the Corporal heading for the mess bay.

“Can't be hungry,” she thought. He'd been hooked up to bleeder/feeder tubes in his Sleep Pod.

“Maybe he wants one of those nasty Drop Trooper candy bars,” the ones that tasted like vulcanized cowshit laced with cinnamon and fruit compote.

“Junior Lieutenant Menat Borsa exiting the Command Center,” she said.

Menat found him floating in front of the mess bay's window, naked, eight feet tall, seven hundred pounds, pink as a baby pig, a dozen gray caps covering his battle armor plug-in points.

She turned off her neural implanted combat programs. At six two, three hundred pounds, and heavily augmented, she might be able to take him. As an Initiated Sister, she was a weapon herself.

But he was a fellow Marine.

“Corporal?” she said softly.

He turned to look at her somberly. She wondered if he ever looked anything but somber.

“One of my Troopers died.” He looked out the window again. “I wanted to see the sky.”

She had no trouble whatsoever radiating Empathy at him.

“I'll have Chief Mwera program sky dreams for you.”

He looked at her with what seemed a smile.

She held out her hand. He took it gently in his massive fingers and allowed her to lead him back to Hold Seven.

Current Mood: calm

~The mag-lev car to 'The Nines', the nine Coconino Towers, was empty except for Jane Mimsdottor. It was clean and well maintained, but shabby with age. “Rides empty a lot these days,” Jane thought.

Just at that moment she 'heard/felt' a soft chime deep in her temporal lobe, the standard message alert from her neural nanonics, the CompNet embedded throughout her cerebral tissues.

A pleasant voice whispered, “This is a reminder from the Electoral Directorate. Voting in the General Plebiscite regarding the question of the admission of the Siberian Confederacy into the Union of Matrilineal Republics will be closing in two hours. If you have not yet voted, please do so now. Thank you.”

Jane could have turned the Alert Function off, but like many Sisters, she was closely following this GP, though its outcome was almost certain. And also, like most of The Sisterhood, she could easily determine that Yulia Prokharovka, the Siberian Prime Minister, had done an excellent job of preparing Siberia for annexation and integration into the UMR.

Jane had voted Yes, for admission, two weeks ago when the Loop Ship she served aboard, the SFS Maathai, was still on approach to the El Five Complex.

It was easy to tell Jane was a 'spacer'. After decades in service under unfiltered UV, her reddish blonde hair had been bleached white and her fair skin tanned a honey brown. However, her eyes were still the same sparkling green they'd been the day she was born in a deer hide tent in the Outlands.

She was wearing her Space Force Walking Out Dress uniform, a black one piece with white trim and soft boots, with the trio of six pointed silver stars of a Senior Lieutenant on each side of her collar.

She also wore a Mark VII impeller on her hip, a mini railgun with two thousand frangible ferroresin darts. They'd ruin flesh, but powder against a pressure hull.

These days one did not go into Tower Seven unarmed.

She could see the Coconino Towers a few miles away looming in the afternoon sun-shine. Nine arcologies, each over a half mile high, a quarter mile wide at their base.

Once they had housed a half million people each, non-citizens who would not, or could not, become Initiated Sisters. Many were originally Ferals from the Outlands, with some immigrants from beyond The Union. The Sisterhood housed and fed them, provided clothing, basic medical care, and entertainment systems. In perpetuity.

In exchange, the residents gave up the ability to reproduce.

When The Towers were first being built and occupied over seventy years ago, a vibrant and exciting culture began to grow up 'in the Nines'. Many Sisters would also pass through to participate and study. It was a golden age that lasted nearly a half a century.

Jane spent her 'shore leaves' there and had known some of her happiest days back then.

But non-citizens did not get the type of advanced life extending augmentation received by Initiated Sisters. That would have defeated the entire purpose of The Sisterhood and The Union of Matrilineal Republics. The most advanced augmentation was reserved for those who Participated and Served.

Jane was going to be ninety two in a few months and in all probability had only lived roughly a tenth of her total possible life span. The Sisterhood did not yet know the upper limits of their augmentation technology.

Many Ferals were prematurely aged by their upbringing and even with the high quality base line health care they received, they died 'young', on average in their mid to late eighties. And with their deaths, the Nines began to empty.

Ten years ago Tower Five had been the first to empty and be converted into an agricultural tower, a hydroponic megafarm. Its produce was flash frozen in its massive basement and shipped off world. It would be another few decades before a fully terraformed Mars could begin suppling the food needs of the central and outer system.

Other towers followed quickly as the population shrank. Now only Tower Seven still remained occupied, surrounded by her converted sisters, and even she was barely at half capacity.

The car pulled up to the base of Tower Seven, stopped. The doors opened smoothly.

At the station exit was a Ground Force Military Police check point. It was added about ten years ago, just before Jane shipped out for the Asteroid Belt. They checked Jane's ID. These were not 'greenies' doing their Universal Service, but long term professionals.

The sergeant in command noted Jane's Mark VII, nodded approval.

“If you get in trouble it will take us about five to seven minutes to get to you,” she said.

“Roger,” Jane responded.

They exchanged salutes and Jane passed through into the lift lobby. She was not afraid of course. Having been born Feral herself, this was just passing from her new life back into her old one.

Not that any of that mattered. She was here to visit Susan, her kid sister, one last time, and she would not let any type of danger stop her from doing so.

Mim, their mother, was around ten when she had been 'acquired' by the clan of The Brute, who styled himself The King of Oklahoma, and who may or may not have killed her parents. That was never clear. What was clear was that Mim was pretty and become one of The Brute's 'wives' two summers later.

Her first child was Jane. The Brute was pleased that she had borne him a child. Four more summers passed, then came Susan. The Brute was not pleased with another daughter. Mim and her children were banished to 'the dog tent', with the old and the 'odd'.

They spent three summers there...until one night, for no apparent reason, The Brute hacked Mim to death with an axe in full view of her daughters.

