Lonely Train-station Blues; A Collection of Poetry

Oh my gobsmacked goodness; is it that time again?

Well, OK then.

And I am not any good at this. In my infinite wisdom and finite cleverness, I have committed yet another book. A full frontal assault on poetry this time around. Even when it is a well known and long established fact that poetry won’t make you any money, it will only make you mad, I can not for the life of me stop writing it. Or reading it, for that matter. Which just goes to show that some wretched shrivelled and clinically insane person out there will pay actual money for poetry. For reasons of madness.

The collection is titled “Lonely Train-station Blues; Poetry for the Lost Boys”. And it is more or less exactly what the title says that it is. Though the focus in this collection is more on the personal and the spiritual than it is on the gender-stuff which take up most of my time and creative endeavours, it is safe to say that gender still plays a part. For the poetry within is very much written for the Lost Boys of our era and of our decrepit day and age.

If poetry ain’t your thing, the collection at the very least has got some very decent cover-art, even if I do say so myself. Any income from potential sales go straight into keeping me alive, kicking, loaded on caffeine and full of piss, vinegar and ram-jammed rebellion for further blog-posts and channel updates. In short; it supports the blog and the Tube-channels.

After round and about six months, I think, I will start posting the poetry within to the blog and the Tubes, one poem every two weeks. Probably on Mondays… because I can’t stand Mondays, and so I need to get some enjoyment from those wretched days. I have mentioned before that nothing I do will be behind a paywall. This includes fancy frivolities and deep dives into such pretentious dribble as poetry.

The collection is available as paperback and for Kindle-devices. No illustrated edition this time around, I am sad to say, as I lost my faith in visual art some time back and have only recently started getting it back. Better to lose faith in visual art for a while than it is to lose faith in humanity as a whole, I suppose.

Hope you will buy it and enjoy it. I find the collection is best enjoyed alongside a bottle of finely matured red wine, a handful of Valium and a chainsaw.

Get it here:

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Until next time.

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 21.10.2019

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

Why I am an Anti-feminist, part 4:

«Examining Pain», 2019, Moiret Allegiere

It would be safe to say, by peeping but a little beneath the crows-silver that lines the surface of feminism, that it does not exactly hold the greatest opinion of women. It does hold feminist women in great regard, bordering on deification. But that is not your average woman, that is feminist women. And it does have some weird holier-than-thou hang-ups regarding female nature, despite neither masculinity nor femininity being natural according to them. It is a weird thing. And an incredibly strange trip.

In my writings, I tend to focus on men and the opinion feminism has in regards to men. The reason for this should be easy to understand: society, as it is, does neither talk nor care about the plight of men. Feminism insists the opposite, despite it very clearly not being true. One needs look no further than beyond the political indoctrination; the tangled web of lies which feminism have placed over our eyes.

They point to the top one percent in society, see mainly men and state that this means women are oppressed and men are oppressors. Otherwise, why should there be so many men at the top? This is known as the apex-fallacy. In looking only to the top, they neglect looking at the bottom. And at the bottom of society, in all the negative statistics, all the destructive statistics, all the suicides, all the homelessness, all the workplace fatalities, all the drug-addictions, all the alcohol-addictions, all violent crimes – excepting rape, and this may very well be for reasons of rape not being recorded as rape when it is a man being forced to penetrate a woman – and so forth and so on, we find an overwhelming amount of men.

Men die younger than women.

Men lose custody of their children during divorce.

And despite new studies showing that domestic violence is so close to being 50/50 in regards to who is the victim and who is the perpetrator that the few percentages difference does not matter all that much, shelters for men seeking to escape domestic violence hardly exist, whereas shelters for women exist a-plenty. Interesting to note is also that there are higher incidents of domestic violence in lesbian relationships than there are in both male homosexual relationships and heterosexual relationships. It is also worth noting that in most cases of domestic violence, the violence is reciprocal, with both instigating and amplifying and playing on one another’s terrible tendencies and broken psyche. In non-reciprocal domestic violence, the woman is the perpetrator more often than not.

And yet, police – and society overall – have a hard time believing men to be victims of domestic violence. They have a hard time believing that women are capable of being abusive. More often than not they end up arresting him instead of her, thus adding severe insult to severe injury. And feminism doth protest, with all their might, whenever someone attempts to create a shelter for abused men. For that would be sharing societal resources with men. And that will not stand. For all of the resources of society must go to women. This includes empathy.

…This must be that equal treatment they keep telling me about.

I find it interesting and peculiar that feminism will claim that MRA’s don’t do anything but bitch and moan about feminism, then protest when MRA’s attempt to open shelters for abused men, or attempt to get the government to do something about the plight of men, or have conferences attempting to shine a light on the issues predominantly affecting men.

Feminism claims that MRA’s don’t do anything to help men, then protest and complain when MRA’s do something that would help men.

I am lucky to be cynical. This nonsense surprises me less since I have learned to expect it. That is what a lifetime of overt hostility will get you.

All these problems facing men… all these issues that men face are neglected, shooed away and forgotten. It saddens me and it angers me and – at the worst of times – it depresses me. I have no problems with the issues primarily affecting women being taken seriously. I have severe problems with the claims that women – only women – suffer, or that the suffering of women is so much worse and more important than that of men. No matter what it is, it is a woman’s issue.

So you see articles popping up stating that men are lonely, and this is a burden on women. And men are earning less college or university degrees, and this is a burden on women. And on. And on. And on. Never have I ever encountered such incredible egotism, such rampant selfishness and disregard for other human beings. The loneliness and social isolation of men are a burden. On women!

I have severe issues with this lopsided approach to equal treatment, where equal treatment of the sexes has come to mean nothing but give this shit to women, for they are women. And this makes sense, of course, in a society in which we have learned that only women matters at the same time we are told that men get everything handed to them. Double-speak and psychological projection… and a good serving of horsepiss and bullshit.

Not that long ago, I wrote a response piece to an article.

The name of my piece is: “Crucified in Toilet Cubicles – A Tale of Women Pooping”. This was a rare spur of the moment thing, written and then recorded for the tubes within the span of two hours. Not my finest work, in all honesty. I usually don’t do responses like that. The simple reason for this is that I tend to think very slowly, I consider and I ponder and I doubt myself and my abilities to such an extent that it surely has got to be a sign of some neurological defect. When I finally get around to responding, the original piece is long forgotten, tossed to the annals of internet history. As we all know, in internet time one day is damned close to seventeen real-life years.

Originally, I was planning on posting something other than the poop-piece. But this had to come first. It was, quite literally, a much needed shit-post. And the reason I reacted so viscerally, so quickly, so roughly and so brutally to that one article is very simple. The article I responded to, if you have not read it, was published in the New York Times and was a tale of woe and worry about women pooping at work, and how hard this was for them.

Due to the patriarchy and due to men and so and such and blah blah blah. I reacted so viscerally to this article due to this – this petty god-damned fucking non-issue about women having their own small neurosis, their own petty personal hang-ups about pooping – this is given attention.

