Starzel, p.14
Starzel, page 14
As the security guards escorted the new students and me onto the bus, their eyes briefly met the stoic statue. Each guard, six in total, bore the physical remnants of their past battles fought within the cage. Their tight uniforms accentuated their muscular frames, but their expressions betrayed a mix of fear, sorrow, and pain. Once the students settled into their seats, the guards stood alongside the bus, awaiting the arrival of the enigmatic leader they revered.
Just as the bus driver, James, approached, a slender woman adorned in a suit jacket and an oversized tie emerged from the crowd, with her small dog on a lead that matches her tie. Dr. Seraphina Pelosi, as she introduced herself, commanded attention with her bright tapestry of colored makeup and sparkling gold glitter. The overpowering smell of grassy, cut flowers fills the bus, burns my nose, and waters my eyes. Her appearance resonated with the resplendent hues that adorned the statue itself.
A broad smile graced Dr. Pelosi's lips as she addressed the apprehensive group of students. "Welcome to The School of Romance, boys," she declared with confidence, her voice cutting through the air. "Today, you embark on a transformative journey to become well-trained men in our society of women. Over the next four months, through rigorous training and testing, we will guide you away from your primitive instincts and mold you into men who understand and honor women's desires. Like horses, dogs, and men, you too shall shed your wild ways and become civilized under the tutelage of women. Men need to be taught when to walk, run, sit, shit, play, work, and, of course, when to cease fighting and attempting rape. Women will do this for you.”
After this brief speech, she steps out of the bus, the driver enters and in a minute we are underway. The men are quiet and their faces look straight ahead.
“You are all good men,” I say. “There is nothing wrong with any of you.”
The driver hits the brakes, causing the bus to jerk and when James catches my attention in the rearview mirror, he says, “I won’t have that sort of talk on my bus. Keep it quiet.”
Though James asked for quiet, I feel obligated to explain and help these men. “You’ve been tainted and brainwashed by a society of women to feel inferior and subjugated to believe that you are genetically damaged. But you are a miracle from birth. Over the last one hundred thousand years in the history of humankind, it has always been men. Survival has been accomplished by the strength and ingenuity of men. The discovery of medicines, shelter, farming, technology, society, and every aspect of life that improved our existence has been brought about and is the result of men. The only value of women is the incubation of children to further the gene pool.”
“If you don’t stop this heresy, I will call the androps,” the driver holds his phone out for me to see. His voice is nervous but stern. The men are fidgeting and uncomfortable, but not one of them turned to look in my direction. No one made a sound.
“I will say just once more and then I will be quiet until we arrive . . . wherever you’re taking us,” I say. “You are miracles from birth, every one of you has the power of the universe within.”
For the next several minutes, as the bus makes its way through the streets of Santa Monica, silence fills the space. Were it not for the sounds of the road grinding under the wheels, a few squeaks of metal against metal, and the whir of passing vehicles, the bus was still and quiet. When at last we arrive at the destination James opens the door and points and says, “Straight up this trail about two hundred feet and just over the rise you’ll see the statue of Hera. The dean of our school, the woman who spoke to you earlier, will meet you there. No talking!” He looks at me. “Just go there and listen to her and only her words mean anything.”
As we gathered at the statue of Hera, the dean, Dr. Pelosi greeted us with a warm smile, acknowledging each of us individually. We formed a line, standing side by side, facing the imposing figure of the ancient goddess.
"Alright, everyone," Dr. Pelosi began, her voice filled with a conversational tone that drew us in. "Let's dive into our first lesson. Today, we're going to talk about marriage and how it has been used throughout history to tame men."
"Hera, the Ancient Greek goddess of marriage, was quite the character," she continued, chuckling lightly. "She had a reputation as 'The Tamer.' It wasn't just horses and heroes she tamed; she aimed to subdue all that wildness and freedom."
Leaning in a little closer, as if sharing a secret, "Now, Hera had a bag of tricks when it came to taming. Marriage was her go-to tool. She'd yoke men and women together, binding them in the institution. And let me tell you, she had quite the way of enticing people to conform."
She paused, letting her words sink in. "If anyone dared to rebel, Hera would unleash her arsenal of shaming and aggressive punishments. Even her husband Zeus wasn't spared from her wrath. No one was safe."
Pointing at the statue, the dean remarked, "You see that yoke there? That's Hera's symbol, representing her desire to turn beasts and men into mere utilities. She wanted obedient men tied to their wives, ensuring they'd be subservient. And heroes? Well, she had a special treat for them too. They were yoked to an inevitable fate. Death. All their labor and sacrifices were for the betterment of women and society."
"Now, let me share a little tidbit from the Iliad," the dean said, lowering her voice slightly. "In some tales, Hera tamed heroes through death, not marriage. It was believed that sacrificing themselves for others was the 'right' thing for men to do. It's a concept that has persisted throughout history."
Aloof, she concluded her lesson, the dean's expression softened, and she met our gazes with empathy. "So, here we are, ready to explore these dynamics, challenge norms, and find our own paths. Remember, this is just the beginning. We have much more to discover together."
