Tag Archives: misogyny

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #65

(In which Antierra faces her most challenging arena combat to-date which she hopes will score a very important point for the empowerment of women in Elbre.)

To all of this, much more and repetitively, Tiki listens.  I can feel her tensing at times, and wanting to speak but even here in these dreadful compounds there is an order.  When the older women engage certain topics among themselves, the young stay quiet.  They are expected to listen but may never interrupt.  Those who do are quietly but viciously “punished” by the older ones in the training compounds.  When they are punished, they know why.  Thus the women discipline ‘their’ children even under these circumstances.  Of course of those we are given, we can discipline freely.  They are our slaves.
End blog post #64
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Begin blog post #65

Chapter 28 – Vengeance as a Redemptive Act

Through Tiki I have been contacted by the female Cydroid who works as a goronda in the kitchens.  The Koronese “sting” operation on Warmo and his infernal inquisition has been successfully concluded, details to be given to me in the future should I require them.  Yes, XBA9 was tortured to death as was expected and his “re-cloning” (at astronomical cost to Dr. Echinoza and his associates on Koron) was immediately implemented when XBA9’s death on T’Sing Tarleyn was confirmed and officially accepted on Koron.

I am told that the King ordered a secret raid on Warmo’s dungeons following the death of a “terrorist” whose activities the King wanted to know more about.  All the victims of Warmo’s torture, alive, dying or dead but still on the stakes, were taken out into a secure courtyard for official examination.  Warmo was arrested on a technicality to do with a health code violation.  Apparently he failed to remove the decomposing bodies of his victims and keep the floors and walls disinfected and a member of his entourage got sick from accidental contact with the bodies.

Again I must point out the twisted logic on how laws are used in pseudo-ISSA societies.  I saw many such inanities when dealing with “environmental” or “health” related issues on Túat Har.  There never were any doubts in my mind then that the endless legal subterfuges used by the courts to hide real crimes through the prosecution of misdemeanours would inevitably result in the great die-back.  There never was the will to tackle the real problems because that would have exposed all the powers that be and all the rulers, leaders, CEO’s including the great heads of organized Religion.

But back to my story here.  The “member” in Warmo’s employ – one of the Cydroids – blew the whistle.  Another Cydroid, a member of the King’s legal counsel group, laid the charges against Warmo.  After short deliberation and the additional startling discovery that the “terrorist” was a confidant of the King and friend of the court, Warmo was officially pronounced guilty.  As you know, all crimes on Malefactus are capital crimes.  Warmo was given the chance to redeem himself through a fight to the death in the arena.  He naturally jumped at the chance and when he was told I would be his opposing fighter, he apparently raised his fist in the air and yelled, “I finally get to kill that bitch!”

All the men in the compound, from the overseer to the medics, are aghast at the bold move by the King and his counselors in reaching down into the official inquisition’s affairs and condemning “the” Warmo.  The man is well known in Elbre.  Before the previous King gave him the position of chief torturer – it is well known that the King used to go and watch Warmo work and sometimes provide him with interesting victims for the fun of it – Warmo had been a drook.

His reputation was so that no owner of female fighters would enter them against him and he had no more takers by the time he was promoted to be the King’s Grand Inquisitor.  He killed with precision and mastery but more, with utter malice.  Warmo was (and remains) a consummate misogynist.  He literally tortured opposing fighters before killing them.  No one died quickly at his hands.  He would entertain the crowds with blows and cuts, to maim and disfigure after he’d tired his opponent.  Even if the fighter quit and lay down to die, he’d continue beating and cutting as long as he could make her endure.  He never sexually assaulted his victims and the story spread that he was a eunuch.

Well, maybe I’ll find out.  In the case of Warmo, I’m going to be utterly “human” in performing my own ritual with him in the arena.  Yes, I know I should not be so cocky, that anything can go wrong, that I am supposed to be a new person with a new outlook on life and that I need to be humble in all things.  Sure, I know all that, just as you know all that.  But again, there is that which I call compromised morality.  This is not about me, even though I will be the center of interest and attraction.

This is much more than personal.  This fight is a social comment and a political statement.  It is of paramount importance that my purpose is not to survive an arena fight against a powerful drook, but meant to avenge his victims, particularly the female ones.  I must be more than the ultimate fighter; I must also be the consummate actress to demonstrate that I am indeed the avenger.

In exacting vengeance on Warmo I will be causing the deliberate humiliation of a once “great” man and performing an elaborate execution by torture to be done by a woman to a man.  This must be seen by all, and reported openly.  This is my ultimate dare and my chance to make these males see what a fearless, self-empowered woman can do.

Even if after the fight I am publicly flogged to death or otherwise killed for my temerity, for having dared flaunt my womanhood towards a man, I must do this.  The law is clear on this: the penalty for a woman demonstrating power over a man (other than in the handling of weapons, of course) is death.  The choice of death, if it comes on that day, will be given to the crowd to decide.  Not likely will it be a mercy killing.

Nevertheless, there must be no doubt that I am meeting this monster in my own capacity as monster.  The meeting of Beast Warmo and the Desert Beast.  The stakes will likely be the highest the gambling  world has ever heard of.  The betting will go ‘through the roof’ as the saying went.

I have two weeks to prepare myself for this event.  It’s not that either Warmo or I need that time, but the longer the event is delayed, the higher the stakes will rise, and the farther the news will reach so betting will take place in all the major centers of Elbre, and perhaps even beyond.  This is “play off” time and the Big Money will be in evidence everywhere.  This also means that in the meantime, fewer women will be fought in the arenas as the money will be hoarded for the main event.  That also is a great victory to me, although I can see an uglier side to this as well.

I hear the King has decreed there is to be but one fight in the arena of Hyrete on that day, regardless of how quickly it ends.

Also, the day of the “Fight of the Beasts” as it is billed is to be a kingdom-wide holiday.

I wonder how that will affect the non-fighter women and girls in the kingdom?  They won’t see any holiday; in fact they will have a greater load to bear as a result of the partying, visiting, merry-making and the various needs for exotic pleasures and entertainment.  There is also the very real danger that should the fight cause great losses of money, and I am the one who causes it by killing the Warmo, innocent women will bear the brunt of reprisals in a surge of hate and anger against women in general.  This is, after all as I have already said, a world at war and in any war it is always the innocents who suffer the most.