This needs to be taken seriously. This is being published. This is being pushed as an important issue affecting women. While at the same time, at the same god-damned time, men are not afforded shelters, men commit suicide at frightening rates, men lose access to their children, men lose in education, they lose in the workplace, they drop out of society. And no-one cares about this, no-one touches this, no-one views this as a problem but a few who are labelled god-damned misogynists by the feminist hive-mind that consider women being scared to poop far more important than men killing themselves. It is safe to say that it really struck a nerve with me. And with good fucking reason.

We live within a cultural narrative, within a maddening societal zeitgeist that have decided that all the small and petty issues, all the personal hang-ups and personal grievances of women are more important than anything men go through. Men don’t suffer any hardship, don’t ya know.

Ms. Poopypants and her neglected toilet-trip is a worse story of far more importance to society than Mr. Suicide and the ex-wife that won’t let him see his god-damned children. And all the while – all the god-damned, motherfucking, cocksucking, unlubricated anal-fisting, horse-sodomite while – the feminist hive-mind snarls and gnarls and gnaw their bones, claiming that men have it ever so good and women have it ever so bad. And people listen to them. All the time. People listen to them. And they claim – they dare to make the claim – that they help men as well. It turns my stomach to rot. As it turns the entirety of society to rot and ruin.

The feminist way to help men is to have a panel of only feminist women gibbering and cackling and clucking about how men are obsolete and what men need to do to fix themselves. Men need not apply. Only women are allowed to tell men what to do, what they need to do and how to live their lives. Men are not allowed to speak on behalf of men. That would be misogyny. Men are not allowed to speak on behalf of women either. That too would be misogyny. Men are not allowed to speak at all. For that is misogyny. See the tactic?

Here, within my shattered basement-cavern throne room, you’ll get it mansplained to you by yours truly; the grand majestic manspreading patriarch supreme, whose testicles are just as much a tool of oppression as is his swinging cock, from now until the end of time to be referred to as a savage, unmutilated rape-implement of doom and wanton destruction.

No wonder that people struggle to comprehend the fact that men have problems in society. Feminism have told their fairy-tales for so many decades that people would rather believe that sooner than they would believe objective reality, sooner than they would believe measurable reality. This horrible insistence from feminism that all the problems of men are due solely to men as are all the problems of women do nothing but taint everything in shades of deep period-blood crimson. It is rage-inducing. And so simplistic, though wrapped in enough magic wordsalad gibberish to sound profound.

For men to be saved, they must first cleanse themselves of masculinity. For masculinity is the problem and femininity the solution, despite both being social constructs. As of course feminism is as well, but that is a social construct we shall trust as opposed to the social construct of gender, despite gender being biological when it suits feminism.

Men and masculinity are the cause of all the problems of society as well as being the solution to all the problems in society. According to feminism, which tend to view women as objects – mere automatons with no agency of their own, no ability to do anything about anything but be acted upon.

That is unless they bend the knee to feminism, thus becoming part of the feminist machine and move with the click and crack and dubious twirling of the cogs and wheels and pins and buttons and clockwork within. Women are nothing without feminism; can do nothing without moving with the machinery of feminism.

…And they claim that men have a poor opinion of women.

Feminism does not consider women to have any manner of agency or self-determination. Were I a woman, I would very much be insulted by feminism pretending to speak on my behalf, painting me as an emotionally frail and fragile wreck so prone to being ruled and governed by the terrible forces of men that I am completely unable to make my own choices and have my own thoughts. On anything. Thus needing feminism to think for me, act for me, speak for me and do everything but take a piss for me.

Whatever I may mean about this does not matter, though. It will be dismissed as mansplaining, horrible misogyny and harassment of women. For feminist women are so strong and independent that they can not stand people disagreeing with them. This is mansplaining; in actual fact meaning nothing but a man saying something a feminist dislikes. And so goes the herping of the derp.

It would probably come as no surprise to learn that I am pissed off at feminism. As well as being pissed off with… …no – not pissed off. I’m not angry with society. I am just disappointed. Severely disappointed at a society so dumb and unthinking as to fall for the lies, slander, bullshit and poop-flinging antics of feminism. Yet, my rants, ravings and ramblings are nothing – absolutely nothing. You should hear my wife going off on them. It… it ain’t pretty.

M’lady is most displeased with the current state of affairs.

That is putting it nicely.

But what would you expect? Individual feminist’s have spoken to her previously in so condescending tones that you should think they believed they were talking to a child, not an intelligent adult woman with agency and self-determination. Because she thinks for herself. And in so doing, does not allow feminism to think for her. And in so doing, to the eyes of the feminist hive-mind, she has allowed some horribly misogynistic patriarch in the guise of her husband to think for her. She has internalized her soggy knees. This is how feminism see women that do not agree with feminism. As petulant, wayward children, worthy of condescension at best and scorn at worst.

Chew on that for a little while.

Feminism view women as so incapable of thinking for themselves that, if they do not subscribe to the feminist narrative, they must be under the spell and curse of the patriarchy, allowing the patriarchy to think for them. It is either feminism or internalized misogyny, not neither and certainly not a woman picking and choosing her own path and her own god-damned role in life. That is verboten. Strictly. Punitive measures will be taken. This is black and white thinking. That alone should be a red flag. The out-group is bad. The in-group is not. No matter what they do. This is cult-like thinking. And people would do well to be concerned.

And women such as my wife, to the feminist hive-mind, are free game and may be hunted at will. They have lost their woman-card; they have become strange outliers that are neither feminist nor man, but some horrifying mutant creature. They should have their vaginas taken away, according to Linda Sarsour. They are effectively outlawed, not to be protected by feminism who would – were it a feminist woman suffering the treatment non-feminist women suffer at the hands and blubbering mouths of feminism – state quite bluntly that one can not treat women like that; it is harassment and violence and misogyny and other such buzzwords that don’t mean anything any more on account of their over-use.

This proves once again that feminism does not care for women nor for men nor for any sex. They care for feminism and they care for women who subscribe to the feminist victim-cult.

Feminist women.

Whose strength and independence is such that they can not stand a man explaining something, can not stand a woman thinking for herself. Were their tall tales to be scrutinized and exposed to the unwashed masses, feminism would lose its power and its funding. And that would be their downfall. Everyone who oppose must therefore and by necessity be ganged up on, curb-stomped and left for dead for fear that they would otherwise prove without a doubt that the empress has no clothes. Or skin, for that matter.

I have been called this and labelled that and referred to as the other since I started writing on all this stuff. I have been told that my opposition to feminism could not possibly mean anything but me wanting to go back to a time that would allow me to chain my wife to the kitchen to cook dinner and birth children and do nothing but that. I keep referring to this incidence. And I will explain why it keeps popping up. It is not because the words are hurtful, nor that they hurt my trademarked fragile masculinity. It is the absurdity of the thing, the assuredness of the statement delivered for reasons of me opposing feminism being the dominant -ism in our crackhouse societies.

It is complete and utter absurdity; penny dreadful tales sold in bulk by feminist ideologues with cancer of the reason which, unfortunately, has spread to the sense. It is fear mongering and vapid attempts at shame that does nothing but piss me off and strengthen both my resolve and my opposition. And my throbbing rage-boner.

