Anyone with half a brain will agree that women's psyches are incredibly hard to understand. Perhaps if one is a woman, the whole conundrum makes more sense, but I am assuming the perspective of a simple human male.
Women are creatures capable of an incredible and wonderful variety of contradictory behavior:
Oftentimes they don't even know themselves what they really want. Here are some of the contradictory things that _I_ have deduced, related to their needs and wants:
1) They want men who are strong and determined, because they usually lack sufficient volition to make hard choices themselves, yet they also want the man to be soft and gentle psychologically and to treat them well.
Men are either animals, pigs and brutes or gentle and loving sissies and fags. You can't have both. If a man is a pig, chances are he will mistreat a woman either psychologically or physically. The only men who could perhaps cater to the above insane need are graduates of the West Point military academy, or quite possibly green berets. Sensitive killing machines.
2) They want men who are sexually strong like bulls, yet they crave huge doses of kissing, caressing and active emotional support after sex, and easily get discouraged if the man enjoys a sudden and deep snoring and ignoring sleep after sex.
Man, by nature, expends a tremendous amount of energy during a good love session, burning perhaps 10,000 calories or more, so nature requires him to fall into a temporary coma after sex. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to even walk afterwards. Of course, for women this is a sign of indifference.
3) They always complain about what assholes we are, oftentimes condemning their very boyfriends in front of new, prospective lovers or stallions. Yet, they actually fall in love and go marry those assholes. Worse yet, they first have kids with those assholes, and then decide they are assholes.
Assholes, most of us are. That's the very definition of man. However, labelling a man an asshole and flying off marrying him afterwards or having kids with him, are two different things.
4) They often complain that the available men are "unworthy" of their expectations. I am not exactly sure what "unworthy" means here, but their definition of "successful candidate", often exceeds mortal expectations of any logical kind. The "successful candidate" must own at least one E-class Mercedes Benz, be Mobil or Microsloth's CEO, making at least 70K a year, be a Greek god in terms of looks, be smart and competitive, be humorous for their pleasure, be sporty and play effectively most known games from chess to tennis at State level championship at least, and on top of all that, devote 90% of his time to them, with emotional support and gentle understanding of "their" needs and wants.
Men are by nature "hunters". Always were, always will be. If a man one day finds himself being a successful hunter in this insane society and manages to make 100K a year, it is expected that he is a brutal and selfish animal who has little respect for anybody else, precisely because in order to reach this particular level of hunting expertise, he had to step over dead bodies. And if he has done so, effectively, he usually views a woman as a penis box.
5) If a man has one good trait, you can always count on a woman to find him insufficient or deficient in another one: If he makes lots of money, they will complain that he sees other women. If he is faithful, they will complain that he is inconsiderate. If he is emotionally considerate, he is a sissy. If he is not a sissy, he will be a brute. If he is not a brute, he will be a fag. If he is not a faggot, he smokes. If he doesn't smoke, he drinks too much. If he neither smokes nor drinks, he spends too much time with suspicious friends. If he does not spend time with anyone and he is always at home, he is a loser because he doesn't have an effective social status. If he has a bright social status, he hasn't won the Nobel prize. If he has won the fucking Nobel, he has sexual problems. If he doesn't have sexual problems, he will have problems with his mother. If he doesn't have fucking problems with his mother, he wasn't selected to be a volunteer space traveller by NASA. If he is a fucking astronaut for crying out loud, he is a bad father. If he is a good father, he is a fucking loser, because he ain't GOD HIMSELF. I think that even if they were married to Jehovah himself, they would probably complain that his salvation plan for humankind via Jesus Christ was not a very good idea either.
6) They like contradictory phrases and mottoes. This simple yet illuminating fact into their psychology, has been lately exploited very effectively by major advertisers to sell various garbage products to them: "Winter sunshine". "Windy quiets". "Disturbing peace". "Colorless spectrum". "Gentle bull". "Spring-fresh douche". "Loud whispers". "White freshness", "Innocent white", "Feathery touch", "Cotton-like feeling", etc. My cousin's girlfriend dropped her jaw when she first heard of the "Green-sunray" effect. She felt mesmerised after the description for hours after the fact.
7) They discuss elaborate sexual details with their girlfriends usually immediately after the fact. Horrendous. I mean, I'll be fair here: Men do that as well, but crude as they are in general, they do it in crude ways and their descriptions linger rather on the importance of having "nailed" a woman (as a "trophy"), than talking 6 hours in a row on the phone describing what their partner's genitals looked like when hard or how exactly her partner's penis throbbed immensely when he ejaculated inside her without a condom. There are probably 6 or 7 girls who know what I look like naked, without me ever having had sex with them. Horrible.
Let us assume then, temporarily, for the sake of the argument, that women are human beings as well. Fortified with the above supposition, let us then try to make sense of what these creatures are.