Jane gathered her sister up and fled. She knew where the Amazon Horse Clans traveled. After ten days they were found by the Sisters of Red Epona, big, rough, weathered women, full of scars and tattoos. They were quite familiar with The Brute's clan and welcomed these ragged children warmly.

After a few weeks with Red Epona, Jane and Susan were dropped off at a Karaal of the Cult of Hathor. Those Sisters fed them many wonderful cheeses and yogurts and then they sent the two still under-weight but now less malnourished children to SoCal, the heartland of The Sisterhood.

Years later Jane anonymously received an old photo showing some of the Sisters of Red Epona holding up a severed male head and grinning broadly. Even in death, she recognized The Brute's face. She showed it to Susan, who looked at it quietly for a while, then just said, “Thank you.”

Jane took to The Sisterhood with ferocious enthusiasm and flourished.

But Susan never seemed comfortable. Maybe she never really recovered from the trauma of Mim's murder. When she reached what had been decided was her fifteenth birthday, The Sisterhood's Age of Majority, she declared herself a 'non-citizen' and became one of the first residents of Coconino Tower Seven.

Jane was away at the time doing her Universal Service with Sea Force and was very hurt by her sister's choice. But when she visited Susan, it was obvious that she felt more comfortable among 'her own kind' and and gave her blessing freely.

That was over sixty years ago, or Solannums as Space Force was beginning to call them.

Jane visited at least once a year until she joined Space Force and then would still visit every time she made planet fall. When Jane gave birth to Ostera she was taken to see her Aunt Susan as well.

Susan became an accomplished jewelry maker, working with leather and ceramic beads she made herself. Even now, as she ascended in the main lift to Level 816, Jane was wearing a bracelet Susan gave to her thirty years ago, thin brown shammy with bright blue beads, that had traveled as far as the moons of Neptune and back.

The lift stopped and the door opened. There were a dozen men in the lobby, 'middle aged', rough looking and shabby, each carrying a weapon made from construction material. They automatically moved toward her...then stopped dead when they saw who and what she was.

“What do you want here, spacer?” half snarled the largest of the group, his eyes carefully avoiding any glance at her impeller.

The combat programs in her neural nanonics had already tracked and targeted the lot of them. Even without the impeller, her muscle and bones being at least triple the density of these Ferals, she could most likely kill all of them in under a minute. And they had to know that.

“I'm Jane Mimsdottor and I'm here to see my sister Susan,” she stated firmly.

One of them in the back laughed and said, “Who sells seashells down by the seashore.” That got all of them laughing in what seemed a good natured fashion.

Her combat program told her their heart rates were going down. She smiled brightly.

The Large One stepped back and bowed slightly. “Welcome to Eight One Six, Jane, sister of Susan.” He gestured as if ushering her into a palace. The others all followed suit in their own way.

“Thank you,” she said with soothing undertones pushed into her voice box. For good measure she added a mix of pregnancy/breastfeeding pheromones to her natural scent. That would re-enforce their feelings of protectiveness.

She walked through the lobby, smiling serenely, and down the corridor to Susan's quarters. From the lobby she could overhear whispered appreciations of her ass. The biocontrols that had kept her heartbeat normal logged off.

Jane was heading clockwise, so the central shaft wall was to her right and the residential ring was to her left. The Towers were really 'tubes', hollow in the middle, with all the apartments facing outward.

The shaft wall was covered with beautiful murals, both paint and mosaic, done by the many artists who lived, or had lived, here in Tower Seven. Jane recognized some of their work, had known a few of them. She was pleased to see that even the gangs had respected them and tagged their turf with markings on the corridor's floor.

The floor tagging had become a chaotic art form itself, tagging over tagging, in some places painted over entirely, and then more tagging on top of that.

The corridor itself was in decent shape, Eight One Six being almost fully occupied. The motto of The Nines from the beginning was “Sweep in front of your own door.”

Jane was recording all of this with a neural program and would upload it into the Main Archive when her visit was done.

About a dozen doors down from Susan's, the tagging trailed off, replaced by a subtle wavy/swirly texture that she knew was her sister's signature style. She'd used a thin layer of concrete as her medium, etching the pattern into it while it was still wet. It complemented the overwhelming patterns of bright colors upon both walls and the ceiling, millions of ceramic beads that rushed and twisted and curled, each placed by hand over many years.
Even the gangs knew this was Susan's turf.

The apartment door's biometrics identified Jane, and opened. “Susan?” she called as she entered.

“Living room,” her sister's voice came back.

The apartment was a standard Tower Single, two thousand square feet with ten foot ceilings. Susan had filled it with the paintings and sculptures of her friends and lovers, floor to ceiling shelves full of hard copy books, gorgeous hand made rugs, large comfortable furniture. The place was always welcoming, even now.

Jane found her sitting in her 'thinking chair', a plush recliner that faced the floor to ceiling living room window with a prefect view of Tower Eight. She wasn't surprised at how Susan looked. She watched her weight loss on the vids she regularly sent her while she was on the Maathai. But here, in the same room, Susan's impending death was palpable.

Jane knelt by her, gave her a hard hug and a kiss. “I'm glad you waited for me,” Jane said softly.

Susan made a mischievous face. “Gave me an excuse to experiment with various opiate compounds.”

“As if you needed an excuse.”

“Ah, nothing is better than a guilty pleasure indulged in without guilt.” She turned serious. “I know what you've been planing.”

Jane's control of her facial expression was absolute. Her neural nanonics could create a perfect poker face.

“Now don't give me that Gorgon face,” Susan said with a hint of petulance.

“It's the right thing to do,” Jane said flatly.

Susan grinned like a loon. “Of course it's the right thing to do!”

Jane relaxed. “I was concerned you'd be embarrassed.”

“One cannot embarrass the dead. And a museum with my name on it is also a museum with our mother's name on it and I could never object to that.”