Tiki and I speak of the coming fight.  This girl is no fool.  She understands her world and moves within its twisted ways with a skill born of breeding and necessity.  If it’s information she wants, she gets it quietly and quickly and she deduces much from what is not being said or publicized.

I don’t have to explain the Inquisition or Warmo to her.  She gets as much as I could tell her from her contacts which she has naturally developed as she works the kitchens, the yard and the cages.  By now everybody knows her and she has had many offers to leave me and share younger flesh in other cages.  She could do it, if she wanted it badly enough.  Yes, she belongs to me, in a sense, but she could “trade” herself for another, say an older trainee who wanted to ingratiate herself to me for special training.  This old human trading for advantage, for favours, is found everywhere except in the most advanced and evolved world touching the top edge of ISSA consciousness.  No matter where I’ve encountered this process, I’ve always found it particularly repugnant.

End blog post #65

Antierra Manifesto – blog post #64

Yes, many of the women are frightened by my words and the ideas they create in their minds.  I have to keep reminding them that they are going to be killed violently regardless of what they do. 

End blog post #63
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Begin blog post #64

“What have you got to lose?  Some of you here will be dead next week, see?  You are afraid of whips, of torture, of punishment, of being taken down into the inquisition’s dungeons, but what is the arena after all?  Isn’t it all the same? 

“Here’s a truly revolutionary idea for you.  What if all of us, all the women, all the girls, of T’Sing Tarleyn were truly strong and courageous and if we could all communicate telepathically – I had to explain my new terms very carefully to them – we could do this: we could, in one day, stop doing all that we are doing for the men who think they be our masters. 

“Imagine, you can imagine, I know, because you are afraid of what may happen, that takes imagination – so imagine what would happen to this World of Man. It would collapse, fall, because women supply everything here.  We do most of the work and we are the main source of the economy.”

I keep on throwing these thoughts at them, confusing them and angering them.  I can hear them discussing my words in hoarse, low tones at night in the cages.  Some pass questions across to me, thus all become a little bit enlightened by the simple expedient that they must carry the exchanges across the floors of our cages.  Some are excited at the possibilities, others warn of dire consequences.  Predictably the greatest argument against my teaching is that girls and women would be tortured horribly all over the planet.  They would all be killed for refusing orders from men.

“My come-back is simple if quite ineffective.  “But what are they doing to us now already?  Are they not killing us everywhere?  Are we not sex slaves, worker slaves, fighter slaves with no right to life?  Are they not raping our girls, our ‘daughters’ as if they had no feelings?  Hurting, torturing them all the time?  Ask all the young ones here, how many have not been gang-raped?  Beaten?  Have electrical shocks applied to their vaginas, nipples and lips just to hear them scream?

“Listen, don’t you know why men love to make you scream in pain?  A woman’s voice is a necessary part of a man’s life on any world.  But here they won’t let you speak openly.  And they don’t let you sing at all under pain of death.  These men are sick from not having your love, your gentle, naturally healing  touch and from not hearing your voices.  They hate you because of their laws, not because of you.  Every day you are all around them, naked and beautiful and desirable – and they cannot have you as nature intended.  They can only desire and when their urge is too strong to hold back, they violate their own taboos on sex and they rape you.  No love for them, ever.  It is not allowed.

“The only legal way they can hear you is by hurting you.  Understand this.  It’s not only the women who are slaves on this world.  The men are even more so than us.  They want to love us but their laws and social ways forbid them from doing so.  They want to hear us sing – we have such beautiful voices!  But they cannot, ever, hear us.  So they live in their own kind of hurt, of terrible and deep heart pain – just like us! They close themselves to what is natural and normal and they live malevolent, angry lives.  They too have forgotten what it was like before the black metal demons came.  Now they blame us for their pain and they hurt us trying to make themselves feel better.

“Now listen to me on this.  Do you think I be more courageous than all of you?  Yet I speak of these things to all and do not fear.  What if one of you was to tell the men what I am telling you?  Do you know what they would do to me?  And do you think I don’t know that?  I’ve already been down in the torture dungeons and hurt more than I ever was fighting the men.  Yet as you see, I am not afraid of them.  It’s not because I am stronger.  As my young friend here pointed out to me, they will kill me too and that soon I think.  They get tired of us old ones.  We become too tough and not so much fun.  They know we kill efficiently and not so much money is made on the bets against us.  So they will do something soon and I will die there, maybe in the next killing orgy.”

I can hear their intake of breath and the terrible silence that follows my mention of the orgy.  We never speak of that terror, never.  Yet again I broke one of their rules by showing them I was ready to face my death that way.  I have to show them I am more than just another strong fighter.  I have to give them hope before I die and when I do they must know that it is not the end of me.  I am thankful for my training in Altarian logic.  And many other things these poor people do not have a clue about yet.

To all of this, much more and repetitively, Tiki listens.  I can feel her tensing at times, and wanting to speak but even here in these dreadful compounds there is an order.  When the older women engage certain topics among themselves, the young stay quiet.  They are expected to listen but may never interrupt.  Those who do are quietly but viciously “punished” by the older ones in the training compounds.  When they are punished, they know why.  Thus the women discipline ‘their’ children even under these circumstances.  Of course of those we are given, we can discipline freely.  They are our slaves.

End blog post #64

The Antierra Manifesto – Blog post #10

[begin blog post #10]

Chapter 6 – Life in the Cages

“We cannot conquer fate and necessity, yet we can yield to them in such a  manner as to be greater than if we could.” (Walter S. Landor) 

I feel the most terrible ache in my heart.  I remember a time in a past life when I was taken from my home, accused of witchcraft.  My twelve year old son was taken from me and I was kept in a dungeon and I knew I’d never see him again.  I would never leave that place until, after an endless series of indignities were performed upon me, I was formally condemned for practising witchcraft by using herbs considered to have Satanic properties and I was hanged, my executors claiming compassion in my case by deciding not to burn me alive as was the current practice.  They said my healing arts had been of value to the village before I began consorting with demons and performing the black arts.  Men have never been short of excuses for “punishing” women, even in so-called modern, civilized societies.  But the greatest pain they cause women is not physical, it’s psychological.  The continual put-down of her knowledge, natural skills and abilities; of her intuition and innate compassion. 

