Why does the definition of a gentleman depend so much on the treatment of his other--the woman?

In these weary days, a definition of anything is uncertain; concrete information no longer exists. We have questioned to the point of no longer having questions, but merely uncertainties never to be answered.

The shadow of that monstrous dwarf (as my friend Nicholas Urfe once said), Queen Victoria, and her sexually repressed, hierarchical, class-divided monarchy, is over a century out of date now. A gentleman no longer has any obligation to treat a woman "right". Indeed, what is right, and what is even a woman?

The only thing required of a gentleman now, is the very thing to which we must all aspire. He must be naked. He must constantly seek inner truth. He must never betray himself. We must never betray ourselves. Staying true to external criteria is an always-iffy business, too much in the hands of an other, a judge, a moral hand. And morals must not exist on a social level; the only thing that matters is the self.

This is too throwaway to merit a bookmark; too late to write as a blog, a permanent blot on my existence. It must be frivolous enough to be read by others. The phony others who constitute this world.

But what constitutes them? You?

Who are you? Who...