“We're taking the entire corridor, too,” Jane said, “Just removing the panels themselves.”

“You're not going to make some kind of a shrine out of my apartment, are you?”

Jane smiled. “No, just the corridor and the exhibits of your work. We've been gathering the pieces for a while now.”

“You Sisters are a morbid lot.”

Jane shrugged. “We think in the long term about everything. It's our nature.”

Susan laughed. “I can hear the caps in 'long term'.” She patted the broad arm of her chair. “Come. Sit down. It's almost time.”

Jane sat on the arm, took her sister's hand, leaned against her. She'd seen the Medi-Patch on her other arm. It could administer a lethal cocktail at a set time or be triggered manually.

They looked out the window at Tower Eight. Susan had carefully picked this apartment those sixty plus years ago. During certain times of the year, the sunset reflected an amazing array of reds and golds off of Tower Eight. They and her friends had watched that show so many times.

All of those friends were gone now and this would be the last time for both of them.

“Jane, I have one last favor to ask of you. In my desk you'll find about six hundred hand written pages,” she made a little laugh. “You're probably the only human who can read my scribble.”

“What do you need?” Jane said, holding her sister's hand a bit tighter.

“They're notes for a history of the horse clans. I started with Red Epona, but got carried away. I never finished because it needs field research and...well, you know.”

“Yes,” Jane kissed her sister's hair. “I've missed them anyway.”

“Thank you,” Susan whispered.

At that moment, the setting sun slashed across Tower Eight and the room was filled with a reddish golden cascade of light.

Jane held Susan's hand even after it went limp, held it until that light faded to a soft glow.

Later, as she emerged from the lift on the ground level, she 'heard/felt' a soft chime deep in her temporal lobe.

A pleasant voice whispered, “This is an announcement from the Electoral Directorate. Voting in the General Plebiscite regarding the question of the admission of the Siberian Confederacy into the Union of Matrilineal Republics had been concluded. Admission has been approved. The tally is as...”

Jane shut off the link. She knew it was a wide margin. And The Sisterhood had just absorbed nearly a quarter of the Eurasian landmass. She and the GF/MP's smiled knowingly at each other. They all were conscious of the threshold that had just been crossed.

She heard Susan's laughter in her head; “I can hear the caps in 'long term'.” Jane's smile got just a little bit deeper.

Current Mood: calm

~Miki Nemmera sat in a secure private lounge of Le Tour Rouge, sipped her Passito, looked out upon the Parisian skyline. In the distance, the lights of the newly refurbished Eiffel Tower had just come on, bright against the Autumn dusk.

Le Tour Rouge a was the premier diplomatic watering hole in Paris, the new headquarters city of the United Nations. New York was still a shambles and too vulnerable to storms, so the European Union proposed Paris, with the entire Île-de-France as a UN Protected Zone.

This choice was to make up for Berlin becoming the EU capital itself, a deal that was brokered by the Union of Matrilineal Republics.

Miki Nemmera kept track of such things, being First Vice-Minister of External Affairs of the UMR. And most did call her Miki, her given name, Mictecacihuatl – an Aztec vampire Moon Goddess – being far too difficult for most to pronounce.

Le Tour Rouge was an elongated plasteen pyramid perched upon the butte Montmartre, its particular variety of the space manufactured material refracting through the red spectrum, which cause it to shine like a vast ruby during the day, but be a reflective jet black after dark.

At its base was a ring of flagpoles flying those of the UN's members. The oldest, after the UN's sky blue and white globe flag, was the deep blue EU banner with its ring of yellow stars. Both predated the Age of Storms. The others were newer.

The Union of Matrilineal Republics' was a field of twilight blue – symbolizing a New Dawn – with a narrow red band at the bottom – paying homage to the old California state flag, the original home of The Sisterhood – and an eight pointed red star imposed upon a white wreath in the upper left canton – indicative of The Sisterhood's expansion out onto the world and beyond.

Some called that The Flag of The Sisterhood, but while the UMR was functionally also The Sisterhood, its flag was not.

The Sisterhood's flag was a solid black – symbolizing the infinite nature of the universe – while in the upper left canton was a white Pentagram – symbol of Witches – with a red V superimposed upon it – representing The Sisterhood's Five Precepts – both inside a white wreath – representing union and triumph. But that was a 'religious' flag and The Sisterhood was wise enough to keep their Politics and their Religion separate, at least outside of their own borders.

The African Federation's flag had a black silhouette of the continent, at its center a large yellow wreath with a crossed yellow spear and spade, imposed upon a field of red and green divided horizontally.

The Siberian Confederacy's flag was three simple horizontal bands of red, green, and brown of equal width.

There were a few dozen more, but those four, Europe, Africa, Siberia, and The UMR, were the 'major players' on the world stage at the moment. And here in Paris is where they played Politics.

Miki poured herself some more Passito, an act that would shock some of The Sisterhood's opponents. Many of them believed no Sister would ever perform any type of 'menial task', but would instead have some Servitor do it for her.

She laughed softly at the thought. She'd countered that argument a number of times. “When I was a little girl,” she'd say, “I made my own bed and cleaned my own room,” both true statements and also true for any Sister who grew up in one of The Cults.

Occasionally, she'd bring up Universal Service, but that tended to scare people and remind them that The Sisterhood was not simply a Matriarchy, but also an Amazon society, so she usually did not mention that up unless she wished to intimidate.

Universal Service was the UMR's final Citizenship Ritual, requiring every Sister to provide a contiguous thirty months service in one of Earth Force's three branches – Ground, Sea, and Sky Force – some time between their twentieth and thirtieth birthdays. And then be part of the Ready Reserve essentially for the rest of their lives.

Earth Force was one of the two major components of the Ministry of Force, the other being Space Force. The Ministry, which was generally known as MoF [said Em-Oh-Ef], was actually a paramilitary department and really used very little 'force' at all.

