Conquer

Conquer: (v) to overcome and take control of

I have actually lived long enough to be in a society where seemingly intelligent and even well-educated men are bragging about how high their testosterone numbers are.

That is because, as a people, we have embraced the notion that conquering is achieved by domination.

If that were so, there would still be a Roman Empire. No one ever put together a more formidable force or intimidating presence than Rome.  funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

But eventually they were dominated and therefore, conquered.

Yet enduring throughout all that shifting and shaping, the simple words of a Nazarene carpenter not only survived, but prospered–becoming arguably the most powerful message on Earth.

It all spawned from the notion that it is possible, and even necessary, to be more than a conqueror.

A conqueror, as he monitors his testosterone level, is only content when he is dominating and victorious.

But to be more than a conqueror is to find ways to be useful, powerful and on point–even when the strength and authority is not in your control.

This is the message that will survive all the huffing and puffing of the big, bad wolves.

This is the brick house of hope.

It is the principle which states that merely conquering people does not change them to your way of thinking.

So gradually changing them to your way of thinking is perhaps the only way to truly conquer.

 

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Chartreuse

Chartreuse: (n) a color between yellow and green

Tolerance is a good thing.

Acceptance–admirable.

Inclusion, divine.

There’s no doubt about it.

But by the same token, if you happen to be heterosexual, you don’t want to be gay. And I would assume those who are gay might be slightly offended at the notion
of being heterosexual.

Maybe it’s the remnants of prejudice–the ignorance of the masses being played out–but certain actions, choices, mannerisms and even speech patterns hint toward effeminacy.

We are still sensitive. Oh, we may march in the Gay Pride Parade, openly spouting that we don’t care if anyone thinks we’re part of the gang. But then–if someone actually does assume that we are of that persuasion, we are quick to whisper, “I’m just here to be supportive.”

With that in mind, I have been tempted from time to time to refer to something as “chartreuse.” The word nearly fell from my lips in a room filled with blue jeans, t-shirts and five o’clock shadows. Just in the nick of time, I pulled back and said, in my deepest basal tone, “You know. Kind of between yellow and green.”

In doing so, I removed any suspicion from the testosterone-driven gathering that I might be … well, gay.

You see, I don’t want to be gay. Honestly, I don’t like to think about being gay. I think it is possible to be tolerant without possessing total understanding of a situation.

So even though it may not be politically correct, I will tell you that I occasionally catch my hands on my hips and quickly remove them, am very careful at how I glance down at my fingernails, and certainly would not call a football jersey “chartreuse.”

 

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Barren

Barren: (adj) unproductive and infertileDictionary B

In case you do not understand that we live in a world of misogyny, you must take into consideration the word “barren.” It is a term that we normally associate with a woman who is incapable of conceiving a child.

Matter of fact, it is one of the three “B words” applied to the female of our species to degrade them and make them seem hopelessly dysfunctional in everyday life, and of course, incapable of leadership.

Barren Bickering Bitches.

These are the three “B’s” that are tied to our ladies to create a snicker in the testosterone-driven world, and to confirm our assertion that women are best when beating a path between the bedroom and the kitchen.

We never say that a man who has dead sperm is “barren.” He is just “unable to make babies” or has a shortage of some chemical in him which can be assisted by medication.

But darned tootin’–if a woman has an unwilling uterus, she is both unproductive and infertile, thus barren.

Men debate. Women bicker.

Men object. Women bitch.

There is a systematic bigotry instilled into our society, not just by the penis crowd, but also propagated by enough vaginas to keep it alive and functioning.

So every time I hear the word “barren” I see a woman in the desert, panting for water … while simultaneously wishing that she could conceive a baby.

 

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Anatomy

dictionary with letter A

Anatomy: (n) — the branch of science concerned with the bodily structure of humans, animals and other living creatures, especially as revealed by dissection.

“To thine own self be true.”

I think the quote is attributed to Shakespeare.

Pursuing that path of candor, let me tell you that I often do a terrible job keeping up with my own anatomy.

For a season in my life, I went to the doctor regularly, as good Americans should do. It is also the only passage of time when I went to the hospital, took tons of medication and became overly concerned about my mortality.

It is also my understanding that normal people go to the dentist every six months for a good check-up. Fearing your condemnation, I must honestly inform you that I go to the dentist if I have a toothache.

It’s not that I fail to respect the complexity or fragile nature of my human anatomy. I am fully aware that disease, conditions and difficulties can arise without my knowing it from merely peering in the mirror. Cancer can even be growing in my body at this moment without me having placed an order or granting permission.

It’s just that I’ve reached a certain age … where I’ve reached a certain age.

What I mean is that in some ways I have exceeded my expectation for longevity, believing at one time that by now I certainly would have taken the “Great Leap” into the abyss.

But I haven’t.

And I do know that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life discussing medications, consulting with my doctor or going onto web sites to track my symptoms.

What do I want from my anatomy? What do I desire my body to do for me?

1. Respond to my actions.

If I eat a double pepperoni pizza, my body is allowed to have revulsion over the concept. But if I eat well, I certainly anticipate quid pro quo.

2. Help me to exercise sufficiently for a man my age without believing that a shot of testosterone will turn me into a twenty-five-year-old male stud.

3. Be so kind as to warn me before killing me.

Yes, if my body would just send an eviction notice, giving me thirty days to “raise the rent,” I would greatly appreciate that.

4. Help me learn how to do “me” better.

I’m not telling you I will never go to a doctor. But case in point: upon arriving at a car dealership, it is very difficult to leave with your old vehicle without somebody trying to either replace it or update it.

The same is true with medicine. They are good at what they do, so they find things wrong with us.

It’s just that if it isn’t a “sickness unto death,” well … maybe I don’t need to know.

 

 

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