How anyone can believe that stating something like that as truth would change my perspective of feminism is beyond me. Telling me what I think and believe when I know that I think and believe quite the opposite is stupid. And it is incredibly lazy. Intellectual dishonesty at its very best.

It is the most absurd tactic; claiming that I would do something that I know I would not do, that I am saying something that I do not say nor ever have said or would say, that I hold opinions which I do not hold in order to shame me into compliance when I know full well that I do not hold these opinions which the feminist hive-mind lay in my mouth is brain-dead, egotistical ramblings from someone who obviously is so used to getting everything just the way they want that anything opposing their world-view can not possibly exist and thusly must exist either as lies or as pure, raw, savage and unfiltered hatred of women on my part, including hatred of my wife. One would believe that, were the feminist to really and truly believe that I hate all women – including my wife – the feminist would not believe that shaming me for hating women would work…

It is the craziest thing.

It is saying, in so many words, that “I don’t care what you really say, I have decided in my ruptured mind, that this is what you say. And I feel no reservations in telling you what you say, because you obviously do not know what you say or think or mean. I am the one who knows what you say or think or mean, not you.”

You must forgive me this rant. It just boggles my mind something awful that anyone can look to the writings of someone else and tell that someone that they have written something which they have not written, and expect this to be taken seriously as an argument by the one who wrote the bloody thing to begin with. That is the tactics of feminism; illogical attempts at smearing and shaming, putting words in the mouths of other people and trying to convince them that this is what they said and what they meant, not what they actually said and actually meant.

It is so ridiculous that I am wasting energy and precious calories getting so worked up about it. Granted, given my wife and her incredible cooking skills, I could do with losing some calories. Particularly around the gut-area. But that is not the point. The point is that I need to loosen the chains on my wife. She has expressed interest in leaving the kitchen to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back…

For all the insistence that I am a horribly misogynistic bastard, for all the claims that I am only looking for something to complain about, for all the emotional reasoning behind the complaints in regards to my writings and the narcissism barely hidden behind the feminist moaning about it, for all the attempts at reading my mind and telling me what I really think as opposed to what I actually think, I would dare say that I hold women in much higher regard than feminism does. Because I believe women to be adult human beings.

I would dare make the claim – and truthfully so – that I not only believe that the sexes should be treated equally, but that I live it. That is equal rights, equal responsibilities, equal consequences. Equal rights and equal lefts, in other words.

No hand-up, no hand-outs, no deification of either sex. No fucking chivalry. Respect is earned, not given, no matter which sex. And it is earned by how one behaves. If a woman acts like an insufferable cunt, she is worthy of just as much of my scorn as a man that acts like an insufferable knob-head.

If a woman acts properly and treats other people with respect, she is worthy of just as much respect as a man that acts properly and treats other people with respect.

This should not be that difficult to understand. It is treating the sexes equally. Nothing more, and nothing less. This is men and women being held to the same standards.

This bullshit about respecting women is the most concentrated bullshit I have ever encountered. It is quadruply distilled bullshit of the highest potency. And I am a connoisseur of fine vintage bullshit, having amassed quite a collection over the course of my life.

This “respect women” bullshit elevates women to something other than humanity, something that must be respected solely for the genitalia between her legs.

Where men have to earn respect, women must be given respect no matter how they act or behave merely for being women.

I don’t have any time for that dribble. No-one should have any time for that piss-pottery.

Men and women are of equal worth and equal value as human beings. This is my firmly held conviction. Absolutely equal worth and absolutely equal value. This means that I respect women just as much as I respect men. And I respect men just as much as I respect women. Conversely; I have just as little respect for women as I have for men. It depends not on ones sex, but on ones behaviour, on the content of ones character.

I am a firm believer that what goes around comes around. Act like an arsehole, you are going to be treated like an arsehole.

This is something the feminist hive-mind have forgotten or – more likely – simply neglected in their quest for respect of whamen. It is another fanciful and terrifying way for them to shut down any opposition by the oldest tactic in the book; the shaming of the male.

When opposition to their drivel is met with “you have no respect for women!” most blue-pilled and blue-balled men tremble and fall to their knees and do everything in their power to prove that they do, in fact, have respect for women. And then the conversation moves from whatever he originally opposed to whether he respects women or not. It moves from a topical discussion to a discussion about his character. Wherein he must defend himself against all manner of accusation. And, in defending himself he has admitted to being at fault. In admitting to being at fault, there is no stopping the feminist hive-mind. For they have spotted weakness, smelled blood in the water and so they close in for the kill.

One must never apologize to these people and their smear-merchant tactics.

This happens without a fault. It is the oldest tactic in the book. A man can not stand to be shamed by a woman. Must be because all men hate women and have no respect for them. Heh. Fucking. Heh.

Well, then, dear feminist: have you no respect for men?

Here endeth part 4. And there is more yet to come. You know; I might just clean all this up later when I am done with it and publish it as a book. It reached a point where my literary cup literally runneth over with words and hasty typing. And I need money for hookers and cocaine. Or at the very least for caffeine and dogfood. Join me next week for part 5.

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 19.10.2019

My book – Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

Outlaw Justice, Outlawed Men:

A shy and awkward student is facing jail after he touched a teenager in an attempt to befriend her”. Such is the beginning of this article: https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-7557947/Shy-awkward-student-19-faces-JAIL-sex-assault-conviction.html#comments . Go read the article, then come back.

It is closing in on mid-day, Saturday, October 12th, 2019. I am a bit hungover. Admittedly a normal state of being come Saturday, having delved a bit too deeply into the waters of life the day before.

That is what a bucket-load of home-brewed concoctions and loud music will get you.

Rock’n’roll ain’t dead. Neither is Punk, for that matter. It just got old, developed a bad case of rheumatism and had to take it a bit easy for while.

Usually, I don’t do much writing on Saturdays. Or, well, that is to say – I tend to work a bit on other projects. Things that are not necessarily related to men’s human rights. More of the personal/spiritual stuff that I would focus a lot more on were it not for this god-awful gender stuff being of far more importance. The personal realm can wait. As can the spiritual realm. These don’t matter much in the grand scheme and schism of things. “Things” in this instance being a fancy word for a society that appears to have gone well past its sell-by date.

No, the personal/spiritual stuff I write does not matter all that much. Not when the basic humanity of boys and men are being eroded beneath our feet; a great wide chasm opening up to engulf us and then close above us. To leave us forever devoured by the world; soulless, homeless and absolutely, gobsmackingly hopeless.

We are lost beneath the dead and decaying waves of a split-seamed society that turns its whip-stroked back on boys and men more and more for every passing day. It may very well sound as though I am being hyperbolic. Mayhaps even overly dramatic. Maybe I am… I am afraid to say that I don’t think this is the case.

I first encountered this article two days ago. October tenth. On the day of its release. I Was planning on doing a piece on it next week. Maybe postponing part four of my unending ramble of why I am an anti-feminist. Just needed some time to think about it, devour it and consider it.