Though Ground, Sea, and Sky Force were somewhat analogous to a army, navy, and air force, the majority of their operations were effectively civil in nature, infrastructure projects, search and rescue, peacekeeping, etc.

For example, the vast archeologies where non-citizens resided were constructed by the Ground Force Corps of Engineers. Now that the non-citizen population was dwindling, the GF/CE was converting them into vast hydroponic towers.

But the GF/CE's pride and glory was the Quito Space Elevator, built in cooperation with Sky Force and Space Force's own separate Corps of Engineers. It was The Sisterhood's main highway into space and the principal instrument by which they had come to dominate near Earth space.

Miki had gone into Sea Force on a Space Force track, the latter being organized upon naval lines, and learned the essentials of large vessel operations. When she completed her Service Contract with Sea Force she went straight to Space Force Academy at the El-Five Complex. That lasted twice as long as Sea Force service.

She served twelve years after that, mostly on the gigantic Loop Ships that ran on long loop shaped orbital patterns out from El-Five to Mars or to the Asteroid Belt and back. The Mars run was eighteen months round trip. The Asteroid Belt run was thirty five months.

Space Force operated all of the UMR's space endeavors, military discipline and organization being a functional prerequisite for operating in that highly unforgiving environment, but it too was largely paramilitary, with the emphasis on the 'para'.

In fact, MoF's name was really a psycho-political euphemism. Except for what had become three of the most terrifying words in the world: Marine Drop Trooper.

The Space Force Marine Corps was a purely military organization and when force was actually required, it was the Marines who provided said, dropping down out of orbit upon whomever had provoked The Sisterhood sufficiently.

Unlike Ground Force, where the majority of personnel were Sisters, in Space Force and its Marine Corp, Sisters were officers and NCO's. The rest were Mandroids, all specialized technical personnel. And Marine Mandroids were specialized in fighting, killing and, occasionally, dying.

Usually no more than a battalion were kept active on Response Status. The rest were kept in storage in a light medical coma, a technique widely used for non-operational Mandriods on long space runs. Marine Drop Troopers were not sociable beings and The Sisterhood kept them on a tight leash.

Like the majority of Space Force officers, Miki had only encountered Drop Troopers during her Academy days as part of an Orientation and Familiarization Course. And even though as an Initiated Sister she was a formidable killer in her own right, like many, they made her shudder a bit.

But most space ops had no need of them. Space Force Mandroid personnel were perfectly disciplined and cooperative and always efficient. That was thoroughly programed into them.

Miki sighed. Even given the obvious rigorousness and dynamism of The Sisterhood, the regular insinuation of Decadence was a standard Phallist canard, based upon the real fear of the UMR's massive number of Mandroid servitors, a number which grew steadily with each passing day.

Mandroids were really just a type of cyborg, but since the majority of humans these days had some manner of cybernetic augmentation, a separate term had been needed.

Most Mandroids were grown in uterine replicators based upon modified porcine uteri, and were commonly called 'tank babies'. Y-chromosome DNA was used exclusively in that process and was extensively engineered to enhance inclinations and tendencies for the various subtypes.

Tank baby Mandroids were usually of a lesser mental capacity and heavily augmented, Guidance Mechanisms being implanted in the brain's pleasure/pain centers before they were ever hatched. That also solved the problem of 'socialization'.

Experience had shown that the isolating 'non-humanness' of the replicators tended to regularly produce sociopathic and psychotic individuals, which was one of the principle reasons The Sisterhood practiced the live birth of their daughters. Obviously, they did not bear any male offspring and they certainly had the tech to make sure that they never did.

The Sisterhood used a certain amount of purely mechanical/electronic robots, but overall, robots had never reached the level of functional and economic efficiency of Mandroids, either in manufacture or operation. Too many raw materials needed. Basic mechanics too complex and often unreliable.

But it was in 'brain function' that robots really fell behind Mandroids. Ultimately, it was far easier to downgrade the biological that it was to upgrade the cybernetic.

It was the UMR's Ministry of Service that designed and created every variety of Mandroid, and was not only their sole producer, but also their sole legal owner. All Mandriods were leased, not owned, by their end users under a Usufruct Contract and that included every one of them from a single domestic servitor to the tens of millions employed by Space Force from Dirtside to the Asteroid Belt. And the MoS's Rules and Regulations regarding Care and Utilization under that contract were well defined and rigorously enforced.

And so The Sisterhood had finally resolved the ancient and pernicious human problem of social inequality, and permanently solved the issue of Labor Supply, by creating a specialized working class, one which was always happy and productive, and whose members could be stored in a medical coma when not needed or when shipped on long distance runs off planet.

Of course, the entire concept and its mechanisms were an anathema to Humanists and Phallists alike, though for different reasons.

For the latter, it meant that they and their world view were doomed, as who could resist such a society? Essentially, they were fighting a 'rear guard action' and knew it, not that this made them any the less determined to fight.

For the former, it was considered slavery, plain and simple, and was therefore Evil, no matter the details. That they could never come up with a realistic plan for what to actually do with the 'slaves' they wished to liberate was brushed aside. And they were horrified by The Sisters when they said, “Well, we could just space them all,” usually with a predatory grin.

Miki, and The Sisterhood in general, tended to have more contempt for The Humanists than for The Phallists. At least the Phallist position was honest. They were overtly committed to Masculine Supremacy and were not at all apologetic about that. The Sisterhood knew The Phallists were wrong - history made that quite clear - but they stood by their position without equivocation.

The Humanists however used all manner of philosophical smokes screens such as Freedom and Individuality to disguise a set of beliefs and practices not particularly different from The Phallists. At its core, Humanism boiled down to Survival of The Fittest, with some 'social welfare' attached to pretty things up.

Liberal Humanism had once been a vital force and had changed human affairs for the better. But it inevitably fell victim to the Cult of The Individual and then fractured into ideological factionalism, individual narcissism and intellectual decadence. Its absolute rejection of Hierarchy doomed it to impotence.