The conversational tone of the dean's delivery made the students feel engaged and eager to delve deeper into the complexities of gender roles and relationships. I stood there, absorbing the lessons, knowing that this was just the start of a transformative journey. As she speaks, I sense the swelling of her ego and I smell the serotonin increase in her perspiration. Joy and gratitude drive her voice to a higher pitch and she has to rein in her energy so to speak clear and precise.
She motions for us to kneel down before her and the statue. Then she goes a few steps away to stand beside the statue.
DESPITE MY BETTER JUDGMENT and a growing dislike for this school of romance, I take a knee. Considering my options to escape and run away or to stay, I know neither of these serves my purpose. It is time for me to take a necessary chance at being exposed as a humanoid. I must find the missing data or the entire universe will erase humankind from the matrix. I push my hand inside the front pocket of my blouse and find the small destiny stone. My fingers brush the soft velvet wrapping and trace the thin cord that binds the velvet in place. Is this the time and place to open the package? Is there nothing else to do? As the giant of a man told me when he gave me this, magic package. ‘You will know when it is time to use the magic because there will be nothing else that needs to be done.’
In a very loud shout, “Boys! Hear me now and remember my words until the day you die.” She kisses the hand of the statue. Hera’s arm extended down from the giant sculpted in stone with the back of her hand poised in expectation of pledged loyalty and allegiance.
“Once upon a time, a mother who wanted to see the beautiful statue of Hera had no oxen or horses to carry her there. But she did have two sons. And the sons wanted more than anything to make their mother’s wish come true. They volunteered to yoke themselves to a cart and take her over the mountains in the scorching heat to the faraway village of Argos, the home of the statue of Hera (the wife of Zeus). Upon their arrival in Argos, the sons were cheered and statues (that can be found to this day) were built in their honor. Their mother prayed that Hera would give her sons the best gift in her power. Hera did that. The boys died. The traditional interpretation? The best thing that can happen to a man is to die at the height of his glory and power. The statues and cheers can be seen as bribes for the sons to value their lives less than their mother’s request to view a statue. The fact that the statue was of Hera, the queen of the Olympian gods and protector of married women is symbolic. The sons’ sacrifice symbolized the mandate for men to become strong enough to serve the needs of mothers and marriage and to be willing to call it glory if they died in the process.
“Yes these are myths, but on this topic, life had a way of imitating art. Those who wrote the stories were drawing on experience to some extent, and married couples re-enacted the selfsame rituals of Hera and Zeus. In the marriage month (February) the mythical marriage of Hera and Zeus is reenacted and celebrated with public festivities, a time when many couples get married in imitation of the divine couple. On these occasions, prayers and offerings are given to Hera, and the bride pledges fidelity to extend Hera’s dominion on Earth.”
The men next to me bow their heads as the dean motions with her hand and extended finger. Not me though, I don't bow. I want to watch her as she finishes this lecture.
“By dint of a peculiar intersection of social beliefs, women came to be viewed as perfected from birth – due largely to the fact that through the Catholic, Christianity veneration of the Virgin Mary became amplified in the eleventh century and, by extension, the reverence bestowed upon the Virgin was extended to the female sex in general. As Mary was perfect, so too became all women.
“No longer like the Biblical Eve striving to imitate the Mother of Christ, a woman becomes Mary’s counterpart on earth, and thus the cult of the “lady” is born as a mirror of the cult of the Virgin. Men for their part remain in a thoroughly fallen state like Adam while striving to imitate Jesus – knowing full well they will fall short of the goal. To enjoy the company of a lady a man must now prove himself worthy of her and so advance upward, step by step, toward a culminating union at her level; because everything noble and virtuous, everything that makes life worth living, proceeds from women, who are the source of goodness itself.
“With the advent of women becoming men’s moral superiors, we must recognize men are the servants of women. It’s here in our school the reciprocal service previously entertained between the sexes begins and teaches gynocentrism. As the faithful owed obeisance to The Virgin, henceforth man must render his obeisance to the Virgin’s earthly counterparts. As it has been for a thousand years in this age of ‘Lady’ women are viewed through the lens of the feudal contract whereby she became his overlord, and he the vassal in dutiful service. It is a woman whose role is to civilize the depraved, fallen creature called man by teaching him the gynocentric virtues of chivalry and courtly love.
“The belief that morally superior women should enculture men into the arts of chivalry and gentlemanliness for the benefit of women. This is our purpose at the School of Romance. It is our mission.
“Lifelong feminist and former National Organization for Women member, Tammy Bruce, provides the lessons that you boys will learn to follow and pledge to die for. What she feels is the time-honored power of women; of being morally superior to men includes the feminist responsibility to civilize men’s animalistic tendencies.
“Another glorious feminist, Christina Hoff-Sommers agrees with this idea that men need to be civilized and you boys will learn her methods of chivalric manners. Masculinity with morality and civility is a very powerful force for good. But masculinity without these virtues is dangerous—even lethal. Chivalry is grounded in a fundamental reality that defines the relationship between the sexes, and given that most men are physically stronger than most women, men can overpower women at any time to get what they want. If women give up on chivalry, it will be gone. If boys can get away with being boorish, they will, happily. Women must stop this and establish feminism as the social norm in its place.”
