/lit/ - Literature

>>14413934
>>14413636
>>14414021
>people younger than 30 yo can't really consent
>past 30 age isn't optimal for reproduction
Can people ever really consent though, even in maturity? Aren't we all guided by fate, doesn't life itself end up using us for its own purposes? What is a free choice? Can someone acting under the compulsion of a desire give in to it freely? Is resistance the only free act of will?

Women are inherently submissive to men and any healthy relationship works that way, no matter what anyone would like to tell themselves. The woman never really stops being a child and looks to the man for protection, leadership and domination; this is why taking a child bride really makes no difference, and only enables the man to raise a perfect wife, subservient to him from childhood. This is obfuscated by a thousand delusions in the modern world which stem from the weakness of modern men and the general degeneration of everything. The old ways work better for everyone's happiness, and they are the only ways to make life livable in this world, but the new ways illustrate the inherent futility and evil of the entire enterprise. The anti-pedophile witch hunt is hyprocritical because a man taking a bride of 12 years old is really not wrong according to the values of the inquisitors, when they're applied with consistence and delivered to their logical conclusions; but still they revolt because they can't help but see how disgusting it is. It's really not any less disgusting than any conventional marriage, only less obfuscated. The conspicuous foulness of pedophilic relationships makes visible the inherent foulness of all relationships; the revulsion and retreat into ever more lukewarm and twisted compromises on the actuality of conjugal love, and the failure of those compromises, draw out the futility of it all. As all systems in the material world fall to entropy and degenerate the delusory nature of it becomes ever more apparent and difficult to cling to, and the failure to renounce it in devotion to God leads only to ever deeper decline down the spiral. Pathological pedophilia, divorces and broken up homes from delusions about equality in marriage. No one is happy and hardly anyone can still achieve worldly happiness in the current state of things; the degeneration is inevitable, and every separate part breaks down in conjunction with all others, just as understanding of the truth of one part of it arises in conjunction with the understanding of other parts. Systems in nature rely on every part arising and working concurrently and opposites rely on each other.

mmmmmmmmmmmmcunnny CUNNY CUNNY CUNNY CUNNY

FUCK
CUNNY
FUCK
FUCK
CUNNY
FUCK
sweet and funny cute and cunny fluffy bunny

I want a daughterwife and I am going to do literally everything in my power to obtain one. You're all fools and refuse in my way to reaching my goal, I would murder every one of you.

It's heart-wrenching for me to re-read these.

One drop of rare honey, however, that Thursday did hold in its acorn
cup. Haze was to drive her to the camp in the early morning. Upon sundry
sounds of departure reaching me, I rolled out of bed and leaned out of the
window. Under the poplars, the car was already athrob. On the sidewalk,
Louise stood shading her eyes with her hand, as if the little traveler were
already riding into the low morning sun. The gesture proved to be premature.
"Hurry up!" shouted Haze. My Lolita, who was half in and about to slam the
car door, wind down the glass, wave to Louise and the poplars (whom and
which she was never to see again), interrupted the motion of fate: she
looked up--and dashed back into the house (Haze furiously calling after
her). A moment later I heard my sweetheart running up the stairs. My heart
expanded with such force that it almost blotted me out. I hitched up the
pants of my pajamas, flung the door open: and simultaneously Lolita arrived,
in her Sunday frock, stamping, panting, and then she was in my arms, her
innocent mouth melting under the ferocious pressure of dark male jaws, my
palpitating darling! The next instant I heart her--alive, unraped--clatter
downstairs. The motion of fate was resumed. The blond leg was pulled in, the
car door was slammed--was re-slammed--and driver Haze at the violent wheel,
rubber-red lips writhing in angry, inaudible speech, swung my darling away,
while unnoticed by them or Louise, old Miss Opposite, an invalid, feebly but
rhythmically waved from her vined verandah.

Which ones? I have a crush on Tilarna this season. Just look at this. FUCK

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK CUNNY CUNNY CUNNY FUCK CUNNY FUCK FUCK CUNNY GIVE ME CUNNY FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK TILLY CUNNY FUCK UUUAUAUAHAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhh