I get tired of all the patient 'belles of the balls' and I get tired most of all of these weak 'men' (victims of fear and gluttony, who are fond of sporting plastic feathers and enamored of plastic whistles not to mention cheap pieces of paper).

I say that it is my duty to castrate the weak males and that I can be what a good Taken In Hand woman really is, and that is a teacher. And I can serve as the royal castrator since I am the Empress. A good woman is a fire dancer and she teaches her man the ardent joys of the flesh through power and honor.

While we have achieved legal liberty we must remember what we are and what we are capable of. We must remember what we were as women and we must put aside the comical caricatures of the servant gathering wheat while the ape man clubs her over the head and drags her to the cave as she shivers with delight relieved that someone will protect her or she and her children will die. Now she feels safe even though she has chronic migraines. He-man will squirt out an alpha male and we will have a race that we now call human. Hysterical.

We women were never this and the historical rendering and misrepresentation of facts reminds me of when they reconstructed the dinosaur at the museum that had his toe attached to his nose for 50 years before anyone realized it was an error.

The lexicon of Taken In Hand women is vast and fertile. To be a Taken In Hand woman is to be a sin eater, a snake, a predator that opens her mouth wide inspiring great terror while she meticulously devours her man as she undulates and digests his sins whole. A Taken In Hand women is a foreboding woman.

A great warrior will allow himself to be fearlessly eaten in this way, and when he is inside his queen he will know the succor of his own surrender while he is boldly enfolded in a compassion that is so vast it is capable of drinking from his fountains of terror and pain, delivering him to a level of intimacy that ensures him of her unmatched bravery and fealty: she has been brave enough to trace the path of his soul into his journeys through heaven and through hell. Within her he will rest with might. She will gain the knowledge of his path of power and it will become hers and in this way, she as a woman is a multiple of daunting power.

Once can turn the notch on the control dial and in the right time and place on this planet earth it is possible that a Taken In Hand woman at the movement of her complete surrender will become what no one here has metionioned; not a docile little sprite but feral, aggressive, ruthless, a brutal mentor of the wrath.

A great man can command her so deeply that he can rearrange her chemistry and create an iron maiden of war. If he is a master at this art he will create a vessel that is untamable, a vessel that will be obeyed by an army, a goddess of terrible might. He will give her the breath of fire and men will tremble and quake when they witness the might of a woman who has become a vessel of war through the bonds of ecstasy and love. The woman that surrenders to an impeccable warrior becomes a ship that can navigate dark and unknown waters with her complex and symphonic ability to synchronize. She will carry him to unchartered ground and she will pioneer the new lands and it will be her flesh that is the amour or many.

A Taken In Hand woman is like a blade of grass that bends during a hurricane. She is elastic and when the wind calms she alone stands with emerald blade, a scythe, and the scythe of justice, a sharp blade of humility that shears weak hubris and sculpts a majestic topiary in her commandment of paradise.

Surrendering to a weak man will make him weaker. It will get you hot and it will get you off and that might be what you want. You may want to live in the virtual world the digital world of warlords and masters that can be purchased at the computer store.

What if the real war knocks on the door? What if death comes knocking? Will you look in the eye of dust and ashes? Who will be brave enough to endure the mirror of frailty? .

On this site I have read literature that far surpasses the feminist literature available. A great book is a book of motion and here we have a book of motion and one vision with many pens however this error of encouraging dominance with a prophylactic but subverting the path a man must take to dominance is as dangerous as allowing doctors to practice without a license.

To many this gentle encouragement seems to be the only plausible and kind path but many in our time have died from 'kindness'.

I believe that this is practiced because there is no longer a belief in the existence of angels and superheroes. It is a modern world of the banal and men at this point in time have no venue and no path of honor. There privilege is their enemy. The greater privilege that is not announced by the propaganda machine is the privilege of being born in a time and place of travail. From this travail once can become free.

The first man that loved my flesh was an archangel. While I was born in travail and terror I have been lucky enough to know super souls. The super souls were forged and backed in a hard clay of humility and I am one of the truly privileged to have known so many of them.

My sweetest love gave me sanctuary under his wings of white resplendent light. He was a middle child of a large family. Their eldest daughter, his sister was born sick. While they already endured the simplicity of poverty, keeping this girl alive manacled their fortunes to a great degree. They struggled so that she should survive and when she turned 18 she was shot down in the street like a common dog.

This could have destroyed this family but instead it turned them into angels and it turned my beloved into an archangel.

Brutal rape (not date rape) was an epidemic and the women suffered horrifically in our neighborhood. My beloved archangel became the neighborhood vigilantly and he became a very young man of power and he became a man who delivered peace.

One common man delivered peace to the warring gangs and stayed the rapists and thugs that were the common residents. He was known and commanded respected from every rogue, even from opposing gangs and this respect was won with his flesh in battle. He never sought battles but he vowed that no woman should be harmed in his neighborhood. This vow was carved deep in his heart and nothing would thwart what he believed was his mission. I believe he was a super soul.

I sometimes think of silly chickens like Camille Paglia and their childish rhetoric and I see my sweet archangel standing guard humbly and silently and I know that if the vainglorious clown walked into the neighborhood my sweet archangel would give her passage and pay the price with his flesh.

And she would laugh and mock him for he was less than a pig farmer. He had never slept in a bed his entire life. She could have mocked him day and night and he would not have been perturbed nor swayed, for he knew what he was and what he was meant to do and because he knew this he knew deep joy.

I told him that he should find a way to receive credit for his deeds and money as well. That day he looked at me as if I were insane! Credit? My suggestions were a profanity to him.

I was far worse off than his family so when it was Christmas these good people invited me to their shanty and they gave me the same gift they gave all their children. It was a sum of money that was ridiculously large for these people. I was illuminated. I worshiped my archangel and I revered him and adored him and I will continue to do so until the end of my days.

As time past my destiny caught up with us. There was no escaping the darkness ahead for me. I knew my archangel would lay down his life for me so I went on without him. I defended him with this act and I spared him. He could not have helped me and I knew I had to journey alone.

In the belly of hell I met great men of war who were monsters and heroes and who trained me in the extreme arts of war.

When I meet weak men (weakness = vanity, hubris and fear) it is my duty to emasculate them in honor of my sweet loves, and if they are tacky enough to impose themselves and unaware to such an extent that they step into their own noose, I am obliged to asphyxiate them with their own desires and I let them taste the terror and the beauty that I have eaten and that was both mine and that of my loves and it is the complete ecstasy and freedom that I have known which cause these pitiful souls to soil themselves.

The chain appears easier then the freedom of solidarity, and might is so alien that it represents terror. To encourage males to lead when they won no metals of honor is to enable them to be prisoners of an ego that is out of order and it is this ego, my friends that has kept humanity and women as chattel.

The Empress

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