The End is Nigh! Repent!

The Ascent of man a3 lowres

Ill: «The Ascent of Man», A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere


It would seem, to any enlightened individual, that the world really did end back in 2012. We just didn’t get the memo, and so we are just carrying on, stuck in perpetual limbo, unaware of the fact that the world did end. The loonies and crazies were right! Go fetch your tinfoil hats. It’s not too late.

Either that, or we are living in the end-times. Which, once again, would make the loonies right. Fetch your tinfoil hats and clutch your religious symbol of choice. The end is nigh. Repent. Repent, I tell you!

In some way, I have to explain away the madness permeating the world through something other than human error, ignorance and miscalculations. I believe I can not. And I have really been suffering a lack of inspiration lately. Chalk that one up to me constantly being about two drinks away from getting completely black-pilled, I suppose. Might as well give way to religious madness and fever and loudly proclaim for one and all the coming of the rapture and of the end-times. Make room for the holy spirit! He told me to speak for the one who is known as I am!

And lo and behold: The loud-mouthed manic madness of the victim-cultists refuse to learn a lesson from their many errors. They double, triple and quadruple down on any and all error and carry on as if they are still in the right, both morally and legally. What madness is this? What strange and peculiar end-time sign should this be; this lack of awareness of self, this chronic empathetic constipation which these moral chastity-crusaders disguise as being empathetic? It is all well and good, pointing fingers and demanding others change. But how can you see the speck of dirt in your genderfluid siblings eye, whilst being oblivious to the clogged up sewers constantly malfunctioning in your own eyes and mouth? Gazing ever inwards is the one path, the true path towards salvation. Care less about the doings of your fellow xirs and xerses, and consider your own actions, gracious Xadam. Or was that Xeve?

Once upon a midnight dreary, whilst I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious you tube video of forgotten lore; as I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly, there came a tapping as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my twitter-feed. It is some visitor, I muttered, entreating entrance at my twitter-feed. Some late visitor entreating entrance at my twitter-feed.

This it is and nothing more.

Open here I flung my Twitter, when, with many a drool and dribble, in there stepped a saintly soc-jus-warrior from the fabled days of yore. Not the least sense made xe, nor the last reason spoke xir, but, with many a shake and tremble, muttered something about a curfew for men and how grand that would be.

Be those words our sign of parting, they or them, I shrieked up-starting, leave my sanity unbroken, take thy form from of my Twitter. Leave no mental dribble as a token for that nonsense thy formless void have spoken, leave my dubious home-brew, have you back into the twitter and the feeds Plutonian shores!

It is of incredible importance to understand the depths of empathetic derangement the lunatics who run the asylum will dive into. For the sake of keeping women and minorities safe, in the name of progress, we must ban men from leaving their homes at night. That is professional-level empathy right there. And yes, of course, I understand that this imbecilic nonsense-gibberish will never come to fruition. I am aware that me attacking the proposal in question is very much reaching for the low-hanging fruit. Not to mention that it happened aeons ago when measured in internet-time.

Still, it deserves its honorary mention on a early, lazy and sleep-deprived Monday morning where I have to write or draw something. Or else I get the hose again. (As an aside; at the moment of writing this sentence, my Orthodox Jesus Icon fell down from the wall for the umpteenth time, and tumbled behind my speakers. Jesus is, in fact, in hiding behind my speakers. Jesus weeps. How very fitting for this ramble.) My reason for having a go at this abject horror of a solution to all the worlds woes is quite simple: How in all the hallowed halls of the abysmal asylum, from whence these cretins came, are these people considered to have the moral high ground on all things? How is this supposed to be the empathetic side, devoid of bigotry and discrimination, when such obvious displays of bigotry and wanted discrimination are met with cheers and squeals and grimaced giggles of delight?

The answer is as easy as popping an infected pimple: they have succeeded in othering men. Men are the other; the shadow side of our suicidal societies, upon whom all scorn may be laid by the dominant discourse whom no voice must dare defy, lest they be labelled a hater of women. Obviously.

It should be noted that I have absolutely no issues with them being allowed to say this. Speech is speech. Opinion is opinion. However: try saying the same thing in regards to women, and see how far that gets you. Hell: try pointing out the feminine dark, the shadow of the feminine mystique, the mirror of the masculine shadow, the masculine dark, and see them come crawling from the floors of the asylum proclaiming that these women whom you point to as examples of the feminine dark are but individual women and not representative of women as a whole. Thereby proving your point in regards to men as individual actors, not representative of men as a whole. However: men are, to their beady eyes and flickering smirks, a grey protoplasm, of one mind. Whereas women are not. Unless it suits them and their needs and their narrative structures.

All bow before the might of the mass; this woman and her lived experience is representative of all women and their lived experience! See how she has struggled and suffered at the hands of men! So proclaim the feminist deity. That one woman who murdered her children is but one woman, not representative of women as a whole, whereas that one man, who raped and murdered one woman is representative of men as a whole and the women whom he raped and murdered is representative of women as a whole. So also spake the feminist deity.

Instead of viewing bad acts and deeds done by one human being as the bad acts and deeds done by one human being; instead of considering both men and woman capable of both good and evil, the feminist lens show men as the shadow of humanity and women as the light of humanity. The bad deed of one man is enough to paint all men as bad, and as such making all men deserving of scorn and hatred, fear and ridicule. The bad deed of one woman is but the bad deed of one woman, and someone probably did something to her once that made her do it and so we must show compassion and understanding for her plight, even if she burned her children alive and cut out the beating heart of her husband with a rusty tin-can whilst he was gagged and bound to the bed and made to watch her eat his heart with a bottle of chianti whilst his children screamed in agony in the other room as the flames engulfed them. Clearly the woman is the victim in this instance. Someone must have hurt her at some point in her life, and she deserves our sympathy and our pity. And so it goes.

Don’t believe me? Probably not. Already up, foaming at the mouth and claiming foul misogyny for me daring to say that one woman acting badly is one woman acting badly and not representative of women as whole, just as one man acting badly is not representative of men as a whole? Or being pissed off at me for claiming that the bad actions of women are given excuses and that women are given understanding and compassion, despite their heinous acts whereas men are not? I implore you to pay attention to the coverage in the media on bad acts done by women and bad acts done by men. Pay close attention. Look at the differences in language used. Take your time. Do the work. Pay attention to what is being said, as well as how it is being said. That is, of course, if you are of a mind that is open with eyes that are willing to see things that stand in stark contradiction to the dominant narrative of men as privileged and violent oppressors and women as weak victims of the actions of men, not actors capable of acting but objects being acted upon by outside forces far stronger than themselves.

Embracing non-feminism is embracing the radical notion that women are human beings, capable of both good and evil just as men are. Or, you know, you can just do as any feminist – well, anyone, really – does when confronted with opposition to feminism: pull a straw-man out of your own ass and light that on fire as a glorious effigy of the horrible woman-hating bastard on the other side of your flickering computer-monitor, instead of listening to, and arguing, the points being made by the horrid oppositional forces of evil confronting the lies and bullshit of feminism.

See, I treat the genders equally. I hold both men and women to the same standards. And the feminist hive-mind of virtue impeccable and clean don’t like that one bit. They would much prefer women to be treated as faultless; to be viewed as an unerring aristocracy, given the right to rule, judge and govern by some unnamed deity.

It is easier, and makes for a world simpler to understand when one divides it up into tribes and then paints one tribe as inherently bad, with good deeds being a rarity and not the norm and the other tribe being inherently good, with bad deeds being a rarity and not the norm. And try as one might, the world is not that simple. Nothing is that simple. Nothing is ever as simple as separating black from white. One can not see the shadow without simultaneously seeing the light. And it is humanity, not women, not men, that is the source of both the light and the shadow.

I believe most people to be good and to be acting in good faith. Most people are just trying to get by, and as such do not have the time, the interest or the ability to delve into matters at great length. People tend to take things at face value. Which, I believe, is the main reason feminism holds such sway and such power. Because, at face value, it is presented as nothing but a wish for equality between the sexes. And how could anyone disagree with that? Very few people do. And there you have it.

What should frighten anyone is the level of control and governance feminism has achieved by painting men as the shadow and women as the light. By playing on the needs of our societies to provide for, and protect, women and children. Deep evolutionary roots go deep. It is truly frightening how feminism has burrowed into our collective consciousness to such an extent that everyone is a feminist by default; to such an extent that it is considered the only voice – the one true voice – the “I who is known as I am” – of equality between the sexes. Even when they show, time and again, that they are not at all interested in equality. Human rights are human rights, but the rights of women are above that. Stop violence against women, not against humans. Stop violence against women, even when men suffer violence far more than women do. Empathy for the plight of women above all, not humanity as a whole.

Because women are the light, and men are the shadow. As such it is painted, and so it is spoken. If we do not turn around on this and view human beings as human beings; if we do not turn around on this and view the genders as complimentary and as fulfilling each other, I fear that the end times are, in fact, nigh. If we do not stop considering the church of the latter day feminists as the only voice of equality, we are doomed as a species to be locked in a constant tribal warfare where men and women are seen as being on opposing teams instead of being comrades in arms – so to speak – working together to keep our societies running as best they can. Repent! Or the end shall surely be nigh.

