Another one from The Buried Giant:
Those weathered women with their flapping rags were once innocent maidens, some possessing beauty and grace, or at least the freshness that will often serve as well in a man’s eye.
Desperate men lower their standards. That one is a well-worn platitude to be sure. At his current point, Christián will take most any creature with a cunt to compensate his enforced chastity. Hah! Enforced! The purpose of the quote is not to berate Christián’s methods, but to illustrate desperation. The roots of this necessity for a mate, no matter how brief, has its root in fear of solitude. The longing for sexual release is a deeper affliction. And, in many cases, it is eventual mental ruination.
In the novel, Gawain encounters these weathered women on the road to his life-task. At one (or several) point(s), he wanders if one of them is the lass he aided to her vengeful goal ages ago on the same (or similar) road. That lass was an old woman in a nubile girl suit. He should have just done her, slain her and let the memory retreat into the void. The weathered women curse him for never achieving his goal and therefore allowing the breath of forgetfulness freely roam the land. Distributing blame is a womanly hobby, especially distributing blame for events that occur naturally by no force of (especially) any particular man.
Perhaps his task is foolish to begin with? Or maybe meaningless? or pointless? The breath of forgetfulness waxes and wanes but is never snuffed out. All these women know is that they have forgotten the details and thus the importance of their lives. They are left to hurl clumps of mud at a impotent symbol of change. Gawain is an old man, so an impotent, mortal and fading agent of change. As we, as a species, are but a temporary blight on the fertile earth, Gawain is but a temporary irritation to the flux of the breath of forgetfulness.
Enduring those clumps of mud is the curse of a lasting relationship. Culture has marinated our minds in the idea that women should be cared for. Fucking white knight syndrome. To watch them during the last century rise from this oppression brings me almost to a smile. It most likely appears more like a grimace, though. Some have raised themselves above the quivering fright of Victorian hangover, surely, but few have discarded all its benefits.
And those pusillanimous white knights perpetuate the madness!
Every nubile wench, if not justifiably hacked to pieces and tossed like chum to fishes, becomes a dessicated hag. They find their clumps of mud within less than satisfactory pasts they can hardly even recall. Vapours from forgotten times taint any immediacy. These parched skin bags inhabit the opposite of Zen, feeding on perfumes afoul with eidolons. These feelings spawn resentment and rage. Who is the target? He is the enduring figure who carried her in his arms through the torment of receding beauty. Poor sap.
Growing old with another brings happiness. Or so another cultural more states. In my experience, I’ve seen bent old men enduring the undeserved wrath of crones. The minutes of pleasure diminish from an encompassing sphere to a singularity. The broken man floats on the outside but the crone remains within. May she suffocate. It’s no wonder so many men are seen pursuing endless projects during the twilight years. They are scrabbling at the thickening atmosphere to punch holes for air. In out in out in out. This time, just breathe.
Someone told me that the oldest profession is prostitution. It’s the only proper profession for a woman. Pools of prostitutes can be assigned to the rich and poor alike. Some politicians pine for a static income for all citizens. Not a bad idea, really, but even better to round up all the wenches, place them in programs to get um off the couch and into shape. Organise them and distribute them in waves, morphing for variety, to the rich and the poor alike. For every man, a cleft can facilitate needed release with no strings attached.
Implement any necessary means to diminish the intelligence of females to a harmless level. Lobotomies are a start. Selected breeding comes next.
We need to get this show on the road.
Fuck um.
