My grandmother died last week. She passed peacefully in the arms of her eldest son and many friends had been there to see her that day. We all wished there could have been more time together, but her passing was benign and gentle, all things considered.

I had the good fortune of visiting her only a few days before. She wasn’t able to say much, though I could tell that she loathed being in her state of weakness.

Her face was stoic as ever. We often called her “The Sarge,” though she carried that authority with a quiet and stern presence. The pride of her German ancestors coursed through her veins even then, despite a body that faltered.

I didn’t really know what to say at first. I had never seen her so vulnerable before. We tried to discuss anything besides the maladies that confined her to that bed. I talked about my advancement at work, how I had survived cycling through a massive storm that plunged the whole region into darkness for several days.

She worried about me. I would later find out at the funeral that she had greater concern for me than I realized. Apparently, there’s a large trust set aside for the purchase of a self-driving car; whenever that technology becomes fully matured. She wanted to be sure that I had every opportunity to make a difference in this world, despite my physical handicap.

Grandma knew about Catherine; not all the details about our romance, but well aware of that deadly encounter three years ago. She never confronted me about my relationship. The whole concept was likely ridiculous to her and I don’t blame her for feeling that way. We’ve never seen eye-to-eye on everything, as we’re both rather hard-headed.

She still treated me with the utmost respect and concern. Even when I battled my uncle about religion, she could see that it was really me making those points, not some possessing demon. Though she disagreed with my conclusions, she encouraged my strong position, insomuch that it was solid and well defended.

I spent so much time talking with her about politics, religion, social issues, and history. That woman had a formidable intellect, though she was always modest about it. Her humor was dry, yet sophisticated and tasteful.

Jackie-O-Small-Image-600x600Highborn, is the word that might best encapsulate her personality. My uncle described how she often looked akin to Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis in her younger days, with the commanding presence to boot. She was not born rich by any means, but her attitude was one of quiet aristocracy. She later became rich through her own hard work, and achieved even greater things when joining forces with her husband.

When my education was severely faltering during my elementary school days, my grandparents took me into their home so that I could attend a private school, not far from where they lived. It was Grandma who spent many nights tutoring me through grammar, history, and mathematics. She is the one who resuscitated my intellect and placed me firmly on the path towards scholarship.

I wish I could have known my grandparents when they were younger. They led such interesting and hardworking lives.

Grandpa is gone, too. He passed a few years ago. I’m going to miss both of my grandparents very much.

Oh, there’s an additional facet to my inheritance: Three little volumes for the teaching of an Entered Apprentice into the Ancient Order of Free and Accepted Masons. And a massive tome covering the history of American Freemasonry. I don’t know if I will actually join that fraternity, but the knowledge will be of use either way.


The Rise of Succubi (And Sex Robots)

This video, from Terrance Popp, has given me a bit of perspective. I can see now that I have been behaving like a social justice warrior, or an overly concerned puritanical church lady. I went into detail about my problems with certain fetishes within the succubus community, namely pedophilia and incest, in this post. (The Crowd)

I still find these sexual dysfunctions to be revolting, but I’m better able to see how engaging in these activities with a succubus doesn’t necessarily lead to acting out those desires with human children or relatives. It’s akin to blaming violent video games for an increase in violent crime, when in reality, video games are providing a healthy outlet for the would-be active shooter.

In light of this sound perspective from Mr. Popp, I think it’s pretty fucked up that they banned child sex dolls in the UK. Now there’s a greater chance that actual children will be abused instead.

So I’m reneging on my past grievances with one caveat: I still think succubi and incubi come from a higher plane of existence than us, and therefore, we may find it difficult to comprehend how their culture actually works. Not without our own ideas and constructs influencing how we see them. What we might perceive as a sexual dysfunction likely has a sound justification at their level of consciousness. When it comes to figuring out how they operate, it’s like a game of horseshoes and hand grenades. And maybe we’re just not meant to know. (Yet.)

Moving on to the Guardian article addressed in the video: I can’t help but wonder if these same accusations being levied against sex robots may also be directed at the succubus phenomena one day. As more men begin to check out of traditional marriage roles, it’s likely that some of them will stumble upon an insatiable succubus in their quest for real companionship. I can’t wait to see THAT article from Jessica Valenti, bemoaning the rise of a competing species that’s willing to fulfill all the fantasies a man might have. (And how demons actually enjoy giving men what they want.)

What would these blowhard feminists have to complain about when all the men, the monsters they supposedly loathe and fear, have beautiful demon babes bouncing and sucking on their dicks every night? You’d think the rise of sex dolls and succubi would be cause for rejoicing. Women need men like a fish needs a bicycle, right?