  • Moiret Allegiere, 13.02.2019


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To Offend or Not to Offend, that is the Question; (Or: Unashamedly Smiling in Caucasian):

Portrait artist smallish dogs A4 Lowres

Ill: «A Portrait of the Artist with Two Smallish Dogs», A4, 2019, Moiret Allegiere


In this era of instant gratification and of taking immediate offence, we as a culture have become unable to think things through before reacting. Our 24 hour news cycle is so broken and dishonest as to be completely discarded. Journalists are more activists than journalists, and have forgotten even the simplest fact-checking and the basics of journalistic integrity and honesty. We are not served a neutral view of the happenings and goings-on. We are served a highly subjective set of opinions on a silver platter, cleverly disguised as the facts, and nothing more. Often with footage so disgustingly taken out of context that it is nothing but lies to manipulate public opinion. This is not the job of the media. They are supposed to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth (so help them God). They are not supposed to tell us what to think and what to believe. Yet, that is what is happening. With frightening regularity.

And we gobble it up with delight. And we shake our heads and our fists at the latest generated outrage, never stopping to think that there might not be a genuine reason for outrage this time around. Better to be part of it, take part of it, show our discontent and our offence and our outrage no matter the actual truth of the matter. Better to be seen as a person of immaculate virtue immediately than postpone judgement until more information may be analysed. Information is coming at us at such incredible speeds that we never take the time to pause and consider the information received, that we never pause and await additional information.

We don’t have the time. It takes but a small photograph, and we are locked in the fuming and steaming outrage-machine of the internet, taking to whatever social media is open in one of our seven-thousand open browser-tabs to immediately showcase our discontent and extreme outrage at this disgusting display of the whatever-or-whichever-or-what-have-yous, lest we lose face in the eyes of our internet-acquaintances and lose touch with our sense of moral superiority. Let us never forget the five sacred words of the grievance-fuelled and perpetually outraged movement: “I’m fucking better than you!”; a perfect picture of our day-and-age, where immediate displays of moral superiority are far more important than well thought out and pondered arguments and values. Where the immediate gratification and satisfaction of being liked, shared and agreed upon with and by our fellows is far more important than thinking and analysing critically the information received. Where it is more important to showcase oneself as a being of immaculate virtue and moral purity than it is to be intellectually consistent, honest and of an open mind. Chained to the walls of the immediate feedback-loop, we act before we think and we think only to act immediately.

We are caught in the throes of ecstasy; the outrage-culture that spawned a thousand imbeciles incapable of seeing what is actually happening and then being incapable of admitting to being in the wrong or doing wrong when presented with clear-as-the-fucking-day evidence to the contrary of their claims.

Step lightly and walk on eggshells all the time, so as not to offend anyone. Never assume that people will actually consider what you are saying. Assume that they will react with immediate emotional knee-jerks, if you stray from the path. Never assume that people will not take offence to your words if you stray but a little from the path. Everything is controversial to someone, and everyone needs to have their feelings considered as holy and untouchable. Except white cis-het men, of course.

We have reached a point where someone having their feelings hurt are more important than facts, more important than the truth. This causes us to not have discussions that are of the utmost importance. We see speeches shut down and conferences protested into oblivion by myriad people who have no idea what is actually being spoken in said speech, or discussed at said conferences. They just want it shut down, because someone told them that it should be and they will be damned if they don’t agree and join the mob and protest the latest incarnation and amalgamation of Adolf Hitler and the Devil himself.

We see protesters taking to the streets in grand unified mobs, merging together and becoming a wild starry-eyed blob of flesh and blood and bones and tears and snot and outrage, with not a single one of the protesters being able to tell interviewers on the streets what they are actually protesting. They just feel the need to be there in solidarity; part of the mob, part of the outrage, part of the social group, the click, the hive, the anthill. The individual dies when faced with the moral outrage of the outrage-machine grinding its way through our morality in perpetual astonished outrage; a mass of worms wearing their emotions on their sleeves and their heads up their collective ass. When questioned about their stance, their actions, their opinions, communication breaks down and discourse is reduced to wild personal insults and applications of the latest and greatest buzzwords of the day; you asshole-nazi-misogynist-white-supremacist-alt-right-sockpuppet-russian-bot-troll-fascist-neckbeard-inbred-basement-dweller-insert-latest-buzzword-and-group-deserving-of-hate-here-please-end-rant.

And for some reason these people are viewed, in the current cultural fever-dream, as the sympathetic group. These people who are responsible for launching a campaign of threats of violence, death and dismemberment at teenagers whose grand crime was smiling in Caucasian and wearing a MAGA-hat when being caught, quite literally, between a rock and a hard place.

I am of course referring to the Covington students. A fitting picture of what I am talking about and a perfect picture of our day-and-age; the outrage generated by this happening so absurd in the face of, you know, the actual facts of the matter, and so immediate and visceral that it proves itself to be nothing but emotions run haywire through minds and bodies absolutely incapable of thinking, waiting, analysing a situation or seeing what new information might crawl out of the ground.

Proof of a grand class of journalists incapable of doing anything but foaming-at-the-mouth, showing no integrity and proving that there is not one speck of reason amongst them. Truth matters not, when the narrative of the wicked white male and his oppressor-nature may be pushed forward. And these people are so used to never facing any consequences for their actions that they just ran with it, just run with, as far as they may take it. And then double down on it, still claiming to be in the right even when proven without a shadow of a doubt to be in the wrong. An inability to admit to being in the wrong brought on by the grand sense of moral superiority, the glory of the dopamine burst, the selfish and egotistical, solipsist, me-me-me-and-only-me social movement parading as altruism, yet proving only selfishness, lack of insight and lack of self-awareness. “It’s not about me, I promise, honest. It’s about the plight of whoever. Honest. Cross my heart and hope to die. Ah shit, is it offensive to say ‘cross my heart’? Ah, shit, is it offensive to say ‘shit’?

The emperor has no clothes. It has been pointed out, time and again. And it does not matter. Because the latest disease spawned at the hearts of our shared western culture is a moral malaise that will not end. It is a moral panic and a chastity-crusade manufactured in the daydreams of people whose absolute egotistical selfishness is masked as altruism; people who hop on the latest bandwagon of immediate offence to get their own egotistical wishes for group inclusion granted under the pretence that it is for the good of insert-supposedly-disenfranchised-and-marginalized-group-here.

Followed by masses of people jumping on the cause, immediately, never thinking it through and never considering it properly because it is packaged so nicely and so neatly and so beautifully in the wishes to do good for all that one has to be an extreme bigot to even consider saying something contrary. Even at the expense of other people and their right to express their views and opinion, they will hop on the cause. Even at the expense of freedom of speech, they will hop on the cause. Before the cause is forgotten and exchanged for some other nonsensical cause generated by social media. And the extreme speed at which it comes and goes matters not, and it will be forgotten and it will not be forgotten and every cause is important and every single personal grievance is a cause so grand and so extreme that someone needs to be punished for it, someone must be made to carry the weight of it, to carry the cross, and be crucified for it. Even if not true. Even if completely false. Even if it is absolutely nothing but trivial, someone needs to be crucified and die for our sins so that we may feel clean again. Until the next day, the next news-cycle, the next wrench is thrown into the machinery of the outrage-culture and it all starts again, and again, and again, with no repercussions and nothing learned from no one involved but the perceived fact that they are now, and always have been, in the right. Because they are fucking better than us. And you had damned well better be aware of that fact by now, buddy-boy.

People have become so lost in their own self-aggrandizement that they are completely unable to say “Sorry, I fucked up” when they do fuck up. And people are so caught up in the constant bombardment of information – information coming in at super-sonic speeds – that they do not stop and they do not think and they do not consider anything beyond a headline, a picture, a snippet of a video or a sentence, whether in context or not, before they roar and screech and scream enraged and let themselves be engulfed with just and righteous proper rage.

And so we, as a society, forget our history. We forget the satanic panic, we forget the witch-hunts, we forget every previous moral panic and outrage-epidemic of our shared history. We think that this time, we’ve got it right. This time, the panic is proper, this time the outrage is true, this time, the guilty shall be judged. And we do not care what falls as a result of this outrage. We do not care that freedom of speech is being eroded gradually beneath our feet, because that is just the hate-speech, the offensive words, the naughty Nazis losing their right to hate and destroy and wreak havoc on the world.

We do not stop to think that the rules and laws and regulations we are trying to put into place in order to protect any feelings that might be hurt may just as easily be used against ourselves, should we fall out of line. And the reason we do not think this is because we do not stop to pause and to consider that maybe we are not ourselves always in the right; maybe we ourselves may be in the wrong.

We do not take the time to ponder our own convictions. We do not have the time. Because the immediate dopamine burst, the immediate gratification, the impatient natures our cultures have devolved into, requires our attention all the time; a 15-second attention span dedicated to the latest knee-jerk, the latest outrage, the latest so-called Nazi being allowed to speak his or hers so-called hate to an auditorium of willing listener, whom we perceive as just as immediate and easily-led as ourselves.

Shut it down.

Shut down everything contrary to our feelings. Shut it down. Because feelings are facts. How could they not be, when they feel so immediate, so visceral, so gut-wrenchingly real? We feel – “feel” being the dominant word – that these people should not be allowed to speak. Because their words make us feel bad. And we feel like these other people should be allowed to speak, because their words make us feel good. And we don’t even consider that maybe the words that make us feel good makes other people feel bad, because that is absolutely impossible as only we are ever in the right and only they are ever in the wrong. It is impossible to conceive of anyone not evil taking offence to our words, whereas anyone not taking offence to their words are clearly evil. Because that is how it feels and so it must be true, we figured it out in fifteen seconds of high-strung emotions, thank you very much, and so it is true. Because it must be true, because it feels as though it is true.

