12.02.06...

Ahh, February the 12th. Past couple years of so this day has always proved extremely...interesting. It was interesting this year as well, a lot of shocking revelations. But I wont go into that now. Seeing as I typed this up twice, and my word processor is going insane, I'd appreciate if you read the whole post, and left a comment :D Oh, and if theres weird punctuation all over the place, blame my Word Processor...

Setting: Prior to X's muslim days, he was known as Red. Here, Red is living in Harlem, New York in a building with a lot of prostitutes operating. Bear in mind that in writing this Malcolm X was still a rather angry man who blamed the whites for all his problems. He later changed, and thats why you may see a lot of unreasonable hate towards white people here..

"It was in this house that I learned more about women than I did in any other single place. It was these working prostitutes who schooled me to things that every wife and every husband should know. Later on, it was chiefly the women who weren't prostitutes who taught me to be very distrustful of most women; there seemed to be a higher code of ethics and sisterliness among those prostitutes than among numerous ladies of the church who have more men for kicks than the prostitutes have for pay. And I am talking about both black and white. Many of the black ones in those wartime days were right in step with the white ones in having husbands fighting overseas while they were laying up with other men, even giving them their husbands' money. And many women just faked as mother and wives, while playing the field as hard as prostitutes - with their husbands and children right there in New York..

I got my first schooling about the cesspool morals of the white man from the best possible source, from his own women. And then as I got deeper into my own life of evil, I saw the white man's morals with my own eyes. I even made my living helping to guide him to the sick things he wanted..

I was young, working in the bar, not bothering with these women. Probably I touched their kid-brother instincts, something like that. Some would drop into my room when they weren’t busy, and we would smoke reefers and talk. It generally would be after their morning rush - but let me tell you about that rush..

Seeing the hallways and stairs busy any hour of the night with white and black men coming and going was no more than one would expect when one lived in a building out of which prostitutes were working. But what astonished me was the full-house crowd that rushed in between, say, six and seven-thirty in the morning, then rushed away and by about nine, I would be the only man left in the house..

It was husbands - who had left home in time to stop by this St Nicholas Avenue house before they went on to work. Of course not the same ones every day, but always enough of them to make up the rush. And it included white men who had come in cabs all the way up from downtown..

Domineering, complaining, demanding ives who had just about psychologically castrated their husbands were responsible for the early rush. These wives were so disagreeable and had made their men so tense that they were robbed of the satisfaction of being men. To escape this tension and the chance of being ridiculed by his own wife, each of these men had gotten up early and come to a prostitute..

The prostitutes had to make it their business to be students of men. They said that after most men passed their virile twenties, they went to bed mainly to satisfy their egos, and because a lot of women dont understand it that way, they damage and wreck a man's ego. No matter how little virility a man has to offer, prostitutes make him feel for a time that he is the greatest man in the world. That's why these prostitutes had their morning rush of business. More wives could keep their husbands if they realised their greatest urge is to be men.>.

Those women would tell me everything. Funny little stories about the bedroom differences they saw between white and black men. The perversities! I thought I had heard the whole range of perversities until I later became a steerer taking white men to what they wanted.

Everyone in the house laughed about the little Italian fellow whom they called the 'Ten Dollar A Minute Man'. He came without fail every noontime, from his little basement restaurant up near the Polo Grounds; the joke was he never lasted more than two minutes...but he always left twenty dollars..

Most men, the prostitutes felt, were too easy to push around. Every day these prostitutes heard their customers complaining that they never heard anything but griping from women who were being taken care of and given everything. The prostitutes said that most men needed to know what the pimps knew. A woman should occasionally be babied enough to show her the man had affection, but beyond that she should be treated firmly. These tough women said that it worked with them. All women, by their nature, are fragile and weak: they are attracted to the male in whom they see strength."."

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Just to reiterate - its not ME I'm talking about in my post :p Its from The Autobio of Malcolm X. It just makes me wonder why men really do cheat. Usually we get all blame - we're all just playing around, we dont love and cherish our women, etc. That may be true for some men, but not for all. And even for those some, it may not be the only reason. It could be that the women deserve some of the blame - by not making the men feel as they need to be treated (according to their biological make-up). It seems entirely possible - we men are ego-beasts. Its very important to all men, regardless of whether they admit it or not. We need to be the protectors, etc., and thus all men want respect. When women trample their men and make them feel useless, unappreciated, is it unreasonable to expect this to happen?

Posted by illogicist at 3:14 PM