Deal with it, forget about it, don’t give a fuck about it.
The identity-pundits are pining for relevance. This nonsensical outrage-culture of ours is the fabled goose that lay the golden egg for those who wish to be seen as relevant… for those who look for a higher purpose; a purpose greater than themselves. Outrage sells and mob-rule is a frightening thing. People throw themselves at it with all the filth and the fury a bored and overeducated upper-class twit could ever muster.
God-damnit, but we need something to fight and to champion, for fuck sake. Gotta be some banner to flock behind so that we don’t fade into irrelevance and have to look at ourselves for a change… ain’t nothing the fuck wrong with me… it’s the rest of the world that needs to change. And such is the way of it, trickling down from moronic diatribes posing as intellectual lectures breeding revolutionaries perfecting the art of petty squabbles solely to distract from what is really going on behind the scenes: honest-to-god cultural revolution.
We’ve had it so good – relatively speaking – for so long that we don’t really know what struggle is, it seems… people are lost in a vacuum, soulless and squabbling, manufacturing first-world outrage to get a sense of reason and of relevance, of purpose and of pathways. There are many paths towards fulfilment, I believe. Screaming and raging about absolute nonsense ain’t one of them. At the very least it’ll fill that gaping hole in the soul for about fifteen minutes.
Then it is to be replaced with the new outrage as one refuses to look at the gaping hole in the soul and fill it with some manner of personhood… of cultivating an actual personality for a change.
I honestly believe that if one works on bettering oneself, all good will follow.
Instead of celebrating ones god-damned neurosis and mental health issues, learn to deal, to cope, to conquer and come out the other side.
Fucking god-damned safe-zones and trigger-warnings do nothing but let the wound keep festering. Overcoming anxiety, for example, means exposing oneself to that which causes anxiety.
Hell: I struggled with anxiety to the point of being a complete shut-in for many years, until I kicked myself in the arse and challenged it. Damned fucking difficult it was, yet it was bloody well worth it.
I remember suffering an extreme panic-attack whilst standing in line at the post-office. Shaking and sweating and with that bloody numbness in my face and that fucking tightness in my chest which makes one get that sudden sense of impending doom. Still, I got my pale, sweaty, shaking arse to the counter and did what I was there to do. In the process I learned a valuable lesson: getting the bloody mail, going outside ain’t gonna kill me.
…then I got kicked out of a supposed “mental health support group” on Facebook by pointing out this simple fact: it is possible to get better, but it lies with oneself first and foremost. These groups on Facebook, man… they are not focused on healing, for the most part. They are focused on wallowing in self-pity: on remaining ill, on comparing illnesses to see whose got it worse and whose got it better. “Help me wallow in misery, pretty please!” Now, of course, I am painting with a broad brush here. I’m sure that some of these groups are actually focused on healing from whatever ailment instead of wallowing in it and celebrating it.
People riling one another up – or, rather, dragging one another down – into the utter depths of despair is a peculiar thing to see. Particularly so when getting kicked the fuck out for being bold enough to proclaim that healing and recovery is possible, one just has to work on oneself, challenge oneself and whatever and what-not. The reason for me being kicked out was that I was “twisting reality”, whatever the bloody hell that means.
Social media is anything but social. I would dare propose that it is anti-social.
And yet, in the murky muddied depths of anti-social media, the eternal quest for purpose and for petty squabbles carry on. Gotta stay frightened, gotta stay outraged, gotta stay mentally ill, gotta stay working towards some greater good which is, well, whatever, undefined and unapproachable by those who are not woke enough and thusly not human enough to warrant any consideration from the permanently offended middle-to-upper-class twits whose got nothing better to do with their lives than be over-educated simpletons, screaming into their pillows at night because the moonlight shining through their curtains is too bright and the government ought to intervene and fix the moon. Hell, blow it out of the sky. The moon is way too reminiscent of the eye of Sauron, or something like that. And that is just way too damned terrifying.
For lacking any real problems in life – for lacking any purpose and in order to fill that gaping hole in the soul; the void left by unimaginative and soul-sucking boredom and vapid descents into complete and utter irrelevancy, the fantasy-race of Orcs are something to get professionally offended about. The supposedly horrible woman-hating slur “Karen” weren’t enough of a nonissue to get up in arms over, unfortunately. That the whole nonissue of the Karen-slur appears to be started by someone who considers all men to be subhuman scum that ought to be placed in concentration-camps is of little relevance. “Karen” is more offensive than all that, which ought to tell one a whole hell of a lot about the world which we live in and how said world views men. But, oh, well, never mind and no matter – no mind and never matter. The first rule of this life is that men, as a group, may be subject to whatever the hell and women, as a group, may not be subject to anything except pampering, provision and protection. Which, one assumes, ultimately leads to either women being confined to their homes for their safety from the horrible men out there, or men being placed in concentration-camps at worst or given a curfew at best… in order to protect the poor and frail whamens who see rapists and murderers behind every beer-bellied t-shirt and beer-quaffing blue-collared slob. It seems that the Karen-outrage from the permanently offended and sneering Karens out there didn’t get quite the traction the morons were hoping for. Instead, it achieved mockery and contempt. As it bloody well fucking should.