Outrage culture thrives on othering. It is a wretched hive of scum and villainy, so determined to kill all voices not in alignment with their rapidly shifting and changing virtues, emotions and rage that they stoop to labelling as absolute hatred all voices contrary to their own and othering them to such an extent that it does not matter what happens to them, because they do not view them as human beings but as forces of evil, hell bent on destroying the world and everyone in them.

Labels such as Nazi or White Supremacist or Far-right bigot or Misogynist or Racist or Homophobic or Islamophobic or Sexist is thrown around and placed upon people with whom they might just merely disagree; labels of political extremity placed upon people who do not belong to any extreme, who do not agree with these labels but whose voice on whether or not they deserve this label is ignored by the ones who have decided that this is the correct label/labels for them. Which is absurdly ironic, considering the outrage-machine and their outrage at someone being deemed to be of the wrong gender – that is, the crime of misgendering someone. Referring to someone by the wrong pronoun is a crime so heinous that all other conversation need to be shut down in order to remedy it.

Labelling someone a Nazi who is clearly not a Nazi for merely stating an opinion or presenting evidence to the contrary of the dominant cultural narrative, however, is quite alright. Because clearly he or she is a Nazi. If not now, then later on down the line, they will evolve into a fully fledged Nazi, jackboots and Zyklon-B at the ready. It is insanity. Pure, unbridled, balls-and-ovaries-to-the-walls insanity; egotism and selfishness extreme disguised as altruism. Anything not falling into line with true and proper speech and thought is wrong and offensive. And being offensive is the worst one can be. Because that is how it feels and that is, quite frankly, that.

And as for me; I do not try to be offensive with my writings. I do not try to provoke. I do not even try to be controversial. I am not interested in generating controversy or outrage or offence or provocation. I consider my writings and my opinions to be very tame – neither controversial nor offensive, merely common sense. Even if I do ramble on and on, often with no end in sight.

I do not consider my views or myself aligned with any extreme. Yet I am labelled a foul misogynist, a hater of women and of equality.

I hold as the core of my values the belief that everyone should be allowed to speak their mind. That there should be no limitations placed on peoples right to express their opinion, no matter how banal, stupid, evil, bad, wrong, hateful, bigoted, whatever, they are.

Should I open up to the suggestion that people whose views I disagree with, even views I disagree vehemently with and consider pure and utter hatred, should be banned by governmental decree and punished by law, I also open up to the suggestion that people who find my views and opinions to be pure filth may place punishments on me for voicing my opinion. And trust me: there are more than enough people who consider my views to be pure filth and radiant hatred, even though my views are very tame and far from any extreme. They are, quite simply, not able to see beyond their own bias in regards to feminism and the doctrine of feminism. To such an extent that they do not see what I have written or hear what I have said. Blindfolded and limited by ideology.

I do not wish my rights to express myself being infringed upon. And in having the right to express myself, I also have the right to offend. Because somewhere, someone will find something to be offended about, no matter what you say, write or express.

In not wanting my right to express myself infringed upon, I can not possibly wish that anyone else have their right to express themselves infringed upon. That would be holding double standards, instead of holding everyone to the same standard. I would not wish even the most radically misandrist feminist man-hater be denied her right to openly spew her hatred. Opening that door will quickly open another door. And before you know it, nothing is allowed speech. Expecting that people with whom one may disagree should not have the same rights to express themselves as oneself is far from egalitarian and far removed from all being treated equally.

That, my friends, is supremacy.

The notion that one set of ideas should be the only ones allowed to be expressed, at the expense and governmentally sanctioned suppression of other ideas, is not equality, is not treating everyone equally. It is treating one better than the other, at the expense of the other.

Label my speech as hate-speech as much as you want. Somewhere, someone will label your speech as hate-speech. And opening the doors to shut down “hate-speech” will eventually lead to your own speech being shut down. And you can not protest this, because you fought to implement it.

Who in the grandstanding moral intersection of fuckery and dim-wittery gets to decide what is and what is not offensive? How does one even chose who and what and how and where and when?

Rules applied evenly across the board, in the great dystopian Social Justice future where all are equal except the ones who are more equal than others. And the ones who are more equal than others are the ones who currently hold the power. And that may change and that may shift, and so too does the cultural Zeitgeist. Do not for one second believe that laws on allowed speech which are currently in your favour will not turn around and bite you in the ass. Slip. Slide. Welcome to governed speech. Say this. Do not say that. Should you say that, we will bring the full fury of the hate-speech-patrols down on your head, you filthy bigoted hatemonger, you.

Needless to say, I am not in favour of governing speech. There are few exceptions to this rule, of course. No rule without exceptions, as the saying goes. Don’t shout “Fire” in a crowded room is clearly one of them, and a perfect and classic example of expression that may lead someone else to come to severe harm. Ever seen a room full of people caught in panic? It ain’t pretty. Saying “Go kill him, he’s a Muslim.” is not the same as saying “I don’t like Muslims”. Feel free to exchange “Muslim” for whatever group you want, of course, and the sentiment remains. Expressions should not be persecuted, unless there are overwhelming evidence that someone might act violently and as such bring harm upon someone else. “Harmful speech” is a nonsense-term. I wonder if “Kill all men” is considered hateful rhetoric?

Bah, humbug.

The Social Justice Hive-mind call to censor speech is nothing but yet another proof of their eternal quest for power and control and governance. And that is all it fucking is. Claiming altruism when all they want is total control of the discourse. Oooooooh, someone may be hurt, aaaaaaaaaaaah, someone might feel bad. Meaning: “I, personally, don’t like this. And so no-one should, could, would or may or might enjoy it, actually agree with or hold those opinions. Ban it.” For theirs is the power and the might and the outrage, for now until forever. A-fucking-intersect-men.

Besides, bad ideas show themselves for what they are when allowed to be expressed, and they will face the scrutiny of public opinion and be judged on their merit. Even if common sense ain’t common. Even if offence taken is more common than offence given. To offend or not to offend, that is the question. And the answer? Fuck it – I’m good.

  • Moiret Allegiere, 09.02.2019



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An Evening in the Brave Blue World:

Portrait of the artist with a sligthly bigger dog a4 lowres

Ill: «A Portrait of the Artist With a Slightly Bigger Dog», A4, 2019, Moiret Allegiere


With his back aching from his union-sanctioned fourteen hours of rigorous work, he enters his bathroom to wash the dirt from his face. The computer in his mirror asks of him, carrying his own voice synthesized, digitized, dead and soulless: “Did you smile more than your designated quota today?” He shakes his head to indicate that he did not, and then proceeds to wash the grime from his face, and his eyelids, heavy from lack of sleep and rest, dips and droops.

Quietly, he removes his outer layer of clothing, leaving the inner layer on, obviously for the sake of decency; his cock and balls nearly shackled to his thigh from the tightness of the thing, almost a second layer of skin. What a grand way to combat the plight of manspreading and displays of toxic masculinity, he thinks, as he steps into the shower and waits for the blast of cold water to wash the mud and shit away from his inner layer of clothing and what little is revealed of his flesh. That is: his hands, face and feet. Cold water, of course, to combat what sudden feelings of lust and arousal may still be present, even after his long and hard day at work.

Have you fulfilled your designated work-quota today?”, the computer in his mirror ask. He looks deeply into the camera hiding in the head of his shower and nods twice, smiling carefully so as to prove himself pleased with both his place of work and his output of the day. The computer soothes him with quiet buzzing, apparently pleased with him today as well as yesterday and the day before and the day before. Such a splendour it is to have everything be so predictable, so stable, so incredibly ordered! The beauty of extreme order combating the calamity that is frightful chaos. Day after day the same, evening after evening, night after night. How quickly we may slip, he is told. Be careful and keep your eyes ever on the ground and on your feet as you walk. Do not let your eyes stray, and your thoughts will not stray either. He does not let his eyes nor his thoughts stray.

Feeling somewhat refreshed after his six minutes of prescribed showering time, he leaves the confines of his shower-box and wipes his face and hands and feet, as well as his inner layer of clothing, dry. A few months ago, he submitted an application for three more minutes of showering time, arguing that his advanced age – reaching his forty-second year soon – ought to grant him such favours, seeing as he had worked to advance the continued glory of the union since he was a mere boy of thirteen. Of course, he understands perfectly well that such applications take time to process. It is not a small task, and it is not a small favour he is requesting. And far be it from him to complain or to grumble over the time it takes. He has, however, been showing slight signs of impatience and dissatisfaction which, he hopes, are not of sufficient magnitude to be picked up by the bio-scanners in his cell.

Well, that would be as it would be. Some things can not be helped, and his lack of patience is absolutely one of them. Clearly, this was one of the reasons why he was put to work underground, to expand the… come to think of it, he really didn’t know what he was expanding. Well, as is with most things, he would not have understood it even if they told him. The government moves in mysterious ways, and no-one except Andwogs herself knew the absolute truth behind its movements. Being but a simple man of the ground-and-mud, he could not even hope to understand. Best not to burden his mind with things far beyond his level of comprehension.