I tend to leave the more poetic stuff for Wednesdays. Then focus on a bit heavier, lengthier stuff for the Saturdays. This allows me to write both prose-poetry and more conventional opinion pieces once a week. Writing is my first and greatest love. Or at the very least my greatest outlet for the whatever and whatnot. But I can’t for the life of me get this thing out of my head. It is an absolute atrocity. And trust me and believe me and upon my oath and my honour both: I do not use the word “atrocity” lightly.

And I find myself at a loss for words. This is not something which I am used to. Not when I am writing. I am often at a loss for words if I were to speak to someone whom I don’t know all that well, not being the best versed in social interactions. Chalk that up to introversion, shyness, anxiety, social awkwardness, whatever you want. All in all, it does not matter. I fare much better with the written word than I ever will with the spoken word.

And no wonder, in all honesty.

The topics that I write about is not particularly accepted within the murky depths of society as society stands. The feminist narrative has all but won. And we are all shackled and chained beneath its iron-grip and flimsy iron will. It is not without reason that I refer to it as a tyrannical, totalitarian ideology; the dominant -ism of our day and age. That I choose not to speak on these topics in public – that I choose to write about them in the way that I do instead of debating those who may, for lack of a better descriptor, be called my ideological opponents may very well get me labelled a coward. And I may very well be a coward. Truth be told, I don’t care. At the very least I do some small thing in opposition, however small the part in opposition I play really and truly is.

When I am writing, it is a whole other matter in regards to the words. They tend to come flowing out of my haphazardly thrown together, aching, borderline broken joints and fingers and muscles as though shot from a double-barrelled shotgun deep within my very soul. Which, in truth, is where they come from.

I don’t believe I have ever tried to hide the fact that my writings come from an emotional place – that is to say – they are tainted and given form and shape from the emotional state I am in at the moment of writing. This is not to say that my reasoning or my arguments are based on emotion. Far from it. The delivery, however, is. Such is the realm of art, I think. At the very least the realm of art which I inhabit. It may very well be that I am a fairly sensitive man. I write poetry, for Christ sake! I don’t see anything wrong with this. For the simple reason that there really is nothing wrong with this. It is what it is.

When looking at this article… no, not when looking at this article. When looking at the fate of this young man… his doom, as it were…

I don’t know what I feel.

I know what I think.

There is no doubt about what I think.

There is no doubt about this absolutely horrid display of injustice. Malicious, vicious, brutal, destructive, savage, uncaring, cold, callous… an absolute disregard for this young man’s life, his mental health, his emotional well-being… All for being socially awkward. All for a false pretence. All for the girl and the justice system deciding that they know his intent better than he knows his own intent.

And I feel only cold.

Unbelievably, wretchedly, disturbingly cold.

This is what feminism has done. Welcome the feminist utopia; the age of untangled enlightenment. In the dark. With neither flint nor tinder to light a fire to warm your bones by or illuminate the corkscrew path ahead of you.

The intent – the true intent – of this young man does not matter. Nor does it matter that absolutely no-one was hurt in any way, in any real, tangible, measurable way. Except the young man. The subjective feeling of the young woman in question decides not only his fate, but his intent. Her subjective feeling in the moment trumps his original intent. Were he socially anxious and awkward prior to this, you can be damned sure he will be socially broken and destroyed after this. This is obscene. It is a travesty. And yet, I am not in the least bit surprised. I doubt anyone really and truly is. Western civilization is broken. I fear beyond repair. And I am frightened. Honestly. Truly, really, to the depths of my heart, frightened.

One can not apply logic to this case. Nor can one apply reason. Because the girl, her parents, the entire god-damned justice system has not done it. This is not a case built on evidence. It is not a case built on reason. It is not even a case built on any criminal act. It is a case built entirely on emotion. On subjective feelings. This case should never have been a case. It should not have been a criminal thing. It should have been thrown out; laughed out of the courtroom and the hands of any law-wielder with any amount of self-respect. Or respect for their profession. Being socially awkward should not carry with it punishment by law. Yet it does, in the land of the damned. Which is to say the UK.

The offence – if you can even call it that – carries a maximum sentence of ten years. And a lifetime – if I understood it correctly – of being on the sex offender register. For touching a woman’s arm and waist. Because the woman… no, the overgrown girl-child was certain he was going to touch her breast. How is that proven? I don’t understand it.

How does one go about proving the intent of someone else without employing some hitherto previously unknown psychic telekinetic abilities? “I think it would have been on my breast had I not moved”, she says. She thinks. She feels. With all her awesome neoteny and arrogance.

…Therefore, it has to be true. That is the evidence presented. And that is the evidence accepted. The unbelievable mind-reading abilities of an overgrown girl-child ruining the life of someone else, who is – by his own admittance – socially awkward and anxious and overwhelmed by loneliness.

And it is not that I don’t understand the importance of having and maintaining personal boundaries. Of course I do. I am not a big fan of being touched by strangers myself. But does anyone really and truly believe this is a case of sexual assault? And does anyone really and truly believe that this warrants punishment? Particularly punishment that may be as severe as ten years imprisonment and a lifetime subscription to the sex offender register?

Come on.

The young woman stated that “I struggled for a couple of months afterwards”. For being touched on the arm and waist. Sounds to me as though someone really, really, really wants to be a victim of something in order to push away any responsibilities she may have for her own life. Or just to get them sweet victim credentials that are oh so popular at the moment. Particularly so when taking into account that she apparently was unable to finish her mock exams and then apply to Oxford University. Seems very convenient, does it not? Also sounds as though she is not cut out to be part of wider society if this small, petty and – for all intents and purposes – absolutely harmless happening is enough to ruin her for months on end.

Admittedly, this is speculation on my part.

Everyone is looking for someone to blame, you know.

…As long as that someone is not oneself.

And it is so excruciatingly easy for a woman, in the madness of today, to push the blame onto a man. Any man.

A man is not a human being, after all. That is what we have been told and taught for decades. Men are nothing but rape-machines, and any contact with a man can not lead to anything but unwanted sex. They don’t deserve our empathy. They deserve nothing but scorn. Men do not seek anything but quick and cheap sex. Usually by force. That is the myth and legend being told and presented. And so it must be true. A man could not possibly wish to have a relationship with a woman without sex being up front and centre in his mind and at the tip of his throbbing, mutilated rape-implement. This is what the feminist hive-mind as well as traditional views have told us about men, creating a generation of neuroticism, sexual hang-ups and neo-puritanism in the process. To such an extent that touching a woman’s arm and waist is now considered sexual assault, carrying with it a maximum sentence of ten years. And a lifetime in the sex offender register.

…you know, the amount of times I have been touched on the arm, shoulder, hand, chin, beard, cheek, butt and – on one occasion – groin by women – often in a state of inebriation – whom I did not properly know at the time are not few. Believe it or not, given my not exactly dashing good looks as well as my lack of charisma. I wonder if either the police or the courts would have taken me seriously if I reported them? Or if anyone else would have taken me seriously, for that matter.