Humans are a social species and Hierarchy comes naturally to all human endeavors. The Sisterhood, The Phallists and The Humanists all existed Hierarchically, but the latter rigorously denied it. Both of the former could then undermine them in detail.

The Phallists had used the Humanists as moral cover to pass laws in several states totally banning Mandriods. This included the EU, Africa, and Siberia. Such laws were meaningless however, as the MoS forbade the exportation of most types of Mandriods outside the UMR itself and of any type to a state that had not entered into a Friendship Treaty with the UMR.

Such a treaty gave the MoS full and unilateral access to their Servitors and the authority to take “direct and forceful action to preserve and protect said.” That included calling in Drop Troopers if necessary.

To date, every entity that had signed a Friendship Treaty had been first socially and then legally annexed by The Sisterhood within a decade or so of signing, as male birth rates would plummet and most the local females tended to become fully fledged Sisters.

The relentlessness of this trend forced the improvement of women's status throughout the rest of the world. If a women was unsatisfied with her lot, she could immigrate to The Sisterhood, which had all manner of Genetic and Cybernetic programs for fully integrating 'outside' Sisters into the fold. All a woman had to do was apply at any UMR Embassy or Consulate. No woman was ever turned away.

More terrifying to the Phallists however, was the significant number of mostly younger males who also immigrated into the UMR. The MoS maintained a Special Augmentation division to convert these male immigrants into Special Service Mandriods, quite often some type of Pleasure Servitor. These types were highly prized and very well treated and their lives were something of a legend outside of The Sisterhood.

There was a Male Birth Movement, in which men would have a womb surgically implanted and would only have male children. But they were few in number and most Phallists were repulsed by the idea.

And because of the psychological problems inherent in non-augmented 'tank babies', attempts to increase the male population using that technology had been grotesque and horrifying failures. One of them, a South Asian republic of homicidal psychotics, had required the deployment of an entire Marine Drop Brigade to 'clean up the mess'.

Miki had been at Space Force Academy during that little horror. The whole Cadet Corps had been glued to the live feeds for days.

She finished off her second glass of Passito on that memory. She looked again at the night time sky over Paris, the city now fully illuminated and living up to its old title.

Miki was here at Le Tour Rouge to have a private meeting with the Foreign Minister of the Siberian Confederacy, Yulia Prokharovka. And the secure lounges were the next best thing to the UMR's own Embassy, Le Tour Rouge in fact being owned – through about a dozen front companies – by the MoF's General Security Directorate. The GSD handled all The Sisterhood's 'security issues', everywhere.

Siberia had become very powerful in the last decade, the melting of the permafrost opening up access to raw materials and making it an agricultural dynamo. The Confederacy had absorbed Mongolia, Manchuria, and the Korean Peninsula, more with food than with military might, though it possessed that as well.

Kaminov Yao, the Prime Minister for two decades, had been the motivator of this expansion. He smiled out at the world, but kept a tight rein at home. He was not overtly hostile to the UMR: that was suicidal at best. But he quietly resisted its influence as best he could.

However, he had recently 'become ill'. Hence Miki's meeting with Prokharovka. As First Vice-Minister of External Affairs, she handled all the 'delicate' matters. And they had been their respective state's UN Ambassadors at the same time, so she had known Yulia for years...and she was also her GSD contact.

Yulia arrived precisely at the appointed time. They smiled, hugged and kissed. They could be sisters. Tall, solidly built, with jet black hair and 'Asiatic' features, though Miki was darker, having Mesoamerican blood and a dozen years of UV in Space Force.

Miki poured her some Passito. They made small talk. And then Miki activated the various dampeners. The air went dead.

“I can never get used to that,” Yulia said. “It's like someone closed my coffin.”

“Only the dead can hear us,” Miki said with a light smile.

Yulia laughed, then turned serious.

“We have Yao on ice. Literally. Stuck him in a Cryo unit. The evil little peen!” she snarled.

“Who is in charge?”

“That would be me,” Yulia said brightly.

Miki smiled. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

“As if the GSD didn't tell you already.”

“They were not absolutely sure. Your security has been excellent.”

Yulia grinned widely. “Now that is a true complement!”

Miki smiled softly. “Merely an accurate observation.” She paused a moment. “So, tomorrow...?” Yulia was to address the General Assembly.

“Some boilerplate about 'Yao sending his regards etc'. And then the announcement that we're opening negotiations with the UMR vis-a-vis a Friendship Treaty. Just negotiations. Nothing final.” she said with practiced nonchalance.

Miki smiled wolfishly. “Yes, incrementalism is best.”

Yulia nodded. “The dick swingers will be up to their hairy asses in Mandroids before they even realize it!”

Miki raised her glass. “Sisterhood!”

Yulia clinked it with hers. “Sisterhood!”

They upended their glasses.

As Miki refilled them, she said, “So, let me tell you about these new bioforms the MoS has been working on. Detachable penises.”

Yulia leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling.

Current Mood: calm

~The city had once been prosperous and beautiful, tall shining towers, broad tree lined boulevards, full of vitality.

Now it was a smashed ruin. Most of that had happened during the Age of Storms, Category Six monsoons scouring those once shining towers, adding their debris to the general destruction of wind and rain.

Battle damage had now been added to that forlorn landscape.

Drajica looked around at the ruins from the wide intersection where she had set up her Tribunal. The helmet of her battle armor was opened 'on the half shell' and would snap shut if the suit detected any incoming threat.

In the distance, she could hear the buzz/hum/hiss of Drop Trooper weapons, the snapping of century old ex-Soviet assault rifles, the occasional crump of chemical explosives. The air stank of general decay, with an added undercurrent of burnt flesh.

