Monday, December 14, 2015

The Homoarchy

While we're on the subject of Jane Austen, we should take another moment to acknowledge the ways that the homosexual movement to create patriarchy was not an exclusively male endeavor. Take Austen as a suitable example: every one of her stories is a paean to abject patrilineality, devoid of romantic passion or heterosexual eros of any kind. The only sparing allusions to the fact that (non-reproductive) heterosexuality exists occur in situations such as when Lydia Bennet runs off with Mr. Wickham for a cuddle, which prompts a militant response from the family and community. Indeed, Lydia's role--that of the idiotic heterosexual--recurs throughout Austen's homosexual manifestos, in the form of demonized characters who have the gall to be interested in sex for its emotional and physical aspects, rather than because it produces heirs which guarantee inheritance. Like the nigh-mythical standards of Queen Victoria, the sexually repressive mores of the patriarchy were created as much by myopic lesbians as they were by aggressive buggers.

None of this need bear any intrinsic, inseparable relationship to homosexuality, of course, be it erotic or otherwise. J.R.R. Tolkien provides a good contrasting example to Jane Austen, for Tolkien's homoerotic narratives express mandates of service to a higher cause, and are explicitly warm-hearted toward the idea of heterosexual love and passion. Indeed, Frodo and Sam fondle one another through Mordor, but in so doing they free the world, as well as one another, from the tyranny of arch-queer Sauron (the paradigm of militant buggery and male-only societies), and in so doing bless the romantic, non-financial bonding of Sam and Rosie, Aragorn and Arwen, and a horde of other Middle-Earth relationships. Tolkien's homoerotic fantasy world, with its confused acceptance of heterosexuality, would be a decent model for homosexuals to follow.

Although Tolkien exhibits the homosexual inability to understand how heterosexual eros could possibly occur--like dark matter, he is aware of it, and can plan around it, yet isn't able to understand what it actually is or where it comes from--he transcends the ignorance of the outgroup by exhibiting genuine compassion for the sundry by-products of the ingroup, such as children, grandparents, and planting trees from which you will never enjoy the shade. Therein we see where nationalism is helpful: providing a more visceral narrative whereby the homosexual may be bonded to past and future, permitting her or him to feel genetic skin in the game vis-à-vis the nurturing of a community to which s/he is linked by close inheritance (e.g., not by adopting fashionable accessories from somewhere progressive, which is crass colonialism). The personal Tolkien made himself a part of this, and his work reflects it, evincing a genuine delight in things lying outside the realm of his own preference. To Austen, though, the next generation is unspeakably worthless, meriting zero consideration from her faux-straight playthings. Tolkien's lone male wanderers, best exemplified in Gandalf, are the benevolent patrons of delighted children, even when those children have absolutely no plot significance; Austen's children are background fixtures, far less important than a chimney-piece at Rosings Park.

Clearly, Austen's homoarchy is of a decidedly different sort. All of Austen's main characters have female pillow-friends who fill their hearts with childish eroticisms prior to marriage, and/or extremely strong physical bedtime relationships with their sisters. Austen's own homosexuality, though, is immaterial to the discussion. In the pudgy hills of England, her post-menopausal teenagers scheme and maneuver for cash and position, paying lip service to marrying for "love," yet without ever once succumbing to a sudden kiss, a heated longing, or even a tingling brush-by in the hallway. Their dancing is a metaphor for gold and position, rather than physical courtship and true love--everything that Jack and Rose tried to escape on the Titanic by visiting the Irish party in the lower decks. Austen's version of "love" is not love, but a word which plays substitute for "fiscal and conversational utility." Ergo Marianne's wise decision to ignore her heart and loins (to both of which Austen gives clumsy, indirect reference), cast aside Willoughby, and give herself in possession to the much older Colonel Brandon. Estate size and conversational compatibility is, to Austen and the generations influenced by her, "love," and when Austen lays down pages of agonizing prose on the subject of whom to choose in marriage, it is clear that she either is unfamiliar with human love, or willfully seeks to pervert the meaning of the term.

The Sexual Revolution was fought against Austen as much as against anyone else. The innumerable lies and hypocrisies of the moral code propounded by the (homo-inspired) Anti-Sex League received their (albeit hypocritical and dangerous, as later years showed) outing in due course. Yet, due to the patrilineal inheritance system exploited by Austen and her ilk for destroying heterosexual bonding and replacing it with cold, homosexual, reproductive calculations--and the then-current necessity of the heterosexual act of insemination to produce future financial pawns--her callous LGBTQ hate-screeds came to be associated with heterosexuality. Quelle surprise. And what do you think the mitosic warlords will do to the meiotic romantics once their stem cell collections free them from the vulgar requirement of permitting flighty women to maintain their own onsite wombs?

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