Come to think of it, I once had a woman follow me around in a pub, constantly putting her head on my shoulder and whispering sweet nothings into my ear. A compliment, for sure, though I was not particularly interested in her, not being a fan of one night stands at any point in my life. This happened when I was eighteen. I wonder if it is too late to file charges? For me, it would have been too late no matter when I did it.

We all know this.

Had I been bestowed a vagina upon birth, however, it appears that this resting of her head on my shoulder would be enough to ruin her life for good. In particular since her sweet whispered nothings were slightly on the sexual innuendo side of things. Besides; women tend to touch other people more in casual conversation than men do, be that other women or men. It is alright when they do it, of course.

Because men have nothing to fear from women, as the petulant peddlers of prime bullshit will peddle you from their long-reaching serpent tongues and spineless forms.

…Well, boy howdy, do I have something to tell you. And that is this: evidently, we do. Very much so. This is violence by proxy, using the government. This is violence, intimidation and kidnapping. A young woman using the government as her weapon of choice. And now this young man will carry with him the label of sex offender for the rest of his life. Which, I fear, will not be a long and happy life. I hope this young woman will realize what she has done at some point in her life, and that regret, shame and guilt will follow her to the end of her days.

I am usually not this vindictive.

But this is absolutely horrible. Given, of course, that the information presented is true. I have not seen anything to indicate otherwise.

I find it absolutely astonishing that the courts are able to state, without a smidgeon of doubt, that “The complainant’s evidence was very clear, logical and without embellishment. We can think of no motivation for you to touch the victim other than sexual”.

This despite him giving his side of the story as not being sexual. It does not matter what he says in his defence. His actions – his intentions – are not of any importance. The importance is placed upon what the alleged victim believe his intentions were.

And nothing else matters.

Nothing else matters.

Nothing ever will.

A woman’s capabilities of mind-reading is all that is needed in order to destroy a man’s life.

Remember Emmet Till.

That is all I should have said.

And I am incredibly cold.

I don’t know what else to say. The article linked really does speak for itself. This is from the UK, the same place that granted a woman who assaulted her boyfriend… stabbed him with a breadknife, if I recall correctly… her freedom. She did not get any punishment. For punishment could possibly interfere with her academic future and her future career as a gifted surgeon. Don’t want to destroy the life of a violent woman, of course. Her actions should not carry any consequences for her, poor dear. A woman’s actions having consequences for her? Goodness – that would be the day!

It is clear that the UK has a two-tiered justice system. There is one set of rules for women and another set of rules for men.

Where women are concerned, the law does not apply.

And where men are concerned, the law really and truly does apply. For the law is able to read the minds of men and so divine their original intent, never-minding what they themselves say. Men are nothing but liars, scumbags and fuck-guzzling pigs, after all.

This ability to divine the original intention of men is something women seem to have in general and en masse. An astonishing ability, to be sure, and one that I wish I had. It never matters what a man says in his defence. It matters only what a woman says, no matter how absurd.

And yet the feminist hive-mind as well as society overall dare to still make the claim that women are oppressed and are never heard nor taken seriously.

It is a brutal, ugly, vicious thing. And it will never end. Not as long as good men and women are silent about it.

George Orwell was correct in all but the year. This is the junior anti-sex league on full display. It is the new-speak guidelines for the current year; the divinity of womanhood and viciousness of manhood. Women are now synonymous with God. And men are synonymous with Devil. Women are good and men are evil. That is the language of the current year.

Fuck it, who am I kidding?

It is the language of the current year and all the years that have gone before. A beast with different shapes and forms, but the same beast. Even after all this time.

And yet, women dare to write articles about how horrible it is that men are now refusing to be alone with women. How horrible it is that men don’t dare to make the first move, to do something in order to get a romantic relationship going. No wonder. We stand in danger of imprisonment if the woman decides she does not like us.

Though I would absolutely dare say that not all women pushed for this or are like that – this is, after all, the work of feminism – I fail to see that many women standing up against this, nor do I see many women caught in outrage-mode over this.

And no wonder! Women – and feminism – have more important things to worry about. Such as the lines to the women’s toilets being longer than that of men’s toilets. Or the non-existent pay-gap. Or the nefarious pink-tax. Or the air-conditioning. All incredibly important injustices to be fixed and mended, clearly. Not to mention that feminism claims to fight for men too, so really – there is no need for any men’s rights movement to take on this battle on behalf of men. All is good and fair. There is only equality sought here. Now, get back to the plantation and fall on your knees and state, quite proudly, that you would never, ever, under any circumstances, do anything but what a woman tells you that you must do. All hail the goddess Feminism; lady of chaos and bringer of perpetual darkness.

Men are facing quite genuine discrimination in the legal system, in the social sphere, at schools and at work.

So much so that any man’s original intention does not matter – what any woman imagine his intention to be does matter.

If you wanted to drive a wedge between the sexes – which there really should be no doubt about at this point in time – congratulations. That is exactly what you have done. I hope you are pleased with yourself, ms. Feminism, ms. Queen Bee Supreme.

Now, wait ten years.

And then reap what you have sown.

You will not enjoy the reward.

And it will all be of your doing and by your flimsy will brought forth.

Woe upon the plight of womankind.

Surely, they are never taken seriously.

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 16.10.2019

My book – Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

Why I am an anti-feminist, part 3:

Illustration: «Petulant Sunrise»

Cassie Jaye’s documentary “The Red Pill”, is one which I highly recommend. It gives a very good overview of the men’s human rights movement – showing the main points on the agenda, as it were.

What I found the most interesting with the documentary, was not the topic, nor the interviews – despite this all being highly interesting stuff. Nope. It was her personal journey, her video-diaries that she very wisely included in the documentary. Probably not all that surprising, given my own interest in the human journey, in the individual perspective.

Oh, look, you might think – another pretentious douchenozzle with illusions of artistic and literary talent being interested in the individual and how the individual fares when faced with society – how trite, how unoriginal, how woefully predictable. And you would not be wrong.

…Well, I might protest a bit in regards to the pretentious bit, having tried to shed that part of art-school indoctrination through years of introspection, but otherwise… well, there is nothing original with this in regards to writing.

Humanity is interesting in itself, and the journey of an individual overcoming obstacles – which altering ones point of view undoubtedly is – is at the core of most good characters and character development.

How one copes with it is very interesting, and marks the difference between someone with personal integrity and values, someone who is capable of being guided by truth when faced with truth and someone who is not. The documentary shows what a fantastic strength of character Cassie Jaye holds. Changing ones mind is not easy. We tend to be very stubborn creatures.

This stubbornness should be evident with the god-damned wage gap lie being debunked and disproven time and time again, yet still being told and presented as fact by those whom one would assume really ought to be pleased to learn – without a doubt – that it is not real. Not in the way they present it.

One would assume the wage gap being proven to not be true would be a sign of progress and victory for the feminist hive-mind. But, nah, can’t have that, ya know – that would lose them some oppression-points, some victim-currency, some poor damsel-in-distress points. And that would rupture some of the feminist fabric of female infantilisation, and we can not god-damned have that. So keep telling the lies, despite being disproven. And keep making out that women are weak-willed victims of absolutely everything, up to and including their own choices. But, I am getting ahead of myself.