That sort of pain is what I’m speaking of: emptiness of heart and an atavistic fear rolled together like some choking fog that will never lift until perhaps after you are dead.  And even then… who really knows?  Now imagine my temporary despair, that I, Antierra, who promised a better life to Tiegli, would lower herself to doubt her own knowing?  Who better than I can know of the future of a certainty?  But shock does strange and terrible things to one’s thought pattern.  I feel as if my mind is unravelling as it feeds from the poisoned mind sewers of Malefactus.

Tiegli is gone and I haven’t seen the doctor in many days.  My arm still does not feel right but the tingling of the wound tells me it is healing.  There will be an ugly white welt there, but that seems a small thing now.  I wonder how I can get near the other women who all seem to be avoiding me.  Something about me frightens them.  It could be any number of things.  The superstition about my status as the reincarnation of their Desert Beast and my ‘natural’ skill with their basic weapons.  My size.  The colour of my eyes.  But mostly, I think, the way I talk.  Can I ever learn to speak in their pidgin?  Would that make a difference?

This morning I wake up to a low cry followed by a steady wailing in a cage close to mine.  In the early light I see a young girl sitting up holding the body of another and rocking it.  Soon all the women are keening along and to my surprise I am too.  The heavy blanket of death touches us all.  The one they called “The Brute” – the dark-skinned woman Tiegli pointed out to me who’d been captured in the deep south beyond the desert has killed herself in the night and her cage-mate has awakened to her cold body against her.  The dead woman had managed to find, hide and bring a sharp piece of broken flagstone into her cage.  She inserted it in her own jugular and bled to death.

The wailing brings several handlers, trainers and a dozen guards armed with lasguns.  A shrill whistle silences the women and the first row of twenty cages are opened and we are led outside to stand in the cold dawn.  The Brute’s mate and another nearby are made to carry the body outside to a door in the far wall.  A carrier awaits and the body is dumped in the open back.  It leaves and the door is locked.

Perhaps I should describe these strange conveyances they call carriages (if equipped to carry people or carriers if for handling supplies.  Basically they could be compared to cars or pickup trucks of Old Earth except they use a directional anti-grav force field instead of wheels, are totally silent and are usually, not always, operated by remote control or pre-programmed to run a set course.  I cannot get near enough to one to study it and tell but I sense they are, again using Old Earth observations, of a very light alloy material that appears to be metallic.  They do not carry as much of a load as did the old polluters of Earth.  They also appear to be quite slow, at least the ones I’ve seen.  Maybe there are great roads somewhere and they move faster, or maybe they have some that can rise much higher above the landscape and run “as the crow flies.” 

So much I do not know, and so much I thought would be of no consequence to me may turn out to contain crucial knowledge in the future.  Expect the unexpected!  I must approach the other women, or perhaps if I see him again, seduce the doctor to talk to me and tell me of things beyond the obvious here.  A tall order that can get me killed and nothing gained, maybe, but I need to know more.  Despite the fear of the moment, my mind reels with thoughts around Malefactus’ strange mix of technology.  They seem to be a very primitive people, social mores and practices resembling those of medieval Old Earth. 

Yet their “castles” are equipped with auto-lifts and automatic doors, and draw-bridges weighing tens of tons operate on hydraulic energy run by computerized remotes.  They have laser weapons and sophisticated fabrics.  Also they seem to have endless time and energy to engage their depraved ways, apparently having no need to concern themselves with provision of food stuffs or materials for armour or weaponry, even though, technically they are a world constantly at war with the enemy, the Estáani.  I know that much of the labour is provided by a great river of slaves, not all of them women as my research had so emphatically indicated.  Many males slave as beasts of burden and castrated ones (eunuchs) look after young males and females in crèches and sorting wards.  Where do these male slaves come from?  How do they become slaves?

A light but painful flick of a whip on my buttocks shocks me out of my reverie.  We are told to return to our cages and clean them out.  We grab wooden pitchforks stacked in a barrel against the wall by our entrance and begin the task of raking and piling the old straw bedding which we roll into sheaves and carry to a rock pit where it is burned.  A fresh pile of straw is brought in, also by carrier, and we make fresh bedding in our cages.  After we wash and eat we are returned to our cages, locked in and the next row goes through the same procedure.  No one makes a sound and I have a deep sense of foreboding while this apparently normal effort proceeds.

After these chores are complete we are once more taken out, all of us together, and made to stand in a large circle around the steel post I’d spent a night chained to.  The young trainee who had wailed at the discovery of her friend’s death is dragged out from the group and chained to the post, her hands raised above her head and the wrist chain affixed to a hook.  She appears beyond petrified, wild eyed and mouth agape, beyond the power even to scream.  Two trainers throw ice cold water on her and two handlers proceed to flog her.  She is allowed the freedom of her legs, probably to make the flogging more interesting for the men. 

As she brings her legs up for instinctive protection the long whips wrap around them and as the handlers pull their whips free, her body slams against the post over and over, leaving their bloody marks on the thin white-skinned legs.  Now she screams and her cries are non-stop and beyond heart-rending.  Her blood splatters everywhere.  The terrible whips tear into her skin and rip it into shreds and finally she stops screaming, then stops moaning.  Only then do they quit.  When they see she no longer moves they leave her hanging there, her body shredded beyond recognition, her blood still dripping down onto the paving stones. 

Some dark energy beast inside me wants to pounce on these men and tear them apart as if I had fangs and claws.  I throw up and immediately two trainers come over to me and look me over.  Something stops them from administering the same treatment to me – what?  What protects me at that moment when they know my feelings towards them?  All I see beyond the totally irrational hate is an even deeper fear.  What kind of Power drives these men?

[end blog post #10]

Antierra Manifesto-Blog post #8 – Tiegli

[begin blog post #8]

Chapter 5 –  “Tiegli”

 “One must be poor to know the luxury of giving” (George Eliot)

He knows nothing of love, just fucking and that’s fine by me under the circumstances.  He responds to his lust stirred by my overwhelming desire for sexual release and finds his satisfaction.  When it’s over for him, it’s over and I’m left with an incredible ache of in-completion.  ‘Damn you!’ I think.  Hiding my shaking hands by pressing them hard into my stomach I wait as he slips his white robe on and directs me outside.  He calls to another man sitting perfectly still on a stone bench against the wall to my right.  He is wearing a white tunic uniform and apparently reading on a slate.  To me he appears as an extremely handsome man, taller than the doctor when he stands up from his reading to acknowledge the doctor with a quick wave of his hand, an unusual greeting or signal, the arm bent at the elbow, the forearm extended forward and the hand, facing down, moved stiffly and rapidly across the body and back.

