Minutos and the Panty

Hesiod's brother made a similar mistake. It is not a 'mistake' women make--it is in their nature. She did not discuss matters with the viejo. Instead she went to the state.

"To you, Perses, you great fool, I will speak my fine thoughts: Misery is there to be grabbed in abundance, easily, for smooth is the road, and she lives very nearby; but in front of Excellence the immortal gods have set sweat, and the path to her is long and steep, and rough at first--yet when one arrives at the top, then it becomes easy, difficult though it is."

Perses made the mistake of mistaking his own misfortune with the oikos of his brother. He, Perses, went to the gift-eater and a web of lies and violence followed. If there was a problem with the old man, what is required is that one goes to the old man. Tell him you are a man of your word and not of the panty. To be a man of the panty is a man of the great mysteries. To understand the magnetic vagina and its perpetual cloaking and denuding. But to denude this man, and to deprive this man of his own cloaking mechanism--without the panty the vagina succums to the schizoid psychosis of legibility. Yet it is claimed the vagina is a perpetual vulnerability to attacks of legibility, and worse that it seeks discovery--the penis, that which makes legible, the vagina, that which requires legibility. A woman builds her state to elude legibility, a man seeks only to tear down this state. And hence the panty as the illusion of immunity to the state. Yet the panty is in fact a beakon of legibility, a public transcript with an implicit and publicized hidden transcipt. The panty should be obvious but it is anything but obvious. It is immediate yet obscure: its alleged immediate intuition is mysterious. Hence the panty is the project of legibility--both to elude and to perpetuate--made manifest under the panoptic schism or schizoid mode of being. Woman tears down her state, yet then rebuilds the castle. Or she hides behind a single blade of grass: the thong. Verily the minuto and the panty are inauthentic modes of being: the minuto viejo sells the narcotic fantasy, which only brings a man closer to the womb of his mother. He denies the panty is a representation of anything particular, that he is external to it and immune to any curiosity of its mystery. Yet the panty is his very reason for his pursuit of the narcotic victory. He is given his medal and attempts to exchange this currency for what is not accidentally proximate: the panty store. He approaches couageously to enter the womb. He is paralysed with impotency, the state of the woman proclaims his currency inauthentic. The medals of his narcotic victory have been in vain. He denounces the panty and seeks to forever seal the entrance to the womb. Yet his pursuit of other narcotic victories will only lead to more false currencies which will again be analysed by those who have themselves instituted the fraudulence of not merely one currency but the institution fo the state and the issuance of currency itself. The fiat is the essence of woman, floating in disbelief in the cities and pulling men as if a perpetual emanation of perfume. The smell of money is that of fraudulent victory. And with this fraudulent victory man will not purchase his traversing of mystery. He will not denude the perpetual fiction of woman who de facto will not accept currency for the very reason she will not accept herself--it is a painful mirror of the delusive fraud that is her inner being, the currency merely promting the aching tug at her soul that her statehood only murders what it claims to value and protect: the tugging is infinite yet chasms of the finite penetrate the infite, until the final tug and pull and drop of the entirely fraudulent, fiat currency of the panty. A panty store: a holy cathedral of deception. And what is its operating extraction from the soul of man: the victory medal of the state, fiat currency.