…Even more interesting than the documentary itself (and the incredible integrity of Cassie Jaye) are the Red Pill Raw Files, which you can find on YouTube. These are some fantastic, in-depth interviews that did not make it into the final movie, for some reason or other. The interviews with the feminists – the few that agreed to be interviewed for the movie – are quite telling. Particularly the one with our much beloved deliverer of Fuck-Faces and screeched Patriarchy; Chanty Binx, AKA “Big Red”, force-feeding red pills to the hungry masses one vicious screech at a time, despite this surely not being her intent. I have never seen anyone within the span of twenty minutes contradict themselves so much, nor so many times as she does in this interview. It is the most self-contradictory stream of nonsense and gibberish I have ever seen this side of a high-profile political debate. And it is very telling about the state of feminism in itself, for feminism as it is is self-contradictory. (And annoyingly self-congratulatory.)

At one hand, they claim that feminism helps men too. At the other hand, they state, quite bluntly, that feminism is about women and does not care about men.

Men can create their own movement, according to the hive-mind. Which the same hive-mind will then protest, label misogynist bullies and proceed to shut down – by brute fucking force, harassment, violence, smears, lies, slander, bomb-threats and other such kind and inclusive measures, any attempt at a conference talking about the problems men face in society.

Because feminism helps men too, so the only voices needed are those of feminism. Despite men being told to make their own movement, not co-opt feminism. Because feminism is only about women. Even when it supposedly helps men as well.

Personally, I would rather choke to death on the proverbial red pill than I would allow feminism to speak on behalf of men.

Also: feminism is not a monolith, you have to understand. Even when the ones spewing all manner of misandrist, man-hating, malebashing, kill-all-men, men-are-trash rhetoric and up-fuckery are not real feminists.

…Which does not make sense in the least if feminism is not a monolith. It stands to reason that if a movement is not a monolith, such a thing as a “not real feminist” would not exist. Nor would there exist such a thing as a “real feminist”. If those feminists that are not real feminists are in fact not real feminists, feminism must be a monolith. If feminism is not a monolith, those that are supposedly not real feminists has got to also be real feminists.

It makes no sense.

Madam, once again you are cunt-fusing the issue.

It seems to me that feminism, when faced with any manner of criticism, goes the opportunist path of responding to criticism with whatever is best suited at the moment to be a supposed shut-down and put-down of any argument. Internal consistency is not necessary. Which is a frightening thing, as this must necessarily mean that there are no true values within the ideology upon which the -ism stand. Which goes a long way in explaining what the movement is all about. Which is the movement, and nothing but the movement. The -ism goes above all, no matter what. Principles are not necessary. In fact, they are more of a nuisance.

Merely the narrative that men are oppressors, women are oppressed and to hell with all else, in other words. Internal consistency gets in the way. As long as the narrative can be kept, driven forward and upheld, all is allowed. Lies are then quite alright and not an issue in itself, as lies are necessary tools to bring the movement ever forward. There are no bad tactics, no amoral tools. Only bad targets. And we can play “spot the bullshit” all day long, it won’t work when faced with the hive-mind when the hive-mind allows for so much self-contradiction, so many lies and such ridiculous amounts of bad tactics merely for the goal of the movement and nothing but. And I have little patience for opportunism. As anyone should. Excepting the opportunists, I suppose. Now, let me tell you about this bridge I am putting up for sale…

The way I see it, this constant self-contradiction of feminism is purposeful, in that it serves a purpose for the movement. If feminism can be moved forward by pointing to women being better than men based on biological factors, then feminism will forget that it has told us for decades that there are no biological differences between the sexes. If feminism can be moved forward by telling us that there are no biological differences between the sexes, it will forget the previous admittance of biological differences. And both are supposedly true and false in equal measures, carried on the wings of absurdity into the hungry beaks of society.

If men can be shamed and ridiculed by feminism for not making enough money to be suitable marriage-prospects for women, feminism will forget the wage-gap myth – as seen through quite a few articles on the issue during the last few weeks.

The two do not match, you see.

If the wage-gap is real, it does not make any sense that women struggle to find men that make as much or more than they do. If the wage-gap is real, then women should not be making more money than men and should as such not have any problems with finding men that make more than, or as much as, they do. It is almost as though one would be inclined to believe that the wage-gap is a boldfaced fucking lie. Besides, one would not be amiss in assuming women to be gold-diggers, based solely on these articles. A man must make as much, or more, than a woman in order to be husband material. For the notion of a wife supporting her husband and family is horrifying, despite equal treatment and despite that none of this should matter, were the sexes to be treated completely and utterly equally.

As an aside; I really don’t care which of the sexes do which of the duties in a relationship. The important thing to understand is that there are duties and obligations, responsibilities and work that needs to be done, that both must chip in for a relationship to work and a family to function properly. As long as things get done, it should not matter who does it.

One would not be wrong in believing that boys and men are being pushed out of education and out of lucrative careers by a certain sect that allows for “positive discrimination” so that women shall be hoisted up and pushed forward for being women and nothing but that. For the sake of saintly vulva and vagina; for the holy uterus and ovaries, she shall be granted access. And he shall not.

…Not to mention the fact that men being poor, struggling financial hardships and so and such is made out to be an issue predominantly affecting women. For men must provide for women where relationships are concerned, despite women being strong and independent fish that don’t need no bicycle. His money is their money, her money is her money. Equal treatment? Sure as hell are not equal expectations, responsibilities and obligations.

Women are oppressed by men’s poor financial state. Men are merely tools for the benefit of women, to the tyrannical eyes and minds of feminism. And this is accepted, for reasons of… muh oppression, I suppose. Or feminism supposes, proposes with all their lies and gibberish.

A real feminist does all that feminism says that a true feminist must do. Even the stuff that contradicts the other stuff. Otherwise, a true feminist is not a true feminist in the non-monolithical monolith that is feminism. I have it from reliable sources that they do not enjoy sugar on their porridge either. No wonder, of course, as fish that don’t need bicycles certainly do not eat sugar. Or porridge, for that matter.

I swear; everywhere I look I see hypocrisy and double standards. The doctors can’t find anything wrong with me, and yet I keep seeing it everywhere. I am at my wits end I tell you! And the painkillers can’t take away this pain; no sweet opiate-haze for me to hide this incredible burden within. I tried antipsychotics once, but they only made it worse. Short of divine intervention, there seems to be no cure for my particular predicament.

Boys are struggling in education. There is no doubt about this. This is not something new. And it is getting worse with every passing swoon and whimpered gasp. No wonder, to anyone with some manner of empathy for the male sex. Not with all the anti-male, pro-woman nonsense that are spewed, spat and spouted at schools from teachers who honestly function more like feminist indoctrination-squads than true and proper teachers. This has, finally, led to some concern over here in the frozen wastes of Norway. Peculiar, of course, as this is an incredibly feminist nation.

It only took them about thirty years to recognize the issue.

