Trauma By Favoritism: One Aspect Of "Media" Simulation Trauma Is To Stage Situations Strictly To Drive Home Who "Matters" And Who Does Not
Trauma By Favoritism: One Aspect Of "Media" Simulation Trauma Is To Stage Situations Strictly To Drive Home Who "Matters" And Who Does Not
Is It Time To Go Trans Just To Get Somebody, Anybody, To Care How We Feel?
Regarding this Tweet:
Matt Walsh’s sentence misses the point. Entirely. “Not a single person on earth” is feigning belief that this person is a woman. The trans “movement,” in 2023, has no interest in creating biological men that make convincing women. Doesn’t Walsh see this?
To understand my text, you’ll have to watch this short clip, by something called “Chek News:”
I need sympathy!
Where’s my news crew?
I cried this morning, and yesterday morning. (This part is not facetious.)
I feel myself vanishing.
This piece is for the women who read my Substack, first and foremost. Something I have long wanted to say.
Imagine being this thing, which half of us are, ie “woman,” in a time when we are being told we don’t really exist— as such.
And then watching biologically born men, with long hair, being ultra coddled about their feelings upon trying to join a gym, for “women only” and being “devastated,” because… of course!
Of course!
This “woman,” (in quotes like “HIV,” like “Covid” and like “vaccine”) could only possibly join an obscure thing called a women-only-gym.
In 2023.
Only to be “devastated” when they rejected her. Him. They. I don’t know.
Devastated, mind you. And filmed, professionally. B-roll, walking, as a devastated American. And this you are to take as a news story.
The fascistic imposition of protected globo-classes’ feelings as news story, as cause to stop the train, is an under appreciated piece of propaganda weaponry.
We women may express no aspect of being devastated over being slow-eradicated, (or maybe not so slow,) whereas origin-men, turned women, or “women,” because of the saintly act of being “trans,” get local TV news crews to follow them around to capture their every emotion, especially when they are being entirely unreasonable.
In this case: Alleged devastation, the level at which, as we all know, can only be felt… when one is… rejected by a gym. (Overtly seeking to cater to “women only.”)
MK Ultra Gets Off The Leash And Attacks Us All, All The Time
And even when we know it’s not real, it’s not news, it’s a staged operation, we nevertheless are forced to interact with it—saturation and non-consensual imposition—which is also part of their idea of fun. They just soak us in it, and one senses one one partaking in micro-degradation, maybe even as we “expose” and object.
But I’m doing it anyway.
They film each other lifting little smiling Greta at a staged coal mine protest in Germany, and tell us Greta was “detained” by police for protesting a coal mine expansion. And they still do not retract the fake news that it was a real protest. (BBC, CNN and more.) So this means, I guess, that it’s now gone next level—it’s open sadistic mockery.
It’s not even trying, to appear “real.” Why do we call it “the media?”
What should we call it?
In Ray Bradbury’s very depressing short story The Veldt, children of a wealthy couple have a nursery toy, which enables them to project wild animals into the room. The children hate their parents, for trying to turn off the simulation, and the wild animals (who are mere projections,) kill the parents.
Here’s an outtake from Bradbury story:
“Now I’m feeling persecuted,” said McClean. “Let’s get out of here. I never have cared for these damned rooms. Make me nervous.”
“The lions look real, don’t they?” said George Hadley. I don’t suppose there’s any way —”
“What?”
“— That they could become real?”
“Not that I know.”
“Some flaw in the machinery, a tampering or something?”
“No.”
They went to the door.
“I don’t imagine the room will like being turned off,” said the father.
“Nothing ever likes to die — even a room.”
“I wonder if it hates me for wanting to switch it off?”
“Paranoia is thick around here today,” said David McClean. “You can follow it likea spoor. Hello.” He bent and picked up a bloody scarf. “This yours?” “No.” George Hadley’s face was rigid. “It belongs to Lydia.”
They went to the fuse box together and threw the switch that killed the nursery.
***
The two children were in hysterics. They screamed and pranced and threw things. They yelled and sobbed and swore and jumped at the furniture.
“You can’t do that to the nursery, you can’t!”
“Now, children.”
The children flung themselves onto a couch, weeping.
“George,” said Lydia Hadley, “turn on the nursery, just for a few moments. Youcan’t be so abrupt.” “No.”
“You can’t be so cruel...”
“Lydia, it’s off, and it stays off. And the whole damn house dies as of here and now. The more I see of the mess we’ve put ourselves in, the more it sickens me. We’ve been contemplating our mechanical, electronic navels for too long. My God, how we need a breath of honest air!”
And he marched about the house turning off the voice clocks, the stoves, the heaters, the shoe shiners, the shoe lacers, the body scrubbers and swabbers and massagers, and every other machine be could put his hand to.
The house was full of dead bodies, it seemed. It felt like a mechanical cemetery. So silent. None of the humming hidden energy of machines waiting to function at the tap of a button.
“Don’t let them do it!” wailed Peter at the ceiling, as if he was talking to the house, the nursery. “Don’t let Father kill everything.” He turned to his father. “Oh, I hate you!”
“Insults won’t get you anywhere.”
“I wish you were dead!”
“We were, for a long while. Now we’re going to really start living. Instead of being handled and massaged, we’re going to live.”
Wendy was still crying and Peter joined her again. “Just a moment, just one moment, just another moment of nursery,” they wailed.
“Oh, George,” said the wife, “it can’t hurt.”
“All right — all right, if they’ll just shut up. One minute, mind you, and then off forever.”
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” sang the children, smiling with wet faces.”
Ray Bradbury, The Veldt
Bonus video:
There is no such thing as a transsexual.
Men who have cosmetic surgery and wear dresses are transvestites.
So true. It tells us exactly who matters. That may explain why in my daughter's college, her friends all identify as something other than straight females. They want to matter.
The current Trans Op checks off so many boxes for the unraveling of society. It forces us to deny physical reality, to deny what we see with our eyes, to knowingly endanger our daughters against our best instincts, to utter bizarre statements (like "my pronouns are..."), to acclimate to absurd loyalty rituals, to talk about creepy things with children, to drive a wedge between families, to put people on a pronoun-to-surgery pipeline and create permanent medical patient$, to sterilize the youth, to channel nonconformist impulses into endless silly 'identities.' I could go on and on. These are skill sets that the overlords are developing in the populace.