They speak low, the uniformed one casting probing looks in my direction.  I am the intense subject of their discussion.  Leaving me standing there they walk across the yard and through a heavy stone door that opens and shuts automatically and silently.  I am left confused and utterly exhausted with my slashed arm throbbing horribly despite the doctor’s assurances that everything is fine; that it’s only a flesh wound.

With nothing better to do, knowing I can’t walk anywhere without some male escort, I focus on that new character, the white tunic.  What role does that one play, I wonder?  It surprises me that in such a black-white, cartoon-like world that so much still happens behind the scenes – so much that all the research I did on this world and my painstaking efforts to duplicate my future experiences here come to practically nothing in actuality.  You can study a thing until you go blind and still, until you experience it, you really know nothing about it.  I realize it’s fear that makes my mind wander thus but I cannot help it.  I have to “grow” into this place or it is going to rob me of my sanity.

Forget all that you know, or think you know.  Such is my life now: a blank followed by a question mark!  I wonder at the value of past life memories.  How can they help one when thrust into an alien power structure?  Yet, what else have I got here?  I was warned I would get no “off-world” help while I remained here.  I’m the only source of all my thoughts and all the decisions I make.  The right and wrong of it all, it belongs to me alone.  I can agree with what I do, or I can judge and condemn myself.  Still, I must live or die by my own choices. 

Ah, choices!  I remember my long-ago discussions with friends on the subject of free choice; how I insisted there is no such thing.  Indeed, if nothing else, Malefactus is proving that I was unfortunately correct on that point.

My handlers (guards or trainers, I still can’t quite sort them out) finally remember to come for me.  I am ordered to wash in a wash trough then I am served a meal, alone, by a kitchen slave girl.  I realize I am famished and the food tastes good to me.  After I eat I’m taken inside the cage area and shoved into one of the cages where a woman is sitting.  She is typically broad shouldered with a thick, short neck and her pale, almost white flesh is covered with scars.  She is bald; one eye almost shut and her left ear is missing entirely.  Her right breast has a deep scar from a cut through it and the nipple is missing.  She looks up at me and smiles a crooked, gap-toothed smile.  She reaches over and touches me with her right hand. She is missing two fingers there also.

Female gladiators do not have names, just physical descriptions and fighting titles.  She is “The Crone” being the oldest surviving female in the line-ups.  No point asking how long she has been here, the brands tell that story accurately enough.  Hers tell me when she was born (1303, bred fighter class 04)  The next line indicates she’s been in this compound since 1316 and according to my brand it’s now 1328.  That’s twelve years of surviving hundreds of encounters; of fights to the death. 

When they turn off the lights we lie down side by side, holding each other and although I desperately want to sleep she insists on telling me her story. 

“Why did they put me with you?”  I whisper to her.

“For me, a favour by guard, one night.  Accept?  I speak with you,” she whispers back, “tell something very important for us.” She grabs my wrist as if to impress her thoughts through my flesh, “You know we have no name?  Fighters have no names?  But I have name, real name!”  Proud she sounds even in her whispering.  She points at herself.  “Tiegli – and it has meaning too.  Undaunted.  No Man hears this name, but all fighters here have, and they have much envy my luck.  Some they fight with this name – very strong name.  Also mean fearless.  I live this name, many years. 

“Listen: there is big fight tomorrow and die with four women escape to desert and bring back – you know this.  Tomorrow is killing orgy.  No fighter live after this no matter how many of men we kill.  They just come more and more.  We weaken with losing blood and so tired we can not hold weapon or stand.  Then they kill.  Sometimes give rape if we still have enough life, much hurt they give before we die – revenge for men we kill – ritual.  Vengeance ritual.”

Her story is short.  At age of ten she has already been sent off from her crèche to be trained as a fighter and is being held for auction in a female child compound.  There is a raid that turns into a blood letting until the besieged make peace by offering their attackers the “contents” of their female compound.  Now both sides fall upon the hapless females.  Tiegli is taken by a couple of young brothers and hidden.  They hope to keep her alive long enough to sell her on the black market that flourishes in certain parts.  They stuff her in a pack bag and from a tear in the side she is able to observe everything that takes place as the young girls are raped and killed, some tortured viciously.  She sees her best friend gang raped then cut open across the stomach.  She throws up inside the bag and forces herself to pass out.

As a bag of grain stuffed in a pack, making no sound and no demands for food or water, surviving the heat in her vomit and excrement, she is bounced along for two days strapped to a harness carried by male slaves.  She is taken out during a violent storm in between suns twilight, staked out in the rain to wash where she is inspected, haggled over and sold to buyers from Hyrete – the fortified city we are in now.  Hyrete is a major center of commerce and entertainment in Elbre, but also distinguished by being the capital city of the kingdom of the royal house Tassard. 

So the people of Elbre are called the Tassardi.   The only other major “kingdom,” actually a so-called unified republic ruled by an oligarchy of merchant houses, is Estáan.  The people there are known as Estáani.  While complete enmity officially exists between these empires and dependencies, there is much slave trade between them.  As elsewhere, business knows how to take advantage of enemies as well as friends.  The bottom line remains the bottom line.  Trade is good.  War is even better.  First and foremost, profit.  Then whatever.

During her training in Hyrete there is an uprising while a multi-event killing orgy is taking place.  She is taken by the group of rebels and with male help and the use of two stolen “carriers” they flee into the desert.  The rebel leader baptizes her and gives her the name of Tiegli.  When they are captured, as inevitably happens, the ring-leaders are executed by torture and she is returned to the compound.  They cut off her ear and shave her head.  She would never be allowed to grow her hair again.  She is entered in her first fight much too young and almost killed.  Fortunately her opponent is a young foolish buck with little experience.  She barely manages to bring him down and the fight is terminated before she has to kill him.  After this, it’s just fight after fight, kill after kill.  From training/holding compound to the arena and back.

