The Last Goddess

by Kateřina Tučková

In truth, she would have been amazed if it had lived up to her expectations. Or at the very least, extremely surprised. How many mornings-after had there been in her life when she hadn’t woken up disappointed? Two? Three at most. It is as if they do it to her on purpose. Hardly has the bedroom door closed behind them than they are at it like soldiers or mechanics, rolling her and squeezing her as though she were a piece of dough, their hands clumsy, grubby, with no trace of imagination, desperate to get inside her as quickly as they can, like racing dogs. Any hope that she has had of arousal melts like a snowflake over a flame, to give way to embarrassment as a sweaty male body toils away wearily on top of her.

But the man never tries to bring her to this realization. It means nothing to him—all he wants is for her to be there, with her sex open to him. No more than that. It is like this almost every time. Before she knows it, it is all over. He is rolling over and lighting a cigarette, or proudly slapping her thigh and reveling in the sense of a job well done, while she is staring at the ceiling as the fury wells up inside her. Why is she like this? Why doesn’t she like it? Why is she not like other women? Why isn’t she content with what men have to offer? She would like to get up and run out of the room, which now stinks of their secretions. She would like to run as far and fast as she can, making herself too tired to think about anything, especially herself and her degeneracy, the perversion it makes her sick to imagine, and the poor souls who prove to her again and again how little it is all worth.

Most men are out of the door before they can pull on or button up their shirts, shouting, “You stupid bitch!” or something similar because they know now that she doesn’t share their view of their sexual prowess, nor is there any chance that they will see her again.

How many of them had there been? They must have mentioned others because they had said that for every exceptional woman in the family, there had been a doomed man preyed on by sisters and mothers, who transformed the power they took from him for the goddess’s arts. It seemed that in her own mother, it had all come together—although she was exceptional, she had been consumed by madness.

Pure patriarchal thinking here- no GODDESS needs a fucking man's power, whatever a man's power is supposed to be.

Due to the Germans’ well-known inclination to build a heroic mythology for themselves and an adoration of its occult and esoteric aspects that verges on the perverse,

The community’s female principals occupy positions at the tip of the social pyramid as they provide essential functions in many of life’s more difficult situations: of midwife, of healer familiar with the effects of a great variety of herbs, as advisors and decision-making authorities in the resolution of disputes between local residents, in which they apply some kind of divination.

make use of these materials as an instrument of anti-Church propaganda. In a planned trial, the Church was to be demonstratively found guilty of conspiracy against Germanic women, millions of whom it was alleged to have murdered in witch trials over several centuries, and also against the Germanic race, whose dissemination it sought to hinder. It contains cards on particular trials with detailed information on the murder victims, including descriptions of trials obtained from the black books of particular towns. This provides evidence that in these trials, the Church prosecuted mainly women who deliberately cultivated

Old Germanic gnosis. Dates: 850–1785 AD.