Her security team had established a perimeter around the intersection. In its center, a hundred or so local males were lined up, kneeling, hands bound at the small of their backs. A stack of black plastic body bags were in an orderly pile a dozen feet behind them.

“Pathetic,” she thought, “But they had been warned.”

As the Age of Storms slowly abated, the Union of Matrilineal Republics had emerged from North America's West Coast. The Sisterhood, as it was colloquially known, spread rapidly into the chaotic aftermath.

In the half century since, it had displaced most of the 'systems' that had survived the Age of Storms in an essentially peaceful process, and then expanded out into near Earth space.

Some pockets of Phallists had resisted with violence. But with limited capacity to reproduce, they faded quickly. Uterine replicator technology seemed set to reverse that, but unaugmented tank babies were almost universally sociopathic, except for the psychotics, of course. Those societies imploded brutally.

This city was one of the very last strongholds of Phallism. The Sisterhood had compiled evidence of genital mutilation, impregnation rape, and foot amputation for the women who tried to escape before it took action.

Two Warnings were issued. Then came an EMP, followed by a Marine Drop Brigade. Mobile Tribunals did the mopping up.

Drajica walked over to the line prisoners, ostentatiously removing the armored glove from her right hand. She'd picked the first one specifically. She knew his type.

He wore a finely knit kufee and a now soiled white robe. His beard was long, but neatly trimmed.

Drajica faced him. “Do you Swear to honor and respect your Sisters?” Her voice was soft, but firm.

He smiled, but his eyes were hard. “There is no God, but God,” he said, “And Mu-”

She pointed at him. An actinic flash burst from her fingertip. A pinhole appeared in his forehead, a thin wisp of smoke puffing upward. He fell over backward, his body jerking. The smell of piss and shit adding to the overall stench.

She sighed. The next in line, a terrified boy no more than seventeen, had already pissed himself. She faced him. “Do you Swear to honor and respect your Sisters?” she repeated in the exact same tone.

“Ye-ye-yes, Mistress,” he blubbered with utter sincerity, “I Swear by my life!”

Two Marine Mandroid Drop Troopers hauled him away to a waiting ground vehicle. His fate would likely be agricultural resettlement, or possibly servitor augmentation. But that was not for her to determine.

Two other Drop Troopers were dragging the mullah's corpse toward the pile of body bags. He would wind up as DNA harvest. His smug face would haunt her dreams for a while.

Drajica sighed again. “It will all be over soon,” she told herself, and moved down the line.

Current Mood: calm

"I work my White Male Privilege like a mother fucker. Hell man, I worked it the hardest when I was fucking homeless. And I'll tell y'all, *that* shit works in ways that surprised even me.

That said, the 'White' part is merely a product of our place and time. It has not always been so and will likely shift again. However, the 'Male' part is etched into our genetic memory. The *only* way to shift that is via a Major Gender Readjustment.

See, ladies, the thing is..Cock IS Cock no matter its color and so it shall ever be."

My comment upon this: http://www.salon.com/.../to_my_white_male_facebook_friends/

Current Mood: contemplative

I post the comment and the vid together to provide the proper context.

"" (Watch on YouTube)

Feb. 13th, 2013 at 4:22 PM [the OP with many comments]

..comment to a Sister who is presently volunteering at a rape crisis center..

"This has also reignited my thinking on how Rape Culture is a feature, not a bug, of Patriarchy. I know in my guts, in my fucking balls, how true that is. And how a lot of what I call Victim Feminism is a both an acknowledgment of that and yet also a denial of what that really means because it advocates 'half measures' in dealing with the logical harsh solutions. In the end, laws and social custom will not restrain our deep embedded desire you hunt you as sexual prey."

Current Mood: contemplative

MOI: The Hunter needs to see his Prey in order to hunt it.

SOME DUDE: Troll alert. Don't feed the troll people.

MOI: Goddess knows I certainly do troll, but that is not the case here.

My Brothers do in fact generally regard women as 'sexual prey' and they do hunt them as such, Yeah, it's mostly with money, booze and bullshit, but it IS a hunt nonetheless.

That is a harsh truth about the basic nature of the male that nice middle class folks really don't want to deal with.

MightyDoll: You were doing so well until you fell into that "basic nature of the male" bullshit.

MOI: Bet you get mighty pissed off when some dude makes presumptive statements about you and your uterus. Do you see the irony of that when you do the same regarding me and my penis?

MightyDoll: You're the one making presumptive statements about penises, not me. Your inability to control your dick isn't universal and it isn't "basic nature" I get to rolling my eyes when people cite pseudo science to make statements about me and my uterus AND when they use pseudo science to make statements about men and their penises.

MOI: Hey babe, I control my penis just fine. It's all a matter of the right rhythm. /end snark

Seriously, I'm sixty one years old and have been actively bisexual since I was nineteen. I most probably have far more 'hands on' experience of how men operate their cocks than you ever will. We're very predatory and aggressive, more than we'll generally admit to women because it would scare the fuck out of most of you.

That said, I did not make up the global sexual assault stats; one woman in three will be raped or sexually assaulted in their lifetime. I did not come up with the concept of Schrodinger's Rapist; that you will never know beforehand which of the men you meet will try to rape you. Note that such can be merely getting you too stoned/drunk to actively resist, which more men than you'd like to believe think is just fine.

This is not because all men are innately 'evil'. It is because our Primary Imperative is to *Impregnate*. That is a Hard Wired Species Survival Trait, aka 'the basic nature of the male'. Those of us who did not have that trait Do Not Reproduce!

Most of us do this 'with money, booze and bullshit', but make no mistake that we *hunt* you. As a presumable Hetro female [I have found that lesbians usually have no issue with this POV] that is understandably upsetting. You want, or have, a male lover and do not wish to think ill of him. You may also have a cat that you love and don't want to think of them as a little killing machine. But they are.