“Why do they do this?” I ask.  “Why do they fight you if they know they will get killed?” 

She chuckles in the dark and pinches me, “They say honour but mostly is money.” 

“Honour?”  I ask.  “How can there be honour in killing a woman, or being killed by one?”

Another chuckle, “You not know these things?  Some, we say you from the land, the rock of T’Sing Tarleyn.  Some, we say you Desert Beast rise from desert sand, come to help women.  Some, we say you from other world.  We know only this world.  Are people up there?”  She grabs my wrist tighter and lifts my hand upward so I understand what she means.  You tell, not lie to Tiegli, please.”

“No, not lie.  I will tell you but you must answer my question first.  About honour.”

“Everybody is enemy; someone is enemy of someone.  Women most dangerous enemies because men attracted to woman sex and lose fighting power.  So young boy must kill female as proof he free of female weakness.  Boy is given young girl – sometime older woman no good no more – to kill.  Rite of passage to be man.  Necessary or boy killed too.  They always must … hmmm… show power to hate and do by shouting and killing.  Also must kill enemy.   Boys go to great hunts in big desert” (I note she points to the south) “and where high mountains live.  After big desert and mountains there is green land of grass and short trees that make tent” (I cannot make her explain further – canopied tops of leaves that deflect water or sunlight?) “In that away far land they kill wild beasts or take wild black people for slaves if they find,” and she points to the only dark-skinned woman I’ve seen, a young woman whom they nickname “The Brute” sitting and rocking herself in a near-by cage.  “She harvested when very young.  They train, she good killer.  Dangerous.  Something wrong in head.”

She continues with her story and I try not to interrupt her. 

“Sometime, yes?  They make large group, many weapons (I gather she means armies) attack other group, city.  Much die in what called raids.  Sometime fight group join enemy group in wild celebration after battle.  Compounds full of females they raid to rape and kill and if “evil juice” is found men become like Warris (which she describes to be wild peoples of the south lands who practice cannibalism) and cook female bodies to eat. I, Tiegli, know.  Saw, smelled the flesh, even I get hungry from smell.  This I see when taken.” 

[end blog post #8]

 

Rethinking our Cosmology: more on Lucifer

Is it Time to rethink our Cosmology?  More on Lucifer
     [voice from the Other Side  ~burning woman~]
 
Seen on a bumper sticker:  “Eve was Framed”
 
Indeed.  And on that note I want to leave you with a thought I’ve broached before, if only to demonstrate that “history” can be re-written – and always is.
 
In “researching” the timeless files for my work on the *Stacked Worlds I’ve uncovered some interesting history available to us mostly through deductive reasoning.  The following is but a glimpse into what I have seen from my travels across space and time… and beyond!
 
How to begin such a tale?  In the beginning (only it wasn’t the beginning, of course, just a beginning which was subsequently, for political reasons dubbed the “only” beginning) when this universe was just coming together there already existed mighty entities who had the ability to cross the great energetic barriers erected between the various universes, for even though a universe can be nested within another, it wouldn’t do for the energies of one to intrude upon another and either crush it out of existence, suck it dry or overload it — and vice-versa.  So there are set “boundaries” that universes may not, or cannot, cross.
 
But these mighty beings could cross.  As in all things, these beings were possessed of both good and evil natures, to use a common terminology.  But they liked to think of themselves as perfect, so whatever they did, they called good.  And who would gainsay them?
 
I jump now into this universe at a later time.  The beings I refer to, of course, are the Time Lords.  I have alluded to these before.  They “invented” time as a means of control over their share of creation.  Anyway, there was a group of Time Lords who made the area we observe from Earth as the constellation Orion their home worlds.  I shall refer to that particular group as the Jehovian Gods.  Even in their early days they were warlike and dreadful to their neighbours.  These Jehovians were, and note, male and “white” in how they perceived themselves.  (This information is crucial to understand what happened subsequently on Earth.)
 
The Jehovians do not need females to procreate for them.  For the most part they can “bring forth” (create!) their own offspring as they choose.  To put it bluntly, they can clone themselves over and over.  Thus are the great Divine Families multiplied to rule over their manifold conquered worlds.  It is also a trait of these male Gods, and note, that each ruling divinity likes to be seen as if it were the only Divinity extant in the cosmos.  This perception provides much political and psychological benefits among the conquered and (lesser) created.  So thus they insist their history be written.
 
What the Jehovians require for themselves of “man power” they either create or enslave neighbouring worlds where suitable exploitable life exists.  But they cannot escape the fact that creation is based on duality and they do need female companionship as sex slaves, concubines and for the rulers, as consorts. 
 
Long ago, but never lost in the mists of time, in their imperialistic wars of conquest, they came upon a group of very bright stars inhabited by “angels” — female beings who were, when seen from a physical perspective, black in coloration.  These females had no concept of war or defense and many of their worlds were quickly overrun by the Jehovians in search of spoils and pleasure.  Along with billions of these black angels they captured their leader who was named “Lucifer” which means “Morning Star.”  She was forcefully joined to the then ruling Jehovian Divinity to become his female slave and consort.  Lucifer was the personification of female perfection and considered of great prize.  Her beauty, intelligence and gentleness attracted competing Jehovian Divinities from other worlds.  Her presence engendered much jealousy among the great Jehovian houses for which she was blamed.  Civil wars were fought over her for which she was also blamed.  (You can trace this pattern down to the Helen of Troy story)
 
Lucifer pondered the state of affairs in “Heaven” and after much talk (telepathic conversation) with her enslaved sisters, she decided to confront the God and ask that she and her people be released from their bondage and be given their worlds back.  As is to be expected her pleas fell on ever-deaf ears.  The God was not about to let himself be swayed by a slave.  His final reply to her was this:  “If you can defeat me in war, you can go free.”  It was an inane statement but Lucifer considered it.  There were some odds in her favour, namely that a number of the “Sons of God” of the lesser members of the Jehovian group had fallen in love with the beautiful angels and let it be known that if it came to a war they would side with the angels. 
 