He looks at his calendar: Four months down, two more to go until he could remove and request a rinse and renewal of his inner layer of clothing. Not too bad. Time did seem to move faster lately. This pleases him some. With a slight smile on his face, he tunes in to the evening exercise routine. Two minutes late, but that is within the governmentally sanctioned frame of time. In her infinite kindness and compassion, blessed Andwogs understood that personkind is not as precise as her computers and her clockwork, and as such slight deviations from the norm will occur. Here follows forty-five minutes of rigorous exercise to exorcise the demons of sloth – the beasts that have plagued personkind for years beyond count. Busy hands and bodies are the best, and one must stay busy at all times, lest one fall prey to grumbling, dissatisfaction and destabilization.

At the end of his exercise, he is drenched in sweat and his inner layer of clothing chafes and itches. It will pass within fifteen minutes or so, if he just sits down like so in that corner over there, and moves his head over there like so, he can stand the pressure and the discomfort. A small price to pay, he thinks, to live in a world cleansed of the horrors of manspreading, mansplaining and the eternal longing to rape and oppress which lies dormant, yet ever vigilant, within his genetically coded socialization; learned behaviour so vile and so powerful as to be encoded within the DNA of his ancestors and passed down to him via generations of trauma-memory. The government has soothed his mind in regards to this, though. Within only five or six generations, the trauma-memory will pass, and his ancestors, if not he himself, will finally be cleansed of this socially manufactured original sin. That is their most priced and highly budgeted project; the elimination of Original Male Sin, previously wrongly labelled as Toxic Masculinity. This is the reason why he, and every other man, every six months, as his inner layer of clothing is refreshed and renewed, is required to ejaculate into the suction-bots so that the government may spawn children and genetically alter them to speed up the process of removing all trace-memories of Original Male Sin. Without this process, it would have taken ten to twelve generations, the scientists confirm, before the ravages of the patriarchy are completely washed out of the shared communal DNA-pool of the glorious union.

With cameras buzzing and moving to follow him, he sits down in his one chair in one of the two allowed manners of his kind – knees touching together, or one leg resting over the other, thighs touching. He counts the seconds, as regulation requires to keep the mind occupied, until the six minutes have passed and the computer-monitor flickers into life for the thirty prescribed minutes of communal laughter. Some comedy-routine or other, today as tomorrow as yesterday. This evening they showed one which he has not seen for three weeks. What a great surprise! There were not that many in circulation, and so it was always of the greatest pleasure and surprise when they showed one of some rarity. This was not a complaint on the lack of proper entertainment, he noted to himself. It was merely an observation of joy. Of course he understood that the governmental budget was such that their main priority could not possibly be something so mundane as comedy. That went without saying. And far be it from him to show more joy than was necessary at this fortuitous event. After all – the world was so full of evil and wicked oppressors and oppression that pure radiant joy was an absolute impossibility, no matter who or what you were. However, some bursts of joy were allowed, as that only solidified the glory of the government and the union and Andwogs; imagine something so highly functional as to be able to bring joy into a world so dangerous, treacherous, oppressive and terrible. Showcasing, quite clearly, the power and might of the union and their scientists. And proving, without a shadow of a doubt, how beautifully free they were within its walls and beneath its fantastic skies!

From the cell adjacent to his, he can hear roars of laughter so powerful that he senses the vibrations of it in his own chair, and so he laughs as well. He laughs and trembles and vibrates, pausing only now and then to wipe the tears and the snot from his face before he continues on with his laughter. My, how good it feels! My, what a glory this laughter and this comedy is. What he is laughing at, he has absolutely no idea. But he is laughing, as the images on the screen flickers by and becomes a blur seen through a cloud of tears welling up from laughing, laughing, laughing. And the voices from the screen he does not catch and the jokes fly straight over his head and past his ability to focus or concentrate, and yet he laughs and yet he shivers and yet he trembles, trembles, trembles, for as long as the thirty minutes last. And then, with a blast and a kick in the neck, the thirty minutes of communal laughter is over and he stops dead in his tracks; the laughter and the tears and the snot and the vibrations stop abruptly, just as they came, and his body tenses up again. Thinking: “Did I sit as regulations required? Did I lose to much control during my fits of laughter?” As the computer has not told him otherwise, he assumes that he was well within his obligations and responsibilities during the communal laughter as prescribed by the government and by the glory of Adwose herself.

He taps the wall, and a small window opens allowing him to take a look outside at the streets below and at the buildings towering above him. It is grey and overcast, but it has not rained in years uncounted. Still they have water, and he praises the glory of the union for supplying it. Where it comes from, he has no idea. It doesn’t matter, of course, and he does what he can to suppress that curiosity and sense of wonder as that is a token sign of Original Male Sin which they have yet, even two generations down the line, not dispatched of. Some remnants of the past seem to be more resilient than others, he thinks, as two minutes pass and the window closes with a click and a buzz. The scientists have as of yet no general idea of the length of time required to cleanse the world of this plight. It shouldn’t take too long, they guess. But then, they guessed that as soon as they began. And it has already taken more than enough time.

Of course, his impatient nature is such that he is unable to grasp the concept of long-term goals. His is the realm of the here-and-now. It is for the government – persons far more clever than himself – to think ahead. He can scarcely remember yesterday, and the government in all their glory can remember clearly a time when every man, woman and child were slaves, though some were more slaves than others and others were more equal than others, as opposed to now were everyone is as free as they could possibly be. This should be more than enough proof of their superiority; their ability to actually, accurately and precisely, remember the past, the old days, the days of slavery and oppression. He sure hopes they achieve all their goals soon, so that the government and the women both may return from their exile at the colony of Mars to free the men from the shackles placed upon them by the burden of masculinity and Original Male Sin, so that men and women may finally live in peace and harmony for the first time in the history of personkind.

With a sigh, he clears his head of thoughts. Such pondering is not for the likes of him, and he sure hopes he did not stray too far from the path. He suspects he did not, as there, once again, are no indications that anything is wrong. He reclines as much as he may in his chair, and awaits his evening-dose of medications; his beloved Mothers Milk, to soothe his mind and to ease his aching body before he delves into his six hours of prescribed sleep.

From his chair, a needle protrudes and lends his arm a tender kiss. It takes but four minutes, before he feels a heaviness in his limbs and a clarity in his mind. As he is smiling drowsily and content, but not overmuch, his chair reclines and takes the shape of a bed. As his eyes close and sleep creeps in, the loudspeakers hiss and click into life and the nightly sermons begin. He floats gently into sleep to his own digitized voice whispering from the speakers: “I am aware of my own inherent privilege…”


  • Moiret Allegiere, 06.02.2019




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Communication Breakdown. Situation FUBAR:

Portarit of the artist with a small dog A4 lowres

Ill: «A Portrait of the Artist with a Small Dog», A4, 2019, Moiret Allegiere


It is easy to fall prey to an overwhelming sense of loneliness, hopelessness and despair. An entire generation of boys and young men have been brought up into self-loathing, shame and constant apologetics. This has gone unnoticed and unopposed for decades. Any attempt at opposition is met with rage, hatred, shaming and social ostracising. Because that is peak equality; viewing gender, the discussion on gender and any-and-all to do with sex, gender, sexual relations, violence and so forth and so on solely through the lens of feminism, whilst vilifying and attacking any views to the contrary. Feminism has wormed its way into the collective minds of society as the sole voice of equality, compassion and kindness. To such a degree that it is considered to have a monopoly on the concept of equality itself. Opposing feminism has come to mean opposing the concept of equality, through lies and falsehoods. This can not stand unchallenged.

My generation of boys and young men have been made to stare into the blackboard of revisionist history and have been told the tale of original male sin for which we must all apologize constantly, profusely and profoundly. We have been strapped into spiked seats of learning in classrooms surrounded by, and made to surrender to, the false idea that gender is a social construct solely and that the burdens of the worlds evil must be placed squarely on the shoulders of boys and young men who have done nothing wrong but be born in this time and in this space with this set of genitalia.

We have seen the influx of teachers infused and infected with the holy ghost of feminism; teachers who are incredibly gender biased as a result of this. To such an extent that our schools are made to teach in a manner most suitable for girls and young women whilst giving a split-down-the-middle middle finger to boys and young men who’s testosterone is such that they are bursting with energy boundless and explosive, making them unable to sit still and be quiet for extended periods of time, as opposed to girls. This results in the notion that boys are defective girls, and as such their very nature must be pathological or a symptom of a disease. Fair game, then, for the psycho-pharmaceuticals to be brought forth upon silver trays and delivered to the poor sufferer of testosterone; a holy communion-wafer in the shape of synthetic stimulants to ease the mind, numb the senses and subsequently drug the poor boys senseless so that they sit still, shut up and learn in a way suitable for both genders, social constructs as they of course are.

There is no admission that there is something wrong with the way the schools and teachers teach; that the way schools and teachers teach are heavily bent towards a feminine way of learning. Nope. Of course not. There is nothing wrong with the schools. There is something wrong with the boys. And the incredible wrongful act of being a boisterous boy must be dealt with so that the teachers do not have to deal with the boys, but can focus their energies on boosting the self-esteem and achievements of girls. Strange ideas float around: what if there were more, or lengthier, periods of recess in which boys could burn off all that energy and return to the classrooms fulfilled, calmer and more attentive? Or perhaps a more practical approach to teaching and learning? Seems incredible. Such a simple solution taking the place of dangerous prescription drugs.