Honk, bloody honk, you magnificent bastards – honk, bloody honk. Now, let me talk to the fucking manager.
The fantasy race of Orcs, you see, have become a picture of dark-skinned individuals; a pernicious portrait of the coloured people of colour… a dastardly demented way of telling people of a certain pigmentation that they are savage sub-humans. Apparently. It is an affront and an attack on specific races and specific cultures that are, according to the winds of woke, socialized into violence and into brutality and savagery and barbarism and whatever else.
Now; the more observant amongst us will probably have noticed that the only ones who are openly drawing the lines between the savagery of the Orc and the supposed savagery of the “lesser races” are the ones who are supposedly opposed to viewing certain groups of people in this light.
One wonders, then, why these warriors for social justice; these enlightened individuals of wokeness – all so white as to be transparent, and so woke as to be abhorrent, one must add – draw these lines between the uncivilized, savage and barbarian Orcs and certain genetic populations of particular cultural adherence. One would not be amiss in stating, quite bluntly, that this reflects more on them than on any one else engaged in pen-and-paper role-playing, or wherever else the Orcs pop up as a terrible depiction of these genetic populations; these savage cultures where man-flesh is eternally on the menu. Feminism comes calling for man-flesh, one assumes. The age of men is over; tonight they’ll taste man-flesh. Gobble. Gobble.
Can you taste the bitter fucking irony and sarcasm bleeding from my sweaty palms and hissyfit-throwing fingers? I’m pissed right the fuck off. Well, no, that is not true in the least. I am disappointed. Very, very disappointed in a culture that has gone so far off the deep end as this.
For fuck sake, people. Get a fucking god-damned grip. Of course: one assumes that these people have such terrible weakness in their hands that they can barely get a grip on their luxurious vitamin-water or Starbucks-coffee or whatever it is that the cool kids are drinking these days. Men will always be needed, if not for anything else but get the lid of the pickle-jar. Ho-ho; shots were fired – I predict future articles about women being very capable of getting the lid of the pickle-jar, thank you very much, and we are strong independent fish that don’t need no man-handed bicycles. Not with these new kinds of lids… and especially not with these strange tools manufactured simply to make it easier to remove the lids from the pickle-jar. Come to think of it: I predict future articles in which it is stated that the lids of the pickle-jars are sexist. That seems to be the more likely outcome of the coming pickle-jar controversy. Wouldn’t surprise me. Shit: nothing surprises me any more.
Orcs, as they were created by Tolkien back in the fabled days of yore, are aspects of humanity just as much as all the other races of Middle-fucking-earth are aspects of humanity; allegories of certain traits of the mental make-up of the human fucking race. Certain traits, not certain races.
See; they were elves once. (Or, well, that is one possible origin-story. Tolkien, it seems, had a few to go around.) Then they got ruined, tortured and malformed by the big meanie Morgoth. Damaged beyond compare; they are now broken and ruined. An image, perhaps, of what happens to people who are exposed to the atrocities of war and come home damaged beyond repair. Written by someone who had experienced war, and the outcome of war.
But, no, of course, to the outraged outrage-mob who dwell in the shades of simplistic duality where all is black or white, they are a certain genetic population; depictions of certain cultures which they themselves have decided are savage. None but these people who are offended on behalf of other people see this and get up in arms about this. They gobble the golden egg of outrage so much that they have nothing else to poop but remnants of failed outrage. They defecate outrage from every orifice. Everything is something else. And one can never be happy, one must ever be outraged. There is no purpose beyond the great outrage, no life beyond the vast nothingness of permanent sneers and demands to speak to the manager of western society and culture.
Add the postmodern, deconstructionism or whatever else fancy jargon and piss-pot philosophy they lay on it to the mix, and you’ve got people saying that the intent of the author don’t matter, the intent of whatever don’t matter because it all depends on the eye of the beholder, not on that which is beholden. Objective reality don’t exist. It is all subjective. Which is, of course, self-defeating when taken to its logical conclusion, but that don’t matter much in the grand scheme and schism of things. Because consistency don’t matter – winning (and whining) does.
At the end of the day, it comes down to power and to control. They don’t like this or that or the other, and so it must be banned, censored and cancelled for the convenience of the new, sterile and synthetic dawn. Out with the old and in with the new. All that is old must go, and all that is new must be embraced. All must change according to their whims and fanatical fancy. For their progressively woke utopia, their woke-topia, depends on uniformity of thought, of speech, of opinion and of habit. And we can’t have that without banning everything that goes against that, however much or little it goes against that, however imagined or however manufactured. It’s just gotta go because it hurts their feelings that people are disagreeing; it hurts their fee-fees that someone might not want to bend the knee and bow their necks to the guillotine of social justice and the cult of woke.
Deal with it, forget about it, don’t give a fuck about it. Let them fade away; floating out to sea on their own imbecility. Sooner or later, the bombs will drop and the tides will turn and this outrage-culture will fall flat on its permanently offended Karen-snarl.
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- Moiret Allegiere, 23.05.2020
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