Desperate times call for desperate measures.  There was “war” in Heaven, only it was a war of nerves.  Lucifer declared universal satyagraha or peaceful non-cooperation towards the conquering Jehovians.  The angels refused to serve the Gods and Lucifer was no longer seen to adorn at the left hand of God when he mounted his throne.  She refused summon after summon.  On the conquered angel worlds the same thing happened.  There was widespread non-cooperation.  The angels took whatever punishment was meted to them and waited for many long, dark years. 
 
The situation in Heaven became untenable, pointless, even idiotic.  Neither side would give in.  So the great Heavenly Advisor Michael proposed that the angels with Lucifer as their leader be exiled, along with all Jehovians who had sided with them.  They would not be allowed to return to their home worlds but would be “dumped” upon a small solar system that was still unformed.  All the angelic slaves of Heaven as well as all those who could be found on other worlds were rounded up and forcefully taken to the new solar system and an energy shield was placed upon it, effectively cutting it off from the rest of the galaxy and universe.  From Sol as we called it the angels could see the far-off stars twinkling in space but they could not return to them, at least not as long as the Orion Jehovian Time Lords ruled or they themselves developed the means to defeat the energy shield.
 
Lucifer called her people together along with the faithful Sons and pointed to the chaos of Sol.  If we must live here she said, and we must, then let us make this place into a veritable paradise for ourselves and all the life we are going to bring forth here.  Let us make this our home.  And so it came to pass.  The creative works of Lucifer are the seven days of creation as depicted briefly in the first chapter of Genesis, the Bible.
 
Lucifer chose the planet Tiamat as her home world.  Tiamat was a large water world, a “super earth” that possessed much potential for new life.  However there were spies among Lucifer’s people, among the Sons, and these sent reports of all that was taking place within Sol.  The jealous Jehovians decided to destroy Tiamat by sending another planet now known as Nibiru-Marduk to “attack” Lucifer’s world.  It took two attacks over a period of 3600 Earth years but Tiamat was successfully destroyed as the ancient Sumerian writings attest.  It was split approximately in half, one half shattered and became the asteroid belt (the hammered bracelet) and the other became Earth.  And so it came to pass that Lucifer indeed was “cast to Earth” as it is written.   But even then she would be persecuted and endlessly demonized.  Her people would be called demons.  Earthian females and black skinned peoples would be oppressed, enslaved, repressed and killed without due process over the millennia.  For you see, one of the Jehovian Divinities was allotted Sol as his ruling domain.  Part of the plan was to prevent Lucifer from re-creating in Sol the kind of worlds she once ruled before the Jehovian onslaught.  The other was simply pillaging and raping, a process that continues to this day.
 
Some interesting anecdotes: 
 
–As already mentioned, misogyny is common on planet Earth yet cannot be logically explained.
 
–Black skinned peoples are “naturally” seen as less human than lighter skinned ones and have been used as slave labour for millennia.  Though some things have changed on the surface the pattern remains and will in all likelihood re-assert itself in the future, if indeed the truly black races have any future. 
 
Throughout the planet ancient peoples have worshiped a Black Goddess or Black Madonna.
 
The (then and perhaps still) oldest human skeleton ever found was in Africa.  It was a female skeleton and they called her “Lucy” (short form of Lucifer).  Is it safe to assume this “Lucy” was black?
 
In the Biblical book called “Song of Song” – a love song attributed to Solomon – the woman says: “Dark am I yet lovely, [] dark like the tents of Kedar, like the tent curtains of Solomon. [Tents were woven from black goats’ hair]  “Do not stare at me because I am dark.”

(Question: why would people “stare” at her because she is black if there were no stigma attached to her skin colour?)
 
And now ponder this:  Over the thousands of years that Earthians have existed on Earth and evolved so-so, they have been unable to change their behaviour even when it is abundantly clear that such behaviour is anti-life, counter-productive if not utterly insane.  Are Earthians mentally defective in some irredeemable way?  Not at all.  There’s a much simpler explanation for their insanity.  As is stated in ancient books, and particularly in Jewish literature (and more than hinted at in the Bible) Earthians are given a “soul” at conception.  This is the gift of the ruling Jehovian God to every Earthian.  This soul is an implant that overrides the natural programming of mind-body and replaces it with Jehovian patterns.  Thus is “man” ever and anon created “in the image of God” and helpless to correct his “sinful” nature.  Thus can the ruling Deity make promise after promise of salvation and redemption from a “corrupt” human nature for those who are “chosen” according to the will of the Deity.  But although all are chosen at conception not all willy-nilly follow the divine patterning.  Some remember a time before Eden; before “Adam and Eve” — before the coming of the Jehovian male Deity; a time of fullness, peace, simplicity and comfort.  A time when there was no fear of man or animals; when there was no predator and no prey; when there was no death on this world; when all, human and animals, lived in harmony. Some do remember the Lemurian age before it too was destroyed.
 
Would we end war, oppression, greed, moral corruption, racial hatred and fear on planet Earth?  Would we substitute compassion and love for the evils we continue to cling to as if there was no choice?  Perhaps now as never before we have the chance to re-think our cosmology, our Earthian heritage and the crucial “Why?” reasoning behind the blind trust we repeatedly put in our rulers and deities despite all evidence that they are our worst predators. 
 
“Was man, indeed, at once so powerful, so virtuous and magnificent, yet so vicious and base? He appeared at one time a mere scion of the evil principle and at another as all that can be conceived of noble and godlike. To be a great and virtuous man appeared the highest honour that can befall a sensitive being; to be base and vicious, as many on record have been, appeared the lowest degradation, a condition more abject than that of the blind mole or harmless worm. For a long time I could not conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, or even why there were laws and governments; but when I heard details of vice and bloodshed, my wonder ceased and I turned away with disgust and loathing.” (Frankenstein – Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley)

*Stacked Worlds is an Altarian theory on how and why certain universal or cosmic patterns, usually of the negative kind, keep repeating even after it would seem all their energies have been drained. ‘Stacked Worlds’ is  the theory I used behind the futuristic, dystopian sci-fi novel, “The Antierra Manifesto” which may yet see the light of day. 

