Cumflation

'Finsexual' is a term used to describe someone who experiences sexual attraction towards femininity, regardless of the specific gender. This means that they can feel attraction towards women, non-binary individuals, or anyone else who exhibits feminine traits.

Lately I’ve been turning over the phrase 'sexual inflation' because it gets tossed around like a neat label but people mean different things by it.

At its simplest, I use the term to describe an economic metaphor applied to sex: the idea that when sexual opportunities become more plentiful or easier to obtain, the perceived 'value' of a sexual encounter (or the bargaining power around it) declines. You’ll hear this in conversations about dating apps, hookup culture, and the allegedly wide availability of casual sex. It’s not a clinical definition so much as a shorthand—people borrow inflation from economics to explain shifts in social norms and dating dynamics.

Where it came from is a mix. The phrase gained traction on internet forums, blogs, and communities that talk about dating dynamics—places where ideas like 'sexual market value' were already common. That online usage amplified a metaphor that sociologists and evolutionary writers had been flirting with for years: treating mate selection like a market with supply and demand. At the same time, cultural shifts—pornography’s ubiquity, dating apps, and more permissive sexual norms—gave the metaphor fuel. Critics point out that it flattens complex human relationships into transactions and often carries moral judgments.

I also think it’s useful to separate two nearby but distinct concepts that get lumped together under that phrase: one is a supply/demand metaphor about availability and social value, the other is the psychological idea that repeated exposure (to porn or casual sex) can desensitize people, requiring more novelty or intensity—what some call escalation or habituation. Both are talked about under the banner of 'sexual inflation,' but they’re different phenomena with different evidence and social implications. Personally, I’m skeptical of blanket claims about decline or causation, but I find the term helpful when it pushes people to ask why norms are changing and who benefits or loses in those shifts.

Flipping through fan circles and indie manga shelves, I get struck by how many creative strategies artists use to portray sexual inflation. I usually see it handled along a spectrum: from cartoony body-swelling played for gag or surrealism, to highly detailed fetish art that treats inflation as an erotic transformation. Visually, creators lean on exaggerated line work, gleaming highlights, and strategic shading to sell the tactile, elastic feel of inflated skin or clothing. Close-ups of textures, sound-effect lettering, and paced paneling are common—slow, lingering panels to emphasize sensation or rapid, chaotic panels when the inflation is presented as overwhelming.

Context matters a lot. In some works inflation is framed as a magical power-up or a metamorphosis that brings status or vulnerability, while in others it's purely fetish material produced within doujinshi communities. When it's in more mainstream or narrative-driven pieces, creators often use metaphor or fantasy framing—monster transformations, cursed items, or dream sequences—to keep the tone ambiguous and explore themes like loss of control, body autonomy, or desirability. Conversely, explicit pieces are more straightforward: they focus on consent cues, roleplay dynamics, and visual detail that caters to specific viewer expectations.

I personally find the range fascinating because it shows how a single motif can be styled to read as comedy, horror, empowerment, or eroticism. The ethics and presentation choices—whether to depict consent clearly, whether to stylize versus render realistically—say as much about the creator's intent as the image itself. For me, the most compelling portrayals are the ones that acknowledge the fantasy while remaining thoughtful about context and impact.

Reading 'Doughnut Economics' by Kate Raworth was like a lightbulb moment for me—it completely flipped my idea of what 'growth' should mean. Instead of chasing endless GDP expansion, the book argues for a balanced approach where we meet human needs without overshooting Earth's ecological limits. The 'doughnut' itself is this clever visual: the inner ring represents social foundations (like healthcare, education), while the outer ring is the ecological ceiling (climate change, pollution). Growth, in this model, isn’t about more stuff; it’s about thriving in that safe, just space between crises.

What really stuck with me was how Raworth critiques the obsession with exponential growth. She compares economies to immature teenagers—always wanting more, never satisfied. But mature economies, like mature people, should prioritize well-being over sheer scale. I’ve started seeing my own consumption differently—choosing repair over replacement, local over global. It’s not just theory; it’s a mindset shift that makes you question every ‘bigger is better’ assumption we’ve been fed.

Henry Hazlitt's 'Economics in One Lesson' is a book I keep coming back to whenever I need a refresher on basic economic principles. His explanation of inflation is straightforward but effective—he cuts through the jargon and focuses on how printing more money dilutes its value, like adding water to soup. What I appreciate is how he ties inflation to real-world consequences, like how it quietly steals from savers and fixed-income earners.

He doesn’t just stop at the mechanics, though. Hazlitt also dismantles common misconceptions, like the idea that inflation 'stimulates' the economy in a meaningful way. His analogies—comparing money to a shared pie that doesn’t magically grow when you slice it thinner—stick with you. It’s not the most technical deep dive, but for clarity and memorable framing, it’s hard to beat.