As Dr. Pelosi's speech stirred conflicting thoughts within me, I grappled with the clash of ideologies and the deep-rooted problems presented. The desire to confront these issues and strive for change fought against the urgency of my true mission. The imminent threat of humankind's erasure compelled me to set aside the ideological battle for now, knowing that the immediate task of finding the missing data demanded my full attention. This sick and evil ideology might be evidence of the missing data and the change underway within the Universe. I must hurry or soon all of humanity will erode and plunge into obscurity worse than feminism.
As I weigh the options in my mind, a clear and resolute course of action emerges. The right path forward is to wait until our return to the school and then execute a calculated escape under the cover of night. The certainty of this decision settled within me.
Chapter 6, All Caged In
Throughout the short twenty-minute bus ride from the statue of Hera to the School of Romance, I preached to them. After several minutes into my rant, James the bus driver, is on his phone. I took it from him and smashed it under the heel of my boot.
Man-taming by women, from Ancient Greece to the present day, represents a challenge for us to overcome. Nothing has changed; the chivalric servitude of men, trained into them by women (yes, and by men too), remains the order of the day. The one timeless voice echoing through all this is the monomyth of the animal-trainer – womankind and her pussy whip.
“With the continuing encouragement of women to be slavemasters, and their enthusiasm to take on the role, is it any surprise that the majority of horse and dog training schools – obedience classes – are peopled by women? That so many little girls desire to possess their own pony is a no-brainer, and it’s time we woke up to what this expensive little pastime symbolizes – the racing of horses may be the sport of Kings, but the training of ponies is for the delight of princesses.
“Emasculate men and you set the universe against humanity. The code of the universe feeds the weak to the strong. The natural balance of existence is duality. Humanity is man and woman not in opposition but in step. Each makes the other stronger. But if the natural order is augmented by feminizing men then the code will devour the error in favor of creating an improved experience of The Self.”
Three of the men watch me and nod. But James cautions them, “You don’t want to get tangled up in his lunacy.”
“In a modern ‘enlightened’ society,” I say. “It’s high time to ditch the idea that males, and only males, need taming. Let’s instead rely on men’s natural human empathy, a thing that exists in both sexes before the training begins. If you see a baby boy begin crying after he hears another baby crying nearby, it’s a demonstration of empathy that is there from the start. Like girls, boys develop mirror neurons that predispose them to be caring as they develop – we don’t need to see them as heartless beasts in need of taming, curtailing, or genitally maiming. So let’s cease with the gynocentric boot camp for males; they are already trained from the start by their own good natures – yes, men are good.”
When James slams on the brakes and comes to a stop I’m thrown forward into the windscreen. His eyes contact mine and I see his anger and disdain for me. The door opens and the screams of fright and terror, mixed with shrill dog barks from outside the bus, blast in on my ears. Shaken by the jolt, curious by the screams and barks, I walk down the three steps at a cautious inquisitive pace and exit the bus.
What is the terror and horror causing these women to scream in hysteria?
At first glance, I see there are about thirty or more women with several pet dogs on leads and a few with birds perched on their shoulders, they are gathered in groups of four to five on either side of a walkway. The groups of women are each in various states of panic and stress. Dr. Seraphina Pelosi in the center of the walkway, just below a banner over the front door of the school: Welcome New Students. She looks at me and shouts, “Do something boy!” I follow her shivering pointing a finger to look at a coughing woman. Brutal, chest-caving coughs are robbing her need to inhale a breath. I run to her but just a step before the indoctrination guard, also running at full stride to her aide, blindsides and shoves me away.
Face down and out of balance, I slide across the fresh-cut, short blades of sharp green grass that fill the ground around the School of Romance. When I roll over and look up at the clouds as they gathered in the darkening sky, the scent and the taste of dust and rain intertwined and compete on the wind, creating an atmospheric dance that foretold an imminent storm.
Pushing myself up and rising to my feet I see three more women in the same condition of uncontrolled, brutal coughing. As I gather myself and straighten my body, clothes, and my wits, I see the woman closest to me is now coughing and spitting blood. As fast as it started, her struggle ends. The women scream in panic and tears stream from their bewildered faces coupled with expressions of horror.
“She’s dead. My god, she’s dead!”
The emergency team burst onto the scene but despite fever-paced efforts, one by one the three other women die. “This virus, epidemic, whatever it is. It’s killing people faster than the frontline of the war with Texarkana and Mexico,” says the indoctrination guard.
The six guards gather by the front doors of the school and engage in a quiet conversation. One of them, the one who seems to be telling the rest, points his finger at James. He’s standing beside his bus, leaning onto the front wheel housing sobbing and blubbering about the shame that nothing could be done for the women. Then the indoctrination guard, still talking with an expression full of condemnation, points to the five new students who have gathered together in a tight huddle about twenty feet away. They look scared and sheepish, with no direction and no ability to think for themselves. But then, as I look back at the six indoctrination guards, the finger points, and their eyes are now on me.
