NOTE TO SELF: TAG RED PILL, REDPILL, AND RED-PILL. Also La Pill Roja and LLIP DER, just to be safe.
Via The Chateau at
someone named Sage Moon (seriously) has written a…
Someone named Sage Moon has let her hamster off the leash and allowed it to write a screed about…
Someone named Sage Moon has fed her hamster crude oil, radioactive waste, anabolic steroids, Hamster Growth Hormone, positrons from the solar wind of an anti-matter star, Mountain Dew, methol-flavored crack, and concentrated essence of Acapulco Gold, and let it off the leash and allowed it to write a screed about how awesome imprisoned killers are.
It begins like this:
To call it ‘life-changing’ diminishes my experience. This was soulful. Raw. Nothing but absolutely human at its core.
I maintained arm’s length distance from Carl and stared into his eyes. We’d been in prison together for nearly nine hours though Carl had already spent 11 years behind these walls. Jason Mraz echoed from the speakers as we stood on the cold concrete of the sterile gym at Valley State Prison in Chowchilla, CA.
“…I won’t give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I’m giving you all my love
I’m still looking up…”
Carl never took his eyes off mine, and I never took mine off his. Tears streamed down my cheeks but I smiled through them; I radiated every.single.ounce of love in my being to every man in that room.
“…Cause even the stars they burn
Some even fall to the earth
We’ve got a lot to learn
God knows we’re worth it
No, I won’t give up”
As the song ended, Carl handed me a yellow rose. I breathed in, making sure to forever associate the intoxicating smell of the flower with that precise moment.
Dear God. Does she realize she’s verbalizing an orgasm in public?
Also, if you’re a dude who hasn’t taken the red pill yet, here’s a question to ask:
Has a woman ever reacted like that to a friendly nice guy?
Next there’s a photo of La Moon smiling at a prisoner. Her caption:
(super unflattering picture capturing 12 hours of tears and pure love as Carl gave me that rose)
(Parentheses in original.)
Later we get:
But, what truly transformed me is the deeply intimate humanity I shared with people whose goodness and ability to love I doubted… What transformed me is that I looked into the eyes of other humans, I felt their love, and I wanted to be love for them, and I wanted the room to be love so bright that it pulsed along with the collective love that fuels our existence. So I chose to be love. And as soon as I did, that love hit me hard, and it was overwhelming in a way that I can’t express.
I wanted to experience the pulsing as they all thrust their ideas into my mind, forcibly ramming through my preconceptions, plunging into my, um, left parietal lobe as fact after fact pistoned into my prostrate, stretched-open, uh, mind. Oh God! OH GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHD!!!
Huh? Wha? Where was I? Oh yeah, I was appreciating Carl’s turgid, thrusting, penetrating, ah, insight. And humanity.
Again, if you’re a dude who hasn’t taken the red pill…
Next it gets somewhat surprising, even for me, and I was expecting a thug-loving nuclear hamster. They played a game called Step To The Line. The prisoners and the visitors face each other near two lines on the floor. An announcer calls out questions. You step forward to the line if your answer is Yes. Or, if you’re already on the line from the previous question, you stay there. Here’s Moon’s account of part of this game:
“How many of you have taken another person’s life?” I looked into my partner’s eyes, he stayed on the line.
“How many of you haven’t forgiven yourselves for something you’ve done?” He stayed on the line, I joined him. Tears welled up in his eyes and streamed down my face. Through silent validation, both knowing our ‘something’ was worlds apart, we smiled, and we cried, and we shared so, so much love in that moment.
She’s sharing so, so much love with a confessed killer. Think about this. Now has a woman ever reacted that way to a friendly nice guy?
Yes, I know she’s not typical. (At least, I don’t think she is. Sometimes I wonder.) But note that the distribution of female sexual response – let’s stop being coy about what she’s expressing here – encompasses this killer-lusting woman at one end. It does not encompass a nice-guy-lusting woman at the other end. No woman has ever reacted like that, with that kind of of BLAST of sexual arousal, to a nice guy, and no woman ever will.
She stood face to face with a man who confessed to having killed a person, and she’s so turned on her socks are wet.
I could end this here; I think the point is made. But let’s keep going a little more.
Throughout the day, several men shared their stories. One man… ran away, and he joined a gang, and he got involved with drugs. Ultimately he took someone’s life and was convicted before he ever even learned how to drive. Maybe you can relate to some of his story, maybe you can’t. I can’t. And my heart completely broke listening to his journey of self-forgiveness.
Ah yes, “his journey of self-forgiveness.” What about the person he killed, you estrogen-torqued whackjob?!
This does make the point, though, that women simply don’t give a shit about the victims of violent men. That person gets no consideration from her. But thank goodness the killer managed to forgive himself! Phew!
There’s more in this vein; I haven’t quoted all of it.
Seriously, take the red pill.