neve erom diputs tihs

In the Epic of Gilgamesh, the namesake hero refuses having sex with the beautiful goddess, Inanna; she commands him to perform for her, rousing every fibre of manhood in Gilgamesh, whom, as with a flash of heavenly strength, declines the glorious offer made to him, the naked flesh of the sex-goddess herself... Only a hero of masculinity could turn down Inanna, for masculinity is as much the ability to contain oneself as it is to set free oneself... Gilgamesh thence becomes a true hero, master of his own faculties, for he disciplines himself and he does not throw himself to any woman, not even goddesses... But heed though that there is no glee nor is there spite or resentment fuelling mighty Gilgamesh; as he does not want it, neither do I want to strangle the women I appreciate, for he surely appreciated exuberant Inanna, fierce goddess of sex and war and love, the storm of untethered femininity! No, I do not like brutality, and I do not like molestation nor assault. In my dreams, I beat rapists to death with blunt objects. In fact, it all frightens and repulses me: I for one would not like to carry the yoke of barbarity into the new century, and I would prefer to leave the heredity of unrestrained primitivity behind - lest I become devoured: I am a kind and soft soul; I would not slash any throat even in the blackest of thunderous tantrums; no disappoinment, no betrayal nor the painful fading of loves' flickering flame would prompt such murderous lunacy in me; I am not the fist of misogynistic hatreds and violences – rather the opposite, and my striving for the opposite it ardent, since I intensely loathe the haters of women; surely at the end of days before the tribunals of purgatory they shall have their mouths bent open and they shall drink the piss from the judges of the apocalypse... and these contemplations take my mind hostage – a trance which is broken with the merest smiles of my berry-picking cohorts, whom I forget and rediscover by the minute...