And any male partner you have has those predatory instincts. If you're a dynamic female, which I suspect you are, he'll likely be Beta and controllable. But have no doubt that you are dominating him and keeping him in line. We're also a 'pack species' and respond well to such when properly done. [yeah, Hierarchy is another hot button issue] Of course, if he gets drunk and/or angry enough, all bets are off.

The harsh truth is, in the long run, we Baseline Males need to be outbred. We're generally too aggressive and unstable for a complex technological civilization like the one we have created, ya know, nukes and all that. As the technology for intrafemale fertilization is well underway, the need for males in human reproduction should not be an issue for much longer.

The tough part will be the psycho-social adjustment to a real no-fooling-around Matriarchy, which is the underlying subject of this exchange, ain't it? I have found that you hetro gals seem even more scared of that than most men. [you like your cock] But a lot of my Brothers are resigned to such. As por moi, being a strong believer in reincarnation, I welcome our new Amazon Overlords. ;-)

http://thenewinquiry.com/blogs/the-beheld/ill-be-watching-you-nsa-surveillance-and-the-male-gaze/

Current Mood: contemplative

..comment to a Sister who is presently volunteering at a rape crisis center..

"This has also reignited my thinking on how Rape Culture is a feature, not a bug, of Patriarchy. I know in my guts, in my fucking balls, how true that is. And how a lot of what I call Victim Feminism is a both an acknowledgment of that and yet also a denial of what that really means because it advocates 'half measures' in dealing with the logical harsh solutions. In the end, laws and social custom will not restrain our deep embedded desire you hunt you as sexual prey."

Current Mood: contemplative

~I've been watching this stupid clusterfuck unfold on Twitter the past half day and I'm...I don't know, torn between despair and disgust. I commented, “The White Male POV: 'slaves fighting to the death over scraps that fell off of *our* table'. /sigh”

So, time for a little bit of Mansplaining...

First off, I'm Fixed Gendered, so don't call me 'Cis'. It's fucking ugly and I suspect was chosen exactly for that reason, a passive/aggressive dig at those of us who are fine with our genitals.

Second, this is still A White Man's World. It possibly may not be for that much longer, but I warn y'all not to underestimate my Brothers. We're some mean and evil mother fuckers and will not let go of what is “Ours” without a very nasty fight. And our defeat is not yet assured, trust me.

Third, even though I am now a fat old fuck on Disability living in a double-wide outside of East Bumfuck, as an Educated White Male, I still have buckets more Privilege than 95% of you fucking bitches, whatever your color. All I have to do is show up, be charming in a forthright fashion and the waters part. I've done this many many times...which brings us to

Fourth, as 'slaves' [read NOT White Males of a Certain Class] most of you have no real understanding of Power. You know how to be Oppressed – I can always see the notch on the backs of your necks where my boot fits - but seem to be clueless as to how to be Powerful. I'm not talking 'empowered', that sorry-assed New Age buzzword.

No, I mean Power. Even when I was homeless on LA's Skid Row I carried myself as Master, more so in fact because of where I was. And folks down there Got It and deferred. I could pull that off because I knew in my fucking balls that I am a Patriarch, that I am fucking Mr. Charlie, and no amount of self-esteem seminars in the world can give you that.

As a White Male of a Certain Class I was raised KNOWING that this World belongs to Me and Mine. And those who have not experienced that “cannot” understand it. And that part of me sneers at the shenanigans taking place around the above events: 'slaves fighting to the death over scraps that fell off of *our* table'.

Those with the real Power laugh at these ridiculous doctrinal squabbles, these stupid internecine bloodlettings, these catfights filled with Victim Rhetoric. They are clear proof of how weak and powerless you really are.

This brings me back to something I said a few days ago: “In the US a women is raped apx every minute and a half, but when I talk about banning penises, people call me insane.” For all the noise about Feminism and LGBT 'empowerment', when it comes right down to it, you stupid cunts are still fighting over The Cock.

And while you're doing that, my Brothers are pissing on your heads and laughing....

Current Mood: Militant

“We need Reason to effectively navigate our way through Life, but it is Faith that sustains us during the journey.”

~Today is October 28th, 2012/6th Undenia, 12AS. The past year or so has been a time of great trial for me and mine. It left us physically, emotionally and Spiritually exhausted and a bit deeper in debt. [and yes, I did hear Tennessee Ernie Ford sing that last line] But we have now entered a time of renewal, albeit slowly.

A few days ago circumstances dictated that I re-read Her Prophet Explains: Addendum A: [Revealed Knowledge] in its entirety...and doing so lifted my spirits in a way I had not felt in a very long time. It brought me back to the place where I once again Knew My Purpose.

It also reminded me of how I get off track and then get discouraged. At the very beginning of Revealed Knowledge, I state, “I am, by both training and inclination, not only a Skeptic, but a Cynic, so the things I am going to share here I often find embarrassing to even consider, much less to actually believe. And yet I do. Such is the nature of Revealed Knowledge. It tends to be unprovable, at least in the short term.”

That is why I tend to fall back upon Reason when I 'lose momentum' etc. It is in large part my fear of becoming the 'mindless religious fanatic'. But as I also say in The Preface to The Explanation, “To many of you what will be presented in these pages will seem like madness. Often, it seems like madness to me, as well. And yet....when I am quiet and calm and centered it all unfolds perfectly and makes complete sense.”

Re-reading Revealed Knowledge brought me back to that place of being ' quiet and calm and centered' and it once again made 'complete sense'.

As I was on the verge of going to bed, I knew I could not do justice to what I was experiencing in the moment in that moment, so I created a file with the above title and wrote the above quote and then went to sleep, knowing that if my renewal was genuine and not just a unsustainable flash, I would get back to this in a timely fashion. And here I am.

I am required to admit that I did not re-read the whole thing with equal focus. I tended to glance over the whole unfinished I Know... portion because I feel unhappy about it being unfinished and ambivalent about facing the discomfort that I'll experience when I do finally finish it. So therefore I did not get an 'up-lift' from that.