Now, should it so happen that girls and women fall behind in some field of study, it is held forth as proof that there is something wrong with our systems of education. That the schools need to be fixed in order to cater to the needs of girls and women so that they do not lag behind the boys. Even when they already overwhelmingly are tailored to a feminine way of learning. Even when boys and men already lag behind in education. No mention there, of course, that there might be some lack of interest in certain fields due to differences in the male and female brain, that there might be differences in the way boys and girls learn. Clearly not. “Differences” have come to be a word that should not be uttered. Because differences infer that one is better than the other, to the minds that claim all things are equal. Instead of viewing differences as a set of both different strengths and different weaknesses, neither good nor bad, merely balanced and unifying, it is seen as a force of divisiveness and horrible, unnecessary competition. All are one and the same, a protoplasmic ooze later moulded solely by societal expectations or lack thereof.

Considering the lack of male teachers, there is little first-hand understanding of the plight of boys in schools. Most teachers are female. In-group preference dictate the behaviour of the teacher regarding both boys and girls. And the boys are taught that they are defective girls and they are told of their inherent privilege and wickedness by a teacher who, more likely than not, grades them worse than she grades the girls ( solely due to gender. Furthermore, this is not deemed an example of gendered discrimination, since it has been decided from up-high that you can not possibly discriminate against boys and men on the basis of gender. This is incredibly strange, seeing as gender does not mean women and girls, but encompasses both men and women. But there you have it. Gendered discrimination affects only women and girls. Because the feminists have decided that is the case. And their word is law.

Feminism dictates, the world nods in horrified agreement: gendered discrimination means discrimination against women. Because there exist only one gender – the base level consciousness in us all flowing from the immaculate misconception of our new-found religious path towards salvation – the original gender, O.G. of all human evolution and behaviour – womanhood – the true path towards virtue and proper human conduct – femininity – that which is sanctified and holy – the root of all that is good and true and proper – everything is a social construct, except femininity which is the foundation of all behaviour and humanity prior to the patriarchal designation of gender – of men and women being split squarely down the binary by some vengeful oppressive patriarch of ages past – and reason and dignity be damned.

Thus, one can not discriminate against boys and men on the basis of gender. Even when it is evidently done, time and again. And boys and men lag behind in education in numbers that are frightening to anyone with more than two braincells and the ability to think outside of feminisms frazzled box and smelly shoes. Still there are quotas for women and all manners of aid and help and scholarships and push and push and push to get women into this or that and that or this, at the expense of boys who are already a minority in higher education, or education at all. And yet there are frighteningly few, if any, programs aimed at boys or men to lessen their plight in education and help them make it through. No, no, instead of this, they are met with a barrage of hostility – sometimes covert, often overt, telling them how evil and wicked and tricksy and false they are. Over and over and over again.

Met with this hostility from the educational facilities which purport to give everyone an equal chance at learning, there is no wonder that boys and men fall behind and drop out. We have been told that there is no place for us, that there is no time for us, that our behaviour is wrong and that we – merely by existing – are a threat to women and girls and must do all we can so that women and girls do not feel threatened by our mere presence. We need to change. We need to better ourselves. Women and girls are good the way they are. But men and boys need to change. Men need to help. Men need to be better, get better, always strive to be better, no matter what.

We are told that we must step down, step aside and give women and girls a leg-up so that they are able to reach our level of privilege; that we must do all we can to rush to the aid of girls and women at the expense of ourselves. For the simple reason that we are supposedly given a leg-up already at birth. Odd, then, that we are lagging behind and dropping out and see girls and women be given preferential treatment which, were it aimed at helping boys and men, would be considered a sign of male privilege, a symptom of patriarchy and a product of toxic masculinity and a shining example of sexism by the dogmatic thinking of feminism, unopposed deity and all-natural force of good.

For the virtue of being born with a vagina, doors open which are closed to boys and men.

By the virtue of vulva, we grant thee scholarships and quotas. Verily, we say unto thee, that thou art neither privileged nor preferred, but that thou art oppressed and undesired by thy ailing and ageing pater. Even if thou should receive scholarships merely for thee and even if thou should be placed upon a pedestal and deemed untouchable and eternally clean by all who come within thy sight whom thou should have the power to smite at will, we say unto thee that thou art oppressed; that thou art made to walk in limbo in perpetuity and thusly need all the help thou could possibly receive by the powers that hate thee ever so much to get ahead on the stairway to heaven. Where the boys and the men must walk the regular stairs towards ascension and salvation, thou shall be granted an escalator or an elevator, depending upon thy own inherent privilege by virtue of skin colour. So spake we, the grand matriarchs of the glass-ceiling, we who are known as Thou Art!

One would assume that this incredible strangeness would be seen as the peculiarity that it is. One would assume that, the rules being equally applied since all are supposed to be treated equally, there would be a huge focus on, and effort to, help boys and young men in regards to education. That maybe we should have seen a paradigm-shift in how the schools operate in order to help boys from dropping out.

This is, of course, not the case. Any attempt to help boys suffering in schools are protested by feminists who march in rhythmic pulse-pounding hysterics, jackboot-stilettos and weaponized whining at the ready, in order to show us the error of our ways and tell us how it really is girls who are suffering and that boys need to shut up and step down and throw themselves into the abyss in order to give the girls their breathing space. (

And we are caught in their twisted warp-drive, speeding through time and space carried on the mighty wings of gynocentrism who’s evolutionary roots dig so deep into our mutual mud-and-shit-and-blood-spattered development that we do not see it or recognize it for what it is lest we swallow the very bitter red pill. We do not see or recognize it until the blindfolds sewn into our eyes are ripped away following the long and arduous path towards a nuanced and balanced perspective in regards to gendered issues.


The bingo wings of the holy ghost of feminism do flap. Every time the bingo wings flap, mighty storms rise and all tremble and all hide in storm shelters built by men, sacrificing all that they may on altars also built by men to appease the deity lest the bingo wings shall flap evermore and the storms never cease. Do you not wish to protect women? Do you not wish to do all you can to provide and protect? Open your eyes and your arms then, and lay down in the ditch at the side of the road so that the path is open to women. And, by women, we mean feminism. All roads shall be opened by force to the rampaging mob of feminist discourse, demonizing and diatribes – all fragrant pools shall be filled to the brim with male tears so that feminists may bathe in them and rub themselves clean of aeons of oppression brought unto them by the Supreme vice Chancellor Grand Dragon Patriarch of the fabled Patriarchy; majestic Oligarch of infinite praise and approval.

The only ones allowed to speak on behalf of gender and gendered issues is feminism. Because the feminists have decided that is the case. Communication breaks down. Any opposition is met with cries of hatred of all women. Even from the ones purporting to love you; friends and family will leave you in the throes of hysterics for daring to oppose feminism, who’s grand virtue is such that they are responsible for all the goods in our societies; who’s grand virtue is such that they invented the sun and the rain, the dew in the morning and the wondrous smell of flowers in full bloom.

All praise due to feminism – for they are the only ones who have brought any form of progress into the decaying and polluted mass-graves of our mutual western history. Oppose it not, lest you be opposed yourself with hysterical cries and misrepresentations of what you are actually saying. Oppose it not, lest you be judged by your peers to be of lesser worth than they are. Oppose it not, lest you be cast from your clan and treated as an unclean pariah for the rest of your days on earth for daring to hold views on gendered issues that are not pre-approved by the dogmatic holiness that is the ghost of feminist revisionist history past. Oppose it not lest you be infiltrated by mind-reading feminists who claim to know more of what opinions you hold than you yourself do. Oppose it not, lest you be stabbed in the heart and left to die by the ones who are supposed to love and support you, while they scream and roar and cry that you are hurting them there you lie, bleeding out on the desolate shores of the empathy-gap. All arrows point toward the holy ghost of feminism; untouchable and above criticism. Oppose it not, lest you trigger someone who’s inability to read and who’s inability to listen to what is actually being said and written takes the form of a vengeful spirit hell bent on your destruction for daring to oppose feminism in all its man-hating glory. Oppose it not, lest the full mad fury of the feminists shall come careening towards you and put words in your mouth which you have never uttered and thoughts in your mind which you have never thought.

Opposing the hatred of men; standing in defiant opposition to the #killallmen or the “Why can’t we hate men” or the #yesallmen, the #menaretrash or the newfound notion that masculinity is pathological is the gravest sin imaginable. Refusing to bend the knee to feminists who gloat about drinking male tears and who consider masculinity to be both incredibly toxic and ridiculously fragile; who consider all men to be rapists bring forth the scorn of society at large. Not surrendering to the notion that male sexuality is predatory and destructive by nature, and that all heterosexual sex is rape means that you hate women and want to chain them to the kitchen for all eternity, to breed children and make sandwiches and do nothing else. Refusing feminism and feminisms claim to be the only ones allowed to speak on behalf of equality between the genders has come to mean that you have no nuance. The only ones with the knowledge and ability, in the current cultural fever-dream, to speak on behalf of both men and women and the struggles they both face are feminists. And if you dare to oppose, you will be assaulted on all sides by rabid foaming-at-the-mouth feminists who have not listened to a word you have said, but have concocted their own meaning from your words and presented their own immediate knee-jerk reaction to your words as the absolute truth of what you are saying, even when you are saying the polar opposite of what they claim you are saying. Nuance is dead. Feminisms paradoxical circular reasoning is born. All hail to feminism; killers of nuance and bringers of immediate light and salvation, who’s words are truth and the only truth allowed to be told, lest you be stripped of any-and-all agency and self-determination. Nuance means nothing, if not viewed through the prism of feminism.