The first 'The Conjuring' movie hit theaters back in 2013, and it totally redefined horror for me. I was in college then, and my friends dragged me to the midnight premiere—big mistake! The atmosphere was electric, and James Wan’s direction made even the quiet scenes feel terrifying. It’s wild how this film sparked a whole universe of spinoffs like 'Annabelle' and 'The Nun.' The period setting (1970s) and those eerie true-story claims added such a unique layer. Even now, rewatching it, the pacing holds up perfectly—no cheap jumpscares, just slow-burn dread.

Funny enough, I later dug into the real-life Warren cases, which are... questionable at best. But the movie’s lore blends fact and fiction so smoothly that it doesn’t matter. That basement scene? Still gives me chills. Horror fans owe this one for bringing back old-school tension.

The Conjuring universe has some seriously iconic characters, but the real heart of the first film is the Warren couple—Ed and Lorraine. They’re based on real-life paranormal investigators, and the way Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga bring them to life is just chef’s kiss. Ed’s this grounded, skeptical guy with a heart of gold, while Lorraine’s got this eerie psychic sensitivity that makes her scenes so tense. The Perron family, especially Carolyn (played by Lili Taylor), also carries so much weight—you feel their terror as their home spirals into chaos. What I love is how the film balances the Warrens’ professionalism with raw vulnerability—like Lorraine’s vision of the demon nun, which later spun off into its own nightmare fuel in 'The Nun'.

Honestly, the chemistry between Wilson and Farmiga is what elevates the whole thing. They feel like a real couple, not just horror tropes. And let’s not forget the unseen 'heroes'—the creepy doll Annabelle lurking in the shadows, or Bathsheba, the witch whose backstory ties into the franchise’s lore. The Warrens aren’t traditional action heroes; they’re flawed, spiritual warriors, and that’s why their battles hit harder.

The Conjuring is one of those horror films that sticks with you long after the credits roll, partly because of its eerie atmosphere. A lot of that comes from the filming locations, which were carefully chosen to feel authentically unsettling. Most of it was shot in North Carolina, specifically around Wilmington and the surrounding rural areas. The farmhouse used as the Perron family home was a set built for the movie, but they picked locations that matched the real-life Rhode Island setting—think dense woods and old, creaky houses. The production team did a fantastic job making everything feel period-accurate, too, since the story takes place in the 1970s.

What’s wild is how much the filming locations added to the movie’s vibe. The isolated feel of the woods around Wilmington really amps up the tension, especially in those nighttime scenes. I remember reading that they even used some practical effects on-site, like rigging the house to shake during the haunting sequences. It’s not just about CGI; the physical environment played a huge role. If you ever visit Wilmington, you might recognize some spots, though the farmhouse itself was dismantled after filming. Makes you wonder how much of that eerie energy was just the locations doing the heavy lifting.

The real story behind 'The Conjuring' is way more unsettling than the movie, and I've dug into this case way too much for my own good. It centers on the Perron family, who moved into a Rhode Island farmhouse in 1971 and almost immediately began experiencing terrifying paranormal activity—objects moving on their own, unseen hands grabbing them, and even sightings of a ghostly woman named Bathsheba. The Warrens (Ed and Lorraine) were called in, and their investigations suggested the land was cursed by a witch who’d sacrificed her child to the devil centuries earlier. What chills me most? The Perrons insist the film toned down the real events. Their eldest daughter, Andrea, wrote a book detailing how the entity would physically attack them, like dragging their mother by her hair. The Warrens’ occult museum still has artifacts from the case, including Bathsheba’s mirror.

What fascinates me is how the haunting escalated over a decade. The family initially tried rational explanations, but Lorraine Warren’s accounts of seeing Bathsheba’s spirit—a woman who allegedly hanged herself in the property’s woods—align with local folklore. Skeptics dismiss it as mass hysteria, but the Perrons’ consistency in retelling the story for decades makes me wonder. Also, the movie omits how the Warrens performed multiple exorcisms there, not just one. If you wanna fall down this rabbit hole, look up the 'Burrillville Devil' lore tied to the area—it adds layers to the horror.

The Conjuring universe has expanded so much since the first film that it's easy to lose track! The original 2013 movie did get a direct sequel called 'The Conjuring 2' in 2016, which follows the Warrens to England for another chilling case. What's wild is how this franchise spiraled into spin-offs like 'Annabelle' and 'The Nun,' but the second mainline entry holds up surprisingly well. I love how it leans into the Enfield Poltergeist lore while keeping that grounded, character-driven horror vibe James Wan does best.

Honestly, 'The Conjuring 2' might even top the first for me—the crooked man scene? Pure nightmare fuel. And that Valak reveal in the painting still gives me goosebumps. They announced 'The Conjuring 4' is coming too, so the Warrens' story isn't done yet!