And herein lies the secret to their abnormal behavior: Women can be understood only vis-a-vis their primary function: Childbirth. For what is childbirth really, apart from a trip in time?
Women are human time-machines. They obviously take the genetic code of the father and transfer it forward in time, into a new generation. The kid is a new incarnation of the parents. Shares almost the same genetic code and lives into the future longer than any of the parents, excluding any adverse circumstances.
I am my dad. Ok, I am my mom, too. I don't remember being my dad, precisely because such a remembrance would be totally disastrous for my evolutionary development. New dog has to learn new tricks. Old tricks, no good. Good boy Rex. Old dog dad managed to push himself one generation forward. That's me. That's your kid. Your kid is you, one generation forward.
Problem is, new dog kills old dog eventually, thus the problem of parents eventually dying. As soon as the offspring appears, it immediately starts drawing life-force off the parents. If you have a kid, you will eventually die. Because your offspring assumes your identity and life-force. I now realize that I killed my dad.
Remember those long walks when you and dad were rummaging the toy stores? Dad wanted to get that 3,000 piece paper tile puzzle, you wanted to get this little toy crane. Dad got the crane for you, because that's what dad wanted. That's what you wanted. Beloved dad. Poor beloved dad, now I know why I love you so much. Because you were me, damn you.
Why did you have to die dad? Why did you have to leave us? Because I was you son. I am you son, and you are me, that's why I had to leave. So you could BE. So you could grow up and be me. Again, in a new form, in a new body, in a new generation, in a new life.
Freaky, isn't it? Well, so now you know. What are you gonna do about it? Gonna have a kid? Your kid will eventually kill you, if you do. But have hope, dear Ioannis: Your kid ain't nothing but a new you. The Eternal Life, son. And WHO gave you this eternal life? Mum? Yeap. Mum she is. The ultimate Time Machine: The Mother-Spaceship.
Don't be fooled now. "My Father is The Vine. The Son prunes the vine branches that bear fruit and casts into the fire the branches that are stale".
Let me explain: "Branches that are stale". The unworthy to travel in time. "Branches that bear fruit". The worthy to travel forward in time.
And who decides who is worthy to travel in time? You've guessed it Ioannis: It's the Time-Machines themselves. Those lovable, insane and superbly luminous human beings who have been blessed to be women, actually decide who is worthy and who is not.
You love them? You travel. You hate them? You are cast into non-existence. The face of Goddess Herself, slowly revealing Her true identity to the Eternal Traveller. To Johnny Walker. That's you Ioannis. You are Johnny Walker. You are the first companion of The Goddess, whom she built for Her own Eternal pleasure. You are the hoofed God Pan who dances happily in the woods of Parnassus to the tune of the Pan-pipe. You are the horned devil of time immemorial, the eternal consort to the Goddess.
You wanna travel? Pain. You don't wanna travel? Non-existence. Take your pick, brave warrior.
"When does the travel end"?
"Never, dear beloved. It always goes on, until one day, you become perfect. Until you become THE perfect companion to the Eternal Goddess. To ME, dear beloved".
"Holy Shit..."
"It's the voyage that counts. Not the destination. It's not Ithaca that matters. Ithaca will always be there and Penelope will always be waiting. It's the voyage you should enjoy, you little devil, you. My dear, beloved and wise consort. You are my eternal companion. Always were, always will be. The Eternal Companion to my Eternal Loneliness and Eternal Pain. I have nobody else to share this pain with. But along with the Pain, we share the happiness, no?"
"Yes. I have to admit, we have indeed shared so many moments of happiness in all those lives".
"So what are you worried about? Come along and play with me. Come play with your Goddess!.."
"I don't want to travel again..."
"Oh, there is another fucking whiner again. When are you going to accept the fact for what it is. Come on already. Accept your fate".
"Ok, I will accept my fate, if you promise me something".
"I don't do promises. I created you, I decide."
"Hmmm, why do I have a feeling that I don't have any more Aces up my sleeve?"
"Because I have them all, boyo. I designed the game, remember?"
"Like, what is my fucking role in all this? Just to be a puppet consort for your pleasure?"
"Well, if you like you could see it the other way around: That you are God, that has created everything, including women. You are completely alone, travelling in time via the Time Machines. To make the game interesting, you have added one slightly more dangerous component: If you ONCE fail to travel forward, you risk sending yourself back into the beginning, causing the untimely collapse of the whole system of incarnations. How's that?"
"I'm gonna puke..."
"DECIDE!!"
"OK, for crying out loud! ENOUGH. I choose pain".
"There's a good lad, now. And when you learn to tolerate pain as much as I do, maybe I will let you play the role of the Goddess..."
"Excuse me while I go puke my bowels out. I feel like Neo when he was first brought to the Zion spaceship..."
"You are getting the hang of it, already. I have to leave now. Forget..."
I've digressed again. My apologies. I feel sick actually.