To make myself clear, since what I am saying seems to be impossible to comprehend to minds incapable of listening, reading or understanding: I absolutely believe both women and men face hardships in our faltering societies. I absolutely believe that these hardships are different depending on the gender of whoever is experiencing them. I absolutely believe that issues primarily affecting women should be addressed, just as much as I believe issues primarily affecting men should be addressed. This does not mean that issues primarily affecting women does not also affect men, and that the men affected by this should not be given consideration. Nor does it mean that issues primarily affecting men do not also affect women, and that women affected by it should not be given consideration. That is feminisms way of thinking. Not mine. I hold the contrarian and apparently controversial belief that it is not the job of feminism alone to address these issues as the sole harbingers of truth and justice which they demand to be viewed as. Their history is tainted with the absolute contempt for men so immediate and visceral as to be obscene, if only one were able to open ones eyes to it instead of hiding behind the rose-coloured lenses that show it as only being about equality between the sexes. I also believe that issues predominantly affecting men are tossed aside, to focus on issues predominantly affecting women. Time and again. Or that elected officials consider issues affecting men and boys to be worthy of nothing but a giggle in contempt: (

Feminists are not the authorities on equality. They are not the only voice in existence. Feminism do not own the discourse on gender. Feminism do not own the concept of equality. Feminism, just as much as any other ideology, may be critiqued, picked apart and shown as the horrid beast that it is, rotten at the core and so arrogant as to assume to be the only voice able to speak on behalf of gender, be that gender male or female. Any ideology purporting to be the only set of ideas upon which equality may be built shows itself as nothing but vile arrogant authoritarians. The moustache of Stalin is tainted with blood, and so is the braided armpit hair of feminism. I can not imagine our societies accepting any other group highlighting themselves as the only group to speak on a certain topic and not being attacked for the sheer unbridled ridiculous arrogance of their position. And yet, feminism is globally accepted as the sole voice of equality and the eternal saviours of humanity; in their own minds dying for our sins over and over again and repeatedly asking why we hate them so, all the while beating us into submission and telling us how evil we are.

I am not a fan of ideologies as a general rule. Chaining oneself to a pre-manufactured set of ideas claiming to know how the world works immediately sets alarms ringing in my head. It is a narrow and simplistic view of the world, immediately imprisoning oneself between the cast-iron sheets of ideological thinking from which it is difficult to stray without earning the ire and wrath of other followers of that ideology, that set of ideas, that unbridled arrogance claiming to speak on behalf of all, even the ones who do not follow that bundle of pre-approved ideas. Thinking for oneself is a far better alternative to ideological thinking. But then, one must also take responsibility for those thoughts and be prepared to face full frontal assaults as a result of straying from the trodden path of societal discourse.

I know with absolute certainty that nothing I have stated here matters, in the grand scheme and schism of things. I can explain why I oppose feminism. I can point to statistics and quotes, ideas and writings, the foundation upon which feminism rests. I can put all the reason and logic, or even emotional appeals, I want behind my opposition to this ideology. I can point to facts, to obvious injustice, to clear and utter contempt and hatred for boys, men and masculinity. I can showcase misandry in news, in writings, in state funded colleges, schools and universities. I can point out how masculinity is viewed as toxic and pathological, how professors of gender studies teach contempt and hatred for boys and men and masculinity to impressionable young minds in hallowed halls of academia. I can show how male sexuality is demonized and simplified, vilified and seen as impure. And it will not matter much. Because minds that are already made up due to the ideological group-think of feminism, who has deemed feminism the sole saviour of humankind, will only ever see in my writings and in my statements what they have already decided is there: hatred for women and contempt for the mere notion of equality, even when I state time and again that this is not at all what I am preaching, saying, meaning or thinking. And the reason is simple: feminism has decided that feminism is the only voice, the only authority, the only path towards equality. And the world bends its neck and its knees in submissive agreement to such an extent that opposition to feminism will have you whipped out into the deserts as a sacrificial goat to appease the hive-mind of feminism.

Someone in the wild deserts of the internet compiled a great list of links. I am linking to it here, in archived form: ( ). Take a look, when you get the time. It is sure to be eye-opening, if one have eyes willing to open.

What words and what messages are in my writings do not matter in the slightest to a mind that has decided to read what is already written in his or hers mind when met with opposition to feminism. Only the ideological lens matters, and both truth and the original message written, spoken or thought be damned.

All communication breaks down in the shadow of the holy ghost of feminism. Situation is Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. Nuance is dead. And feminists are the ones who killed it, whilst claiming they hold the nuanced view as the only ones allowed to speak, do or think anything in regards to gender and gendered issues. The incredible spectre of nuance shown as a mirage of one-sidedness; both the shadow and the light emanating from the same source: two sides merging to become one side, claiming duality and showcasing singularity.

– Moiret Allegiere, 02.02.2019


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A Important Public Service Announcement from the Department of Humour:

wolf moon lowres a3

Ill: «Wolf Moon», A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere

This is a public service announcement brought to you by the Department of Humour, in close association with the Ministry for Giggles, Snorts and Various Ululations. Please pay close attention.

It has been brought to our attention by the Concerned Unisexual Nervous Trepidation Society that various spontaneous bursts of laughter and humour have been known to occur.

Often these spontaneous bursts of unbridled passion have come following a joke of some description. Often, it is proven, this joke is made at the expense of someone else who should not have been made to be joked and/or made fun of.

As we have previously outlined in our announcement of 2020, titled, «Ballistic Unidirectional Laughter and Lasciviousness: Seven Highways to Indoctrinate Terrorists», impulsive and spontaneous acts of laughter, merriment and humour have been proven to be a notable tool for fringe radicals in recruiting right-wing extremists and other undesirable elements of our societies to their cause, as shown in Professor of Patriarchy-theory and Rape-culture, Goebbels Slipslide`s, excellent research and paper on the matter, «Patriarchy as Inter-generational Sacrifice and Salvation: Twisting the Agenda and Killing Equality«.

It should go without saying that this is of immense concern to us, and we consider it an incredible threat to our global-state and the freedoms which we fought so long and hard for. It is of the utmost importance to our stability and long-lasting kindness that these matters be dealt with as swiftly and efficiently as possible.

In an effort to combat this, we have set up the very first centralized bureaucracy for humour and merriment located in Slutwalk-road, Curvystan.

Should you wish to apply for a burst of laughter, you need to fill form Bj- 69-1-1 in triplicate, as well as the general form for applying to use a form for applying, Dp-TnA-bBc-6, which must be filled in duplicate, then signed and stamped by a registered bureaucrat of level 88 or higher. The application will take six to eight months to process, upon which time you will receive your license to laugh, which is good for 36 – thirty-six hours at the most, and 2 – two – hours at the least, depending on what you are applying to direct laughter towards.

We also understand that some forms of laughter and merriment are more pressing and of more urgency than other forms of laughter and merriment. Therefore, an application for giggles and sudden snorts will also be made available. You must fill in a single form 33-Dd, as well as form Dp-TnA-bBc-6 in triplicate. The application will then be processed within two to three months, upon which time you may or may not be granted a license for Snorts or Giggles or Other Ululations of Merriment which is good for 1 – one – hour at the most or 15 – fifteen – minutes at the least, depending upon what you wish to snort or giggle towards.

It is important to remember, that, however much we value the importance of humour and merriment, not all forms of humour and merriment are equal. In fact: some forms of humour and merriment are not humour and merriment at all, but expressions of hatred, bigotry and other undesirable traits which can only ever lead to domestic terrorism, harassment, and unstable displays of archaic power systems.

Should you, or anyone you know, ever show signs of humour and/or spontaneous bursts of laughter or merriment (also included are snorts, giggles, inner trembling as a result of internally displayed laughter, various sounds and movements which may be indicative of enjoyment, etc. etc…) without being able to show a license to laugh, snort, giggle, or otherwise enjoy yourself/themselves, the proper authorities must be notified at once, in order to assess whether or not any damage, be that personal or societal, was done during the humorous assault.

If and/or when you or someone you know are found to be guilty of humorous assault with intent to hurt, damage, kill, maim or emotionally incapacitate, you or they will be taken care of by the Ministry of Equality, Sex and Segregation, who will then educate you or them on proper etiquette and humour as well as how to handle and deal with improper etiquette and humour.

Of important note is also the concerns of the Concerned Unisexual Nervous Trepidation Society as to whether or not this implementation of licenses to laugh will result in targeted assaults of humour, merriment, snorts, giggles or various ululations against women and minorities. It is important, therefore, to make a distinction between humour and assault. We have therefore, in cooperation with Goebbels Slipslide, put together some easy guidelines for you to follow.

– If and when you encounter any minority or otherwise marginalized person, persons or non-person, non-persons, assume immediately that you can not laugh, snort, giggle or otherwise enjoy yourself despite having a pre-approved license to do so.

If someone you know tells a joke that was unexpected and which may at first glance seem to be following the guidelines of safe humour, assume that it will, given further scrutiny, reveal itself to be deeply offensive and/or improper humorous assault, and as such invalid to be laughed at, despite already having a license to laugh. This may not be the case if the person or non-person telling the joke is a woman or any variety of minority. Should you be in doubt as to whether or not someone is a minority, please remember the guidelines of the Codex Nevroticus, wherein all minorities and majorities are listed and ranked depending on the severity of their minority status or lack thereof.