The Cursed Year, the Year of Bliss

I just finished writing a short story in seven short chapters.  I am going to post each chapter, one at a time, either daily, or every two days or so, depending on time available.  Again, let me remind you that if the story is of interest and you want to read it as one story and not seven installments, please just copy and paste each segment in your own computer or tablet.  It’s what I usually do with blog stories that I like.  If you find discrepancies, please point them out in comments. Remember also, this story is fictional, only the names of towns and cities are real and they are all places I’ve been to, or lived in. Thank you for reading.  Enjoy.   “Sha’Tara”  

[The Cursed year, the Year of Bliss – short story by  Sha’Tara – part 1]

“Home”

The movie, Memoirs of a Geisha, begins with these memorable words: “A story like mine should never be told” meaning that such things should not happen, or so our minds insist on telling us women.  Things are done to us which we know are wrong but which we are helpless to prevent or more often, programmed to accept.  We live in fear in a system that operates on fear as the fuel of choice.  That system, supported from every power base is properly called “The Patriarchy” and in that Patriarchy women are the number one inferior group.  Fortunately some of us fight back and some of us discover ourselves in our struggle.  And some of us are re-discovered.  We are after all and above all else, “Mystery.”

It had been the coldest year on record, up here in the Peace River country, in northern Alberta.  And late in spring, almost summer, that is, the end of May, it looked like it was going to be the wettest summer on record.  The old snow was pounded into the ground by rains driven from dark angry clouds sweeping from the west in wave after wave from April and throughout the month of May.  What crops were seeded were soon drowned.  Only the hay fields would remain and of those precious little was foraged.

I turned sixteen that winter, November 11th, actually.  Mother was pregnant again and sick most of the time.  The boys’ squabbles and irresponsibility made my life hell.  My older brother gave me those looks, and as if that wasn’t enough, when mother went to the hospital, dad finally crossed the line before Gene did and under pretext of changing the bed sheets, got me into their bedroom where he suddenly locked the door, grabbed me and threw me on the bed. 

I was alone in the house, the boys were at school.  I struggled against him but dad was a very strong man.  He wanted me and he was going to have me however I struggled, screamed and kicked at him.  He slapped me hard, several times trying to slow me down and systematically ripped my clothes off.  He took his belt out: to tie me or beat me and subdue me? 

I knew if I stopped struggling it was all over.  He would rape me and then despise me and use me as his sex slave.  I would get pregnant and have his child and be forced to remain in his world forever.  The church would label me a “whore” and the entire village would blab on about my seductive wiles and my just deserved punishment raising a child out of wedlock.  Wedlock: what a telling word.  And for good measure they would say that my child looked dark and I had sex with an Indian out in the bush.

I knew these things went on in the village, that it was only luck that had allowed me to escape my fate until now.  I knew that nothing and no one would ever stop him or my older brother when he decided it was his turn.  I knew mother would accept it and hate me for it.  Everybody would hate me and all the village’s men would think that they could now have me too.  And I knew just as clearly that I couldn’t let it happen.  That it would be better for me to die than experience this.  In one blinding moment I knew and in that same blinding moment I knew just what the situation required of me.

A rage as from the wildest storm, something I had never experienced filled my entire body and I became akin to a raging wolverine defending her young against a marauding grizzly.  My unashamed, wild nakedness became my weapon – there were no longer any boundaries; there were no rules of combat, of decency, of respect or of love.  The barriers had been torn down allowing me to give full freedom to my feelings, my revulsion and my sacred rage.  

His arm came over my face and I bit into a protruding vein with all my strength.  When he tore his arm from my mouth his blood came flowing out.  I aimed my left knee at his crotch and caught him perfectly, immobilizing him.  I thrust fingers into his eyes and pulled his head back with his hair.  Some of it ripped out and I felt a glowing satisfaction well up within me.  I ripped the belt out of his hands and lashed out with it, whipping every exposed part of his body with such anger I imagined him dead from my slashing.  His blood was all over the bed sheets and the sight of it drove me into even greater fury. 

I saw a rope on the floor as I backed out of the bed.  He’d brought it to tie me to the bed posts.  I grabbed it and swiftly pulled several half-hitches around his wrists and ankles, enough to give me time to wipe myself up, get another dress, shoes, a coat, some of my stuff and run. 

Where to?  No idea, I just had to run.  I bumped the coal oil lamp and it spilled over on the kitchen floor.  I saw the box of Eddy matches on the stove and thought of setting the house on fire before leaving but my animal fury was ebbing and being replaced by another sense: compassion?  No, just normal fear of the patriarchy’s long arm and serious retribution.  I knew I’d never see justice.  Run… and hide in the vast world called Canada.  I knew I could do that.  

I didn’t have keys to the old International truck sitting by the barn so I got old “Beauty” in the pasture, saddled her and galloped away, my brother’s duffel bag filled with my most precious possessions and extra clothes dangling from the saddle horn.  I hitched the mare at the general store, walked in with a made up story that I needed to go see my mother at the hospital in Peace River, the main town some twenty miles away.  I got a ride with Mrs. Dermott in their old late 40’s pickup.  Mr. and Mrs. Dermott owned the store and she needed supplies anyways, she said.  She took the Nampa road because the rains had made the coulee road to Peace River completely impassable. 

On the way she noticed my bruises and I saw her questioning look.  I told her what had happened, and that I was running away and never coming back.  She knew, she said, that I was telling her the truth – she’d seen how my dad looked at me when we’d gone to the store after Mass and had wondered when the shit would happen, and what would come of it.  After buying me lunch at the Sun Café downtown, she took me to a friend of hers in the town of Grimshaw and assured me that she would tell my father, or anyone who asked, that I’d jumped out of the truck in Nampa and saw me hop a freight bound for Edmonton.  Nampa was in the opposite direction from Peace River, so it should throw any search for me “to the woods” she said in her Norwegian accent.  She gave me a hug and I never saw her again.  I was on my own, making up my own path.

The Henderson’s gave me some money and put me on a bus to Edmonton, wishing me well and long life.  They also gave me their niece’s driver’s license she’d left behind when she’d returned home to Norway.  Licenses didn’t have pictures in those days.  I memorized the address and a few details, like the birth date that said I was now eighteen, and the last name, Kristofson.  They didn’t ask me if I knew how to drive, assuming as anyone there would; that of course I could drive.  Every kid in the north could drive as soon as they grew legs and arms long enough to reach steering wheel and foot pedals at the same time.  That aside, they too knew I’d never return. 