However, reading the second half caused me to fill with...well, Joy...if you really want to know. I am little embarrassed to say that because of my innate skepticism, but I need to be honest with myself and others if I am to truly follow this Path.

I'll reproduce the whole section here because it is all of one piece and needs to be read as such:

"The Purpose here is to clearly illumine the Metaphysical underpinning that drives the necessity of creating a New Matriarchy.

Let me state it bluntly: As Revealed above, we humans are not fully of this world and as such are governed by factors that do not relate to this world. To invert that, there are factors that govern all other life upon this world that not only do not fully govern humans and are in some cases actually antithetical to our further development and those must be eschewed.

Principally, I speak of the Sexual Binary Paradigm.

I will let E explain from here. After all this IS about Revealed Knowledge.

E says; “As a hybrid species, you have inherited the aspects of two races and three genders. My race, as advanced as we became, was never perfect, something that should be obvious from what is written above. We meant well,but made crucial mistakes, something I realized back in the beginning, but was powerless to stop.

The early merging was an uneasy state and was destined to fail as long as the two races were aware of said state. A Forgetting was needed, time for both to fully meld into each other. Then, once that was accomplished, a Remembering could take place.

You are now upon the threshold of such a Remembering. However, though this process will produce a magnificent outcome, the process itself will be quite unpleasant at times, both in a metaphysical and a mundane fashion.

Possibly the most difficult part of this process will be the necessary transition of your presently bi-gendered species into a female mono-gendered species, necessary because the male body of your race cannot safely handle who you will become when The Remembering gets fully underway.

The reasons for this were outlined a few years ago and are quoted here;'The Corner Stone of Patriarchal Dominion, the concept of a Father/God, of a masculine energy, that ‘gave birth’ to All of Creation, is, at best, an absurdity, and at worst, a truly profound abomination, and is clearly the product of a Phallo-Centric delusionalism driven both by the male need for control and his literal and figurative fear of castration... underscored by the modern knowledge that in the womb all children begin as female.

The male is unbalanced by the lost memory of his femaleness, which is also the deep foundation of his castration fears. He strives for control because his ‘becoming male’ in his mother’s womb creates an unquenchable need to ‘become’ something else, but this ultimately only makes him Other and separate from the feminine All of Creation.

The male’s unquenchable need to ‘become’ has created this powerful Patriarchal Civilization which has perpetrated many hideous evils while simultaneously being the source of much Great Good. However, this civilization has become extremely ‘over- balanced’ and the evils at its core threaten to destroy all its Great Good. The obvious solution is to create a new balance.

To create this new balance requires The End of The Male. His present necessity as ‘the depositor of seed’ will soon be over as Patriarchal Science itself creates the tools for women to fertilize each other. Women certainly have the Masculine Energy needed to maintain and nurture the positive fruits of this Patriarchal Civilization, while holding its worst aspects at bay.

This is not ‘male gendercide’, but a slow out-breeding over three or five generations. The Spirit is Immortal and is basically the same in each gender. It is only the vessel that is different. As this new reality unfolds, your Spirits will one day have only female vessels to enter with each Cycle of Incarnation…and this New Matriarchy shall blossom.'

Those are roughly my words, though somewhat 'liturgically' interpreted by Her Prophet. I retained that form to express the urgency of the matter. The human male body cannot handle the energies that The Remembering will restore to your race; it is inherently too unstable because that 'becoming' in the womb.

Only the female body can do so because that form is the one most like my race's original mono-gendered form and it is largely our power that you will be regaining. And be aware that success in this process is not guaranteed. None of the racial elements involved are perfect.

For those panicking over this, please remember that bodies are only form, only vehicles. Your Spirit is the key and that is Immortal and will adjust easily to a female mono-gendered society. Of course, Faith will be required for the mundane aspects of this process.

Two things to keep in mind.

First, The Remembering is not an 'end times' scenario. No 'gods' will come to 'judge and condemn'. That is fear based control paradigm used by the servants of 'small gods'. Ignore them.

The Remembering is a process that will take place over many generations and will require the extensive use of a revised Patriarchal Science. As I said, it will be unpleasant at times, as is any true growth experience, but it is ultimately all inclusive and every human Spirit will be a part of the final result.

Second, keep your bodies! The desire to 'ascend' or 'dis-corporate' are echoes of my race's history and though we Learned many Great Lessons while non-corporeal, in the end such a state was nearly an actual end of us.

If you become One With Everything you functionally become Nothing. Stay in The Material and avoid Entropy as along as you possibly can, which I calculate should be a few hundred million years.”

And at that point E laughed...”

I love that I have a Spirit Guide with a sense of humor. She has told me that is a key reason why She choose me. Too many others would 'deathly solemn' about all of this and that's always a drag. What's the point of Evolving if we're all to become a bunch of stone faced fucks?

Yes, all that sounds kind of nuts, but, in context, it certainly makes a lot more sense than Yahweh’s mud-pie people and creating everything in six days. Or crashing spaceships full of frozen souls into volcanoes and then stirring in nukes. Just sayin', ya know.

So let me repeat the opening quote: “We need Reason to effectively navigate our way through Life, but it is Faith that sustains us during the journey.”

And let me add a related quote, this one from Her Prophet Explains: Part Three "The Temple's Grand Strategy": “...we, The Temple of The Pentavalence, were created with the goal of utterly transforming human civilization as it presently stands and we were created in this form because history has shown over and over and over again that a Spiritual Path is the single most effective and long lasting method of achieving such a total transformation. 'Reason' can always be parsed to death, but "IT IS WRITTEN!" will get shit out of committee almost every time.”

Of course I am now presented with the rather formidable challenge of a re-write that moves Revealed Knowledge forward within the structure of The Explanation, all the way to the beginning to be exact. As Mr. Takai would say, “Oh my.”

And so it is...

Current Mood: peaceful

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