If the joke is in reference to genitalia, please note that genitalia is an archaic concept of power-dynamics and as such are not to be made fun of, for fear of triggering the downfall of our kindness and mutual loving global civilization.

If the joke is in reference to fornication, please note that fornication is an archaic concept of male dominance and is not to be enjoyed in any way shape or form, as it is nothing but a necessary evil; a means of procreation prior to the completion of our spawning chambers. All heteronormative sex is rape. Even if you enjoy it. And rape is not something to be laughed at. Victims of rape have already been assaulted. They do not need another assault. Please show some compassion.

If you are a) Caucasian and b) male, please note that you spent your laughter-and-giggle-quotas already over the past thousands of years, and as such are not liable to receive any license to laugh, giggle, snort in appreciation, vibrate, fluctuate, move, dance, breathe improperly, etc. etc. Notable exceptions can be made with application through the form Mi-LF-DpDD-69-6 in triplicate, which you can only receive if you are now, or ever have been a)a castrato b)a sufferer of prostate or testicular cancer, c)a former woman or women-identifying or d)otherwise emasculated.

Keeping these guidelines in mind, it should not be particularly difficult to distinguish between humour and assault. Should you still be in doubt, it is always safe to err on the side of caution and assume that the best course of action is not to laugh. At least not until absolute certainty in regards to the situation at hand can be established.

Keep also in mind that your own, or anyone else’s, contextual explanation in regards to humour and the original intent with the joke is irrelevant when confronted with the feelings of the victim of humour about the matter. Please note also that the feelings of the victim may be trumped by the Department of Humour if they consider the situation to be a matter of humorous assault and not a harmless joke.

Thank you for your attention and cooperation in these difficult times.

This has been a public service announcement from the Department of Humour, in close association with the Ministry for Giggles, Snorts and Various Ululations. Remember: Humour? Just say: it depends.

  • Moiret Allegiere, 30.01.2019




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Zero-sum Empathy

nightwatch lowres

Ill: «Nightwatch», A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere

«The torture never stops», Frank Zappa sang, way back in 1976. He weren`t wrong. In this synthetically manufactured drugaddled world we inhabit, empathy has become a zero-sum game to the cultural conversation; a societal good that must only ever benefit women. More often than not at the expense of men. It is as though empathy is a natural resource, limited in its bounty and as such not available in plentiful supply. I find this difficult to comprehend, but there you have it.

Somewhere in a Polish mine, male workers dig and carry empathy out of the ground on their bent backs, burdened by the weight of it crushing down on them. It is then doled out in limited quantities to those most deserving of it. Not women, not men, but the ones which feminism deem deserving of empathy: the ones who work for the cause of feminism according to their ability are given according to their needs. A maddeningly twisting and turning road criss-crossing the whitewashed castles where empathy is accumulated in great stores and delivered in small quantities to those in dire need of this natural resource.

Not everyone can receive empathy. Responses are dead-panned ridiculous. «What, you want empathy? Well, suck on your thumb and go lick a lemon, this empathy is for the whamens!» The weird fractioning of our societies is born from the tainted shivering skeletons of destructive class warfare. Pitting women against men and men against women in a continually escalating war, born from the stinging sensation that men are oppressors by nature. And as such, men are not deserving of empathy, love, care or consideration by their very nature.

The apex-fallacy back at it in full fucking swing. I`ve got them ol` cosmic blues again, mama, my back is bent and troubled and I ain`t got no home and I ain`t got no job and my children are missing in the crossfires of mad divorce, but it don`t matter because I am privileged here I lie in the gutters sucking on a bottle of dubious homebrew in an attempt to keep warm. Can I please receive some empathy?

Nope. You are a patriarchal oppressor. Sorry, brah. Now check your privilege.

Empathy is a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. It is reserved for the plight of womanhood. What? Did you honestly believe that you would garner some empathy and understanding for your troubles? No need to make yourself out to be so pitiful. Are you unaware that somewhere out there are people who actually believe that women should not get statefunded abortions brought to their bedside and delivered by caring hands by the hundreds? How can a privileged male expect empathy and understanding when this atrocity of opinion is unfolding before our very eyes and quivering lips? Get rid of that fedora. Go shave your neckbeard, shitlord.

Expecting society to show empathy for troubled men and boys is misogyny by the bucketload; shit and filth dug up from the trenches of gender warfare. Bullets flying by at ridiculous speeds. Coarse screams of pain. Vivid visions of dismemberment. Death and destruction. Pure filth.

Raising concern for men and boys take away from the concerns raised about women and girls. You have to know this. Empathy is a zero-sum game. And the mining of empathy must stop at some point, the stocks must leave the crippled hands of the Polish mineworkers, all grey of skin and bent of back from the laborious process of extracting empathy from the miraculous beating heart of Gaia herself; the essence of all empathy. To consider both men and women would be a task impossible in scope. There simply is not enough empathy to go around. Please leave your empathy at the door. The door just so happen to open up into a orphanage for girls. Or a battered women`s shelter. That`s where it belongs: with the women and with the girls. Boys and men can go fuck themselves in the gutters and be raped by angry needles. Or was that angry beavers, screaming and drooling madly into their faces as they raise concerns over this unequal doling out of empathy?

I`m talking, fuckface.

Shut the fuck up.

Ok then, you venomous harpy. I`ll shut up. Now, please show me the loving, caring and empathetic nature of womanhood you scream so loudly and passionately about, with spittle flying from your plasticine eyes and insane unblinking contempt vibrating in harmony with your shattered chakras. Ohm Mani Padme Harumph. Bah, humbug.


Did not think so. Denying half of the human race empathy is par for the course when looking for the fabled land of equality, all mad frowns and guttermouth trolls. Sun rise, sun shine, but it shines only for thee, whereas the bells do toll for me. And the trolls don`t turn to stone in the sun. It merely solidifies their scorn and contempt.

See, I have tried and tried again to comprehend how talking about issues disproportionately affecting boys and men somehow detracts from talking about the issues affecting women. And I have failed to reach any level of comprehension in regards to this mad intoxicated whiplash-logic. In particular when feminism claims to work for the wellbeing of boys and men as well as the wellbeing of girls and women. Equality between the sexes. That is what feminism is all about. That is their doctrine. Too bad equality does not mean equality. Equality equals women. It is a one way street in a one horse town with one street.

How exactly does feminism help men and boys? Point me in the right direction, please. Is it by telling them that they are scum for wanting to sit in an audience listening to someone talk about the mental health of boys and men, in order to comprehend the suicide of a near and dear friend? Or by telling them that their nature is pathologic? Is it by being a «nasty woman»?

Fucking authoritarian hypocrites.

It`s like watching a mother who smokes five packs a day berate her son for smoking. The habit is picked up somewhere. If feminism do not want to be attacked as an ideology, perhaps they should not attack men and boys as a gender. See; here`s the major difference: feminism is an ideology. A set of ideas to be followed dogmatically and blindly. No idea is above scrutiny and no idea is above criticism. One choses to wear the labelled blindfold of feminism. In chosing this dubiously transparent label in order to work towards what one perceives as equality, one has chosen to think as the hive thinks. One has chosen the path of least resort, the path that grants the benefit of being able to attack with impunity and immunity all those who oppose. Because, after all, it is only about equality, as the manipulation of discourse dictate.

By being born male, one does not chose to be born male. Men are not an ideology to be attacked and picked apart, even if the feminist gobblesmack-theory theorizes that this is the case. No. Asserts. They assert that this is the case. Women are not under attack when feminism is attacked, even if the feminist douchebaggery deem it so. Feminism is under attack. Feminism may own the discourse and they may own the establishment. However: feminism do not own women and they do not own men, and more and more men and women are waking up to the nonsensical screech that is the choir of the feminist illuminati; the establishment pretending to fight the establishment, all jargon, false statistics and gibberish.

Oh, but feminism is not a monolith! Yeah yeah – fuck that bullshit right up the ear and infected sinus. What a great excuse to ignore and falsely push away the damage done. You know what is not a monolith? Men are not a monolith. And yet, men are treated as such by virtue of birth. The future is female. Men must be reduced to about ten percent of the population. Or placed in concentration camps. That`s how it goes. Welcome to obscurity; picking out, picking apart, hiding the shadow under the light and covering the light in nights of bloodstained satin.

Poisonous fumes are rising from the toxic wasteland following the devastating impact of the estrogen-bomb; talking about mens issues detract from the issues of women. OK, then. Is that a admission from feminists that talking about female issues detracts from male issues? Or are the rules – such as they are – designed in just such a way as to only work one way? The mindnumbing arrogance of it all, the maddening double standards. It is astonishing in its cruelty and belligerent abuse. Dialogues are not designed to be monologues. Feminists would do well to learn this. And if, as feminists loudly proclaim, men have no idea what it is like to be a woman… well, then women have no idea what it is like to be a man. Feminists least of all.

Feminists should not be the ones to speak on issues affecting men. They claim to do so. They claim to be the only ones who should do so. They do not. And they are not. Then they shut down our conferences and shut down screenings of the Red Pill movie, simultaneously claiming that they do not and that the opposite is fact. Even when proveably not so.

The mask is failing. They are in their deathtrows, fighting for dear life. The lies are becoming obvious and the hatred brought to light by their best and brightest shine through the dewy mist of equal mornings, bringing with it droplets of reason and empathy for all trickling slowly down onto the fresh grass of non-feminist discourse in a deafening roar of thunder and a blinding flash of lightning.