I watched the road pass under the bus, the broken center line, the water filled ditches and the muskrats swimming across in their endless foraging and my spirit lifted with each mile thus gained away from what had been my home and my private hell.  Now I too knew for a fact I’d never return to the north. 

[end part 1: “Home”] 

~burning woman~  and the Great Evils

I’ve been doing this for a while now.  It’s called “blogging” and that has many descriptions but for me it means sharing “stuff” with others, and learning from the stuff they share on their own pages.  So I maintain a “blog” on which I post personal thoughts, ideas, pictures, stories and sometimes I’ll re-blog someone else’s article because I feel it deserves to get more “publicity” so to speak, or it contains ideas that help us understand ourselves and the world we live in. 

I guess that makes me a blogger.  So I blog to learn and to share.  But I have an agenda here.  I’m not looking for “stats” in numbers of “followers” or “likes” – though these indicate that what I am sharing provides some appeal to certain individuals and that’s great, but my long-term purpose in blogging is finding a way to create conversations around the really tough issues, subjects, ideas. 

I’m not here to discuss “religion, politics, global warming, misogyny… or anything else” for that matter.  Of course these topics will be engaged.  News, statistics, opinions, articles and rants will come into play.  That’s our background: expressing what we see as “wrong” and talking about solutions to such wrongs, and sometimes even talking about positive developments and how they make us feel good, or make us feel that we are finally accomplishing something “humane” somewhere in the world.  There’s an endless game going on and we like to see the “home” team score once in a while, though the home team always remains the underdog.   

But for me, that’s just the opening salvo.  I don’t want solutions, I want answers.  I’ve been building this blog under the title  ~burning woman~  which has raised a few eyebrows though for most I suppose it’s just one of those titles people make up to stand out from the crowd. 

~burning woman~ is the author of this blog.  She is me: the perennially denied, powerless, oppressed member of – get this – 50% of the human population of planet earth.  Any normal person would stop in absolute shock right there and think, how is it possible that 50% of the adult population of this world has little or no social power, legal status, physical safety and gets no recognition for playing a role without which society and civilization would not be possible! 

This isn’t a feminist blog.  I just want to point out that misogyny is one of the few truly great evils that gnaw at the roots of society.  Misogyny lies athwart the path of mankind’s evolution and blocks it completely.  As long as such an evil is countenanced among “men” that is how long all other evils will continue to plague man and destroy his civilizations, one after the other. 

~burning woman~  is a reminder that the greatest pollution on this world is the stench that comes from her permanently burning dying flesh.  No part of this world is free of that poison.  But she is also a reminder that she is, in herself, very much aware of this terrible condition – and how could she not be?  It’s her living flesh that is being burned in the public square for all “male” gawkers to jeer at.  The 19 year old Joan of Arc, and millions upon millions of others burned on the altars of the patriarchy and although the methods have slightly changed, the same thing goes on day after day and it’s business as usual.

This blog is meant to expose the great evils that plague the human race of earth and to seek answers by asking the troubling “WHY” question.  Why misogyny?  Can any sane Earthian give just one good reason why men should hate, fear, oppress, disempower, rape, torture and kill women?  And their children?  One single good reason that could explain – and justify – it all? 

Here’s another great evil, and make no mistake, it’s completely tied to the previous evil: predation.  Can anyone give one good reason why earth must exist under such a life-destroying concept?  There is no doubt that man is a violent predator and that he revels in this role.  We see it in sports, in hunting and fishing, in extraction of natural resources from the planet, in enslaving certain groups and races to serve elites, and certainly in man’s endless and spreading wars.  Man is so addicted to being a predator that even knowing he has far surpassed his limits to growth, he continues his business as usual as if nothing mattered but the kill.  But in this case, the evil runs even deeper, down into the roots of the planet itself, running amok among all of it’s life-forms.

There are those who believe in karma.  In the “Chrisrael” holy book it’s reaping what you sow.  Man is so utterly alien and unnatural that even when faced with his own extinction from his predatory mindset, he will not turn.  It’s as if he cannot break his programming.

So, this blog is about questioning the programming.  It’s about looking over history – official or not; accepted or not; real or fictitious (for who can sort it out and keep a straight face about it?) and looking for answers to the great evils that plague the species and are about to plunge it into quasi-oblivion.

Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not concerned or worried about man’s quasi extinction in the near future – I have been shown this to take place before the next 500 years – that to me isn’t the problem since it is inevitable.  My problem is, I’ve begun to develop a sense of empathy and to be an empath on a world driven by fear, hate, predation and misogyny is, put bluntly, unbearable.  I “sense” the level of horror, terror, agony; the screams of those now being crushed and the billions about to be crushed, by the man-made engines of destruction.  In my heart I join in the screams and want no part of this coming world, and often I want no part of this one, even now.

But if I’m going to remain a part of it for a while yet, I need to engage my mind looking for answers to the “WHY?” question.  And I’m hoping to do this on this blog, bit by bit with probably more false leads and wrong tangents that can be imagined.  Those answers are well hidden and man’s “masters” fear their discoveries and the development of fail-safe antidotes.

I may have written this before, but it bears repeating, for comparison.  I often queried the Teachers about the state of planet earth and the Earthian mindset about the oh, so casual killing if innocents.  There is a world they call “Altaria” which by way of avoiding giving it a location they say exists in what they call “the Nexus” – the non-space-place they say, that exists between all universes.  Altaria is what some would probably call a fifth dimensional world.  El Issa, one of the Teachers, said to me: “If a single child died of preventable causes on our world, the entire world would come to a horrified stand-still and slip into universal mourning.  Nothing would happen on the world: no teaching, no business, no sleeping or eating or even talking until as one body the people had worked out the reason for this unthinkable anomaly and resolved it.  Now compare that to your world where some 40,000 children and their mothers die of completely preventable causes, i.e., deliberately condemned to death… each and every day.  This crime is of such unthinkable proportion that your Earthian mind cannot even engage it.  You live within this murderous horror day after day and you believe that by living in denial of it you can give yourself a “normal” life.  You cannot, you never will, until you put an end to this.  And before you question me on the possible: yes, you can.  We know because we had the very same problem and we ended it.  We stopped it.  That’s what you need to do: you need to stop.” 

You know this is the case, but do you know WHY men oppress women?  You know this is the case, but do you know WHY predation is a ruling force on your world?