Only one generation of broken boys and broken bones and broken futures necessary before the issue was seen. Well, one and a half generation.

So now that the issue has been raised… now that it has been decided that we need to help the boys so they don’t drop out, burn out and wash out…

(Otherwise, who will do all the menial tasks, all the hard manual labour, all the dirty and dangerous work? Women? You must be joking! You will forgive me a bit of cynicism. The way things have been going the past several years, I find it very hard to believe that any real effort to help boys and men will ever be implemented. That is to say – any effort that does not rely heavily on the feminist lens and dubious pink-eye.)

…now that this has been decided, as the news broke that boys must be helped in education, the feminist hive-mind were quick to rush in and respond that we have to help everyone, not just the one sex. Because it is not a gendered issue, you see, when it is boys that struggle. It is god-damned infuriating. We don’t need to help only the boys. We can help only the girls, and this is not a problem. If girls struggle, it is a gendered issue and must be treated as such. If boys struggle, it is not a gendered issue and must be treated as such.

No need to help both then, if the girls can be made out to suffer something-or-other, never mind if it is a true something or a false other. True and false are just patriarchal constructs. The same goes for objective reality. Logic is, as the gender studies horde will tell us, yet another patriarchal invention for the oppression of women. If girls struggle, we need to help girls. If boys struggle, we need to focus on helping both. Because it is damn close to heresy to lend a hand to the boys. In particular if that helping hand is not shot directly from the cannon of feminist thought and fancy. A boy needs feminism like a fish needs a hook in the jaw.

And yet, they dare to make the claim that boys and men do not experience less empathy within these fracturing societies of ours. They claim that girls and women experience less empathy, in fact. One of the arguments I have been told in regards to women experiencing less empathy is that they have periods and pregnancies and are expected to function in their day-to-day life with these. Somehow, this is an example of women not being shown empathy. Must be the reason for women being able to act like complete and utter cunts with the excuse of being on their period.

All is forgiven, dear, here, have some chocolate, poor thing, don’t know what you are doing, it’s all those damned hormones. It’s just a couple of stitches they had to put in my skull. Just a small hairline fracture. No biggie.

Absolutely astonishing. Have they no eyes with which to see, no ears with which to hear? Or – more likely – have they no compassion to dole out to anyone who is not of their own sex? Given women’s greater in-group preference, the latter would not be a surprise. Given men’s greater out-group preference, it is even less of a surprise. It is evident to anyone that are willing and able to see the world through rational eyes not clouded with ideology, indoctrination and the good ol’ fashioned women-are-wonderful effect.

One of the greatest issues, one of the core obstacles to men’s rights, is that feminism is taught in schools as fact with no doubt. It is political indoctrination, ideological brainwashing, delivered straight from teachers frantic hand-waving and glaring eyes into the minds and thoughts and subconsciousness of young children, to be left there to fester and to spread and to become a part of their understanding of the world. The future is gender neutral – as long as the neutral gender is feminine. Purple penguins for the win.

This is terrifying.

For feminism is not nuanced, it is not balanced, it is not a force for equality, but a force for forced subjugation beneath their iron-grip and demented world-view; a world-view that falls apart the moment one tries to challenge it. Which, I suppose, is one of many reasons why feminism see no qualms in censoring and stifling speech in opposition. For feminism, in order to thrive, needs to stand unchallenged. Because it tumbles so terribly when challenged. And so it has allowed itself to become a censorious force, considering any opposition as hate-speech that huwts theiw widdle feewings. This can not stand; a feminist having her feelings hurt? That makes you literally worse than Hitler. No hyperbole, no weaponised female fragility, no damselling to be had.

No, of course not.

There is no emotional manipulation going on here, old boy.

Merely their word as absolute truth. There is no doubt about feminism being true. Because feminism told me that it is true. And so, any who oppose the shattered and encaged forces of feminism must be at best a misogynist and at worst the latest incarnation of Adolf Hitler, Mussolini, the entire Ku Klux Klan, a severed and eternally erect rape-penis, the devil, his grandmother, her tiny poodle named “Schlepp”, and the ghost of sexual assaults past, present and future.

They demand, and they are delivered, the entire conversation and the right – for some strange reason – to chose which way the discourse go. They see fit to choke and trample underfoot all that dare defy, giving no credence to man, woman or child that defy their deified secular religion. And still they claim that they are oppressed. For it is all about power in the feminist hive-mind. And that is visible power, political power, not social power. Well, power and collectivization. Men as a single, homogeneous group, women as a single homogeneous group. No individuals to be found within. Collectivized guilt, collectivized victimhood. And all power to the collective that has been collectively chosen to be the victims.

The dance between the sexes is not one of oppression; not one of power or lack of power, of control or lack of control. Nor has it ever been.

It is a dance of cooperation, of giving, and receiving, of sacrificing a little of this so that the other shall receive a little of that – on both parts.

It is both giving what they may best give, receiving what the other may best give.

It is both playing on their strengths and their weaknesses, doing what they themselves are best suited to do.

For the sexes are different. And difference is not something negative. It is a strength. It is both bringing something of theirs to the table so that both may be able to best survive in a world that is, despite all our technological advances and advantages, a brutal and uncaring place.

In painting being different to one another, in making the notion of “differences” into something vile and horrible, something that necessarily must mean that one is better than the other, they have ruined mutual respect, understanding and compassion. They have ruined genuine cooperation and replaced it with competition. Differences have become a tainted term, meant to show one as better than the other despite it really meaning nothing but one being better at this and the other being better at that.

Opposites attract, and then they merge and then they complete one another. Men and women are not on different teams. Quite the contrary; we are on the same team. This gender-war is manufactured and created by elitist snobs, sprung from the murky depths of history, written and shot into existence by upper-class ladies with smelling salts always at the ready in case they swoon from the brutish behaviours of the lower classes; the unwashed masses of both men and women that are not worthy to lick her fainting couch clean of dust, cocaine and laudanum.

Here endeth part three. Join me next week, hopefully, for part four. I have no idea how many parts there will be. When I get into the flow, it really flows. At the time of writing this, I have written enough for the next two weeks. And there will be more. God help me.

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 12.10.2019

My book – Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

The Wonky Wobble of Truth

«Warmachine», 2019, Moiret Allegiere

Vision blurred by manic frights and lights. Foresight sold second-hand, used and spent, bent and broken by years of miscalculated abuse. It is the hands of the wonky and the wobbly that steers the ship.

A ship of fools docked in a land governed by clowns. Social media reached peak efficiency; everything is blindly believed if pushed hard enough.

Mad passed gas lingers in the air presented as new-street blues-news. Sniffed and then snorted, blown up our noses like cocaine through the pellets of time and murdered history. Boy, oh boy, oh gender-neutral dogball-kin, that outrage sure as hell fills the bowels and body with weird vibrant energy, boom-banged like shots of amphetamines through bloodstreams pumped from dried, dead, decadent, diseased hearts.

…No point now in regurgitating truth as truthful as truth; better yet to lie and then to hide behind the lie when caught up in the lie, tangled in the web and wonky wobbles of truth-as-truth-presented, as they saw fit to see it, dialysed into existence from machines that pump and clean and puncture and then rape and burn and pillage.