Strange how this transparent hatred and contempt have managed to keep its place in the heads and minds and thoughts and feelings of our cultures as the true battle for equality. Absolutely incredible how the doublespeak and doublestandards are not picked apart at a grander scale than it is. How the claim that womens issues are not properly adressed is taken as fact, when it clearly is not fact. It is the issues of men and boys that are not taken seriously. Look to the suicides. Look to the homeless. Look to the funding for shelters for victims of domestic abuse. Look to the statistics on domestic violence to see through the broken prism of feminist doctrine.

Whenever these issues affecting men and boys are raised, the feminists come careening in, screeching and hollering on prime-time television how these men are nothing but a conglomerate of misogynists and foul patriarchs firing cannons of vile abuse at women. Sure, sure, men kill themselves more than women. But women attempt suicide more. So, really, we should be talking about how this affects women. Sure, sure, it is mostly men who are victims of assault and violence. But it is men doing the violence. So, really, we should be talking about how this affects women. If, failing that and being unable to show women suffering more, the conversations twists even more. Then the egalitarian foglights come on, and the feminists say that this is not a gendered issue. That we should show concern for both genders, so why are we only focusing on men. Herp-derp, twist, turn, manipulate and carry on.

I absolutely believe that issues affecting both men and women should be taken seriously; that both men and women should be shown the same levels of empathy, understanding and funding. It should, however, mirror reality. Not ideology. The levels of empathy, understanding, funding, what-have-yous are doled out by ideologues sheltered from the reality of the world inside a hugbox handcrafted from diamonds, not by reason or sanity or truth. And any attempt at addressing issues affecting boys and men with state-funded grants of care and compassion are shouted down, disrupted and ripped to shreds by feminists; the choir invincible. Because «What about the whamens?!?», showing their true nature and showing that they believe mens conferences take away from women because they themselves aim to take away from men with their actions and with their calls to action. Psychological projections aimed straight at the cinematic canvas of public discourse. «We do this. Therefore they must do this.» They show themselves time and again completely incapable of comprehending that other people do not think and act like they do. Their mask comes of, showcasing with religious fervor their inability to think outside of group identity. Time and again, this happens, and time and again we are told that it is only a few feminists, that they care about the genders equally.

Well, the lies are rising to the top of the stagnant pool and the masquerade is ending, showcasing the egotistical beast underneath – the spoiled child that never grew up, never reached emotional maturity – the child that enjoyed tormenting others at school, and then ran crying to the teachers that they were attacked when the tormented victim finally struck back; the spoiled child that was believed by the teachers contrary to the evidence at hand, leaving a innocent boy behind, distressed, chewed out by the teacher and crying eternally internally for the obvious lack of empathy which he must now carry with him for the rest of his life, showcased by a society which proves to him over and over again that it does not have the slightest bit of empathy stashed away somewhere for him.

– Moiret Allegiere, 26.01.2019



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A Farewell to Charms

transcendence 3 lowres a3

Ill: «Transcendence #3», A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere


The nightsky is ripped in half by a flash of lightning. The streets below are brightly lit for a split second as rain pours down in buckets. In this split second we see, marching through the streets uniformally, groups of men, grey of skin, wading in electrically charged rainwater reaching their knees.

A torrential downpour from moody skies, vivid vivisections portrayed on monumental televisionscreens anchored to cosmetically challenged greyscale buildings interspersed occasionally with the simple words «Obey!» and «Submit!».

The sidewalks and pavements are all cracked and broken, dilapitated from feet trudging along day after day, year after year, on the same path towards mindnumbing oblivion. The wear-and-tear of mind-and-soul-breaking monotonous routines. Left foot. Right foot. Onwards, ever onwards towards the same uninspired goal.

Whispers from loudspeakers anchored underneath the ground rise up, amplified through the water and through the bones and flesh of the men marching there, so as to emulate their own internal monologues in a bewitching sing-song voice of poisonous charm and thinly veiled contempt.

A constant stream of sentences, fragmented, disjointed, yet somehow maintaining an illusion of internal consistency as the core message remains the same, summed up in a coarse, hoarse, rude and rudimentary misconception of compassion: «Some of you are all well and good, but you could still do better.». Whispered in a seductive, alluring voice resonating through tides and times of evolutionary guidelines, being carried through the bloodstream of this marching group of men from their feet, through their balls and cocks, straight up into their brains, minds, souls. In brilliant unsung unison repeated by the grey marching masses: «We could still do better».

Swiftly now, swiftly, the water is rising, and as their arms move in splendid synchronicity with each other, we see the water evaporate from muscles and tendons rotting from external empathetic malnourishment as the arms rise from the water and plunge straight into the water again, repeating the process over and over. And sweat flows down their faces in the cold air; a sweat born from constant toil and stress, not from warmth nor from heat, internally or externally. A anxious cold sweat wiped away by the constant rain; emulating windshieldwipers moving to the rhythm of the unseen whips constantly caressing their backs, leaving red and inflamed lines resembling dried-up riverbeds. Wounds left to never heal, opened and reopened and then opened again.

Confined to small spaces in small hours of sleep granted graciously by the powers-that-be, nailed to restless sleep in beds lined with lead, the whispered voices remain in concrete-dreams and are absorbed by neurological impulses, ingrained falsehoods now internalized and taken as concrete truth: «You and only you can do better».

And then – what could be better? They could crawl through broken glass in broken streets lined with broken dreams and beat their own chests bloody with sharp rocks picked from the rabble of values and virtues they used to have, chanting as a liturgy that «We can still do better!», and they would still be told that – yes – you can still do better.

There is no sharp and brilliant end-goal in mind; merely a fleeting unending demand for change, to change this, change that, change everything and then change it back. There is no pleasing the demands, and apologies only makes it worse, wildeyed wonders staring out from underneath a jumbled, confused mess of wordsalads changing goalposts eternally and seeking ever new and ever fresh hunting grounds for conceived ills and faults and flaws in slick post-reason city streets and alleys.

In the gutters lie broken men, shattered, forgotten and left to die as the men marching on looks on or ignores, marching ever onwards to the beat of the drum fantastic, thinking that these dying men did not heed the call to change and so did not change and so got what they deserved. And the music and the sentiments rise up and engulf them in strategic strikes of pen and paper, torrents of abuse and buckets of piss to clean the wounds which, the claim is, the men brought on themselves by being men incapable of just and needed justly needed change.

A life in servitude and constant change, days of stress, devoid of stability and devoid of meaning and devoid of reason as heads nod, down, up, nodding, bopping, bobbing up and down as every demand is met to change and reinvent and do again that which was done yesterday to soothe the aging illness of the world inhabited by mad despair, wild desires and the wickedness of men.

The boots and bots go stomp and stomp and stomp. There is no rest to be had from the constant flow of self-contradictory and self-congratulatory information running wildly through the wild interconnectedness of our internal internets; everything is a issue that needs to be dealt with and everyone shall be damned sure to know this and to say this. And all demands shall be met and damn the demands that are already met as they are damned near never met anyways because, it is proven, it is never good enough. That demand belongs to yesterday. This demand belongs to today. In absolute contradiction to the demands of yesterday, but still containing the same definitive shame and sentiment yesterday as today.

So try and try again, and fail and fail again and be met again with the constant reminder of your moral inferiority and lack of compassion, of virtue and understanding, for refusing to change even as you do change and even as the sweat pouring down your face is replaced with blood from open gashes in your forehead created by a mind rupturing from the inside due to the stress in attempting to understand the what and how and when and where, subsequently failing to submit to the change needed to be a good man, a man worthy of love and fornication and subsequent procreation to drive the geneflow onwards and keep the bloody goddamned thing alive and going for a few centuries more.

And try and try again to not buckle under the constant misinformation and malignant assaults as you march in piss reaching up to your ears and trickling into your mind, wanting only to please but never succeeding in pleasing and never reaching destination unknown; a destination changing every day as new information is absorbed from the lightning cracking the sky manifested as birds chirping, tweeting, flapping their wings and viscious beaks. And then internalize the emotional violence from up high in the castles of unimagined horrors beset with jewels and encased in death and despair and destruction and wild-eyed confusion and a thirst for power so extreme that nothing penetrates the walls of the castle but that which is already considered good and pure and proper and true. And that which is already considered good and proper and true is the old calamity disguised as the new, and a paranoid kick in the womb sets the whole thing in motion to drive the stake into the hearts of men; intravenously injected neuroticism in women to make them blame men constantly and seek men constantly to provide for them and protect them from the constant evil force that is men who are, hopefully, not you.

And, as a bone thrown to the dogs, we are told the fable of the few good men so as to believe that we have something to strive towards; that we may maybe be viewed as one of these «good men», and that we are as such deserving of the good charms of a woman if only we could tow the party line and consider our very nature as toxic as we march through these streets doing what we do, ever trying to change in our attempt to please and to serve, no matter the pleasure sought, to be accepted and viewed in a way that is less hostile and less damaging to the inherent good and pure of womanhood.

Marching as we do, with our heads submerged in water, we have not yet realised that the beats of the drum which we march to in these grim nights and days are that of a slow and sombre funeral drum. And we have not yet realised that there is not a few good men scattered here and there, but a few bad men scattered here and there. And these bad men are stopped, and have been stopped for all time, by the everyday goodness, kindness and compassion of everyday man.

– Moiret Allegiere, 23.01.2019


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