Not necessarily stoned, but stoned enough. Majestically trapped in the back-seat or the peak and pinnacle of western civilization, twisted and burnt; sacrificial offerings to Earnest, God of Woke, a coincidental conga-line lined and slowly danced by drunk miniature minstrels mimicking morality mockingly.

It is a weird pinnacle of virtue and morbid hysteria, Machiavellian rules and laws to govern morality and make victims of us all through the brute force of tone-and-thought-policing through tough-as-nails policies ponderously written and delivered by the clowns that rule the land, the circus that is the ship of fools.

And all hands are on deck and all decks are in hand as the penultimate tyrant rise from the sea and tear the skies to shreds with fingers smooth as butter and a serpent tongue as smooth as silk. Fangs that dribble new-speak gold-truths doubly-plus-good ad infinitum, you dig? Well done; fantastic dance, you great and glorious non-gender-conforming comrade, you. Now pound me too!

The fumes of morality escaping from pile-driver puritan porn; a noxious gas-cloud passing through the cells of body and prison alike, spreading the duality of wokeness through our eyes and minds that once spat wild insults; that once snarled and growled at those who would decide what words we used.

It is an infection; a viral infection of brain tissue and thoughts that ran to meet the winter at the winters edge as spring and summer both went down the drain, leaving us destitute at the death of God in us and us alone.

Flames rise high from cancelled and censored literature. Stalwart book-burnings in all but the flames, rising street-high and frightful, smoke blackened and bruised seen flowing from the eyes of trigger-happy triggeratos in joy and in celebration as the clowns and fools get to decide which words we read in our CCTV bedchambers… hollowed out from within and from without, spent borderline-bastard-blues… they fined a guy and sentenced him to prison for reading fiction erotica… we are dying, choked to death by the hands of neo-puritans, prepubescent in their SSRI-limelight, drugged to death by anti-anxiety medications that obviously don’t work. Pound me too, you vicious, censorious bastard!

Teen spirit smells like shit now, like spit spat from tongues dulled by life. Your mouth is moving. It must be. For I hear the sound of fevered fanatical flatulence in the sacred halls of this church of Woke.

In our hubris fought we God and fought we Devil, seeing never the one in the other or the other in the one as, speared and mutilated by the rushing of the wolves and of the ship of fools, we lay down our swords awaiting sweet death in fawning admiration of this dreaded God of Woke whose heroin-voice and whisky-hair showed us truly our sin and shame and made us cover up the shame with greater shame.

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 09.10.2019

My book – Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

Redemption Song:

There are those who believe in redemption.

…Those who rush in with clown-like drive-by so-called take-downs, snivelling penitent cluck-clucks as the golden rays of the sun bounce of their shrivelled husk, polished and whitewashed to reflect saintlike self-reflection.

…A certain kind of self-reflection forced upon them by hollow religious sermons meant to make them unburden their beastly masculine shape and form of anything resembling masculinity. That is to say: masculinity as viewed through the mute liturgy of cross-cultural feminist zealotry; masculinity as the brutal cross that only men have to bear, upon which they are to later be crucified atop the hallowed peaks of self-flagellated Golgotha.

…A cross and burden which they must carry with them underneath the vice-like grip and ever-judging eyes of this awesome Goddess of immediate pussy-willow whips and thongs, of self-congratulatory neoteny and fruitful hips, through whose eyes and wretched form all men are sinners singing songs of sinner’s vice and virtue none.

…Within whose judging god-hand grasp and heaving bosom none shall ever be wholly and fully redeemed, yet still see and then consider their murmured self-inflicted martyrdom for the curse and for the cause as a source of grand amusement, picked then doubly-pecked at time and time again with angry knitting needles through their tortured manly eyes, their horrid, horribly horrifying perverse male gaze, or through their dubious liar-tongues that wriggle so amusingly as they choke to death on their own self-sought and self-bought self-immolation.

Never to be fully acknowledged within the church and its angelic walls, its trumpeter halls, its holy smear of period-blood, but to be referred to endearingly or mockingly as “allies” for the noble cause, caused by sex and sex alone, forever doomed to stand without the whining wall and holler at those who did not wish to enter that they are crackpot sinners, brutish bores, never to be absolved of sin.

…as he is surely soon to be…

…for all the pilgrim steps he shall endure upon the path to absolute redemption…

As all truly penitent sinners cursed with cock and balls are want to do, must he now and ever and anon carry the wormwood cross, the snivelled cluck-cluck, into the unwashed masses and their meaty mouths to meet and greet and then dole out calls for redemption as redemption is; acknowledge first the grandest of all earthly sins – the never-seen nor never-heard before privilege of being male (add a sin or more for also being white) – and then work through and then come out the other side, crawling on your knees to beg forgiveness for the sins of you and of your father and your fathers father and so forth, back through time and through the ages until you meet the protoplasmic ooze, until you greet the primordial chaos-soup from whence all men were ripped and torn, born from rape and ravaged ruin, born from perplexing shame and into shame reborn and born again, the original sin once spurted in the face of sinners straight from sinners cocks; a semen-speckled bukkake from the majestic godhead and his cohort, the grand dragon patriarch himself.

Though redemption is dearly sought and even more dearly bought, it is one to never be delivered. For the sins and trespasses one wishes to be absolved off are so grandiose in nature, so undeniably vicious and evil and cold-hearted and mean that none can say or see or think or mean that any true redemption can be had, nor absolution passed upon the shrivelled cluck-cluck husk or the beacon of his armour, rusted and then polished ‘till it turns to glass and passes then as passing gas into the stratosphere, shattered and then chewed and then passed up and passed on and spat out unto the dirt and earth where dead men walk who passed this way before, who self-flagellated ‘till their backs were sore and whipped of all but blood and bone.

For the truest of all that is true, and the realest of all that is real is the knowledge, festering at the bosom’s core of the Goddess’ high embrace – that all men are vicious and are born that way from the loins and in the groin then tangled and entwined.

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 02.10.2019

My book – Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

A quick announcement and a question:

Here I am, breaking the chains of regularly scheduled uploading to bring you this quick announcement, as well as to ask those of you who read or listen to my content fairly regularly a quick question.

In a few months time, aiming at November, I will be publishing a collection of poetry. Well, I call it poetry. Probably, it is prose presented as poetry in order to give myself some pretentious credibility within the literary world. Granted, this being a postmodernist society, anything is art and anything is poetry as long as the artist or poet points at it and labels it as such.

All semantics aside, though, it will be published as a collection of poetry. The title is “Lonely Train-station Blues; poems for the lost boys”.

The title “Lonely Train-station Blues” is the title of one of the poems within; a terrible labour of love which I laboured over for close-to three months. A beast of some 4000 words. An epic, free-form poem written in the current year where no-one in their right mind writes or, for that matter, reads epic poetry. Inspired by the likes of Dante Alighieri, John Milton and Charles Bukowski… if you can believe that. I can’t. But that is besides the point; this poem is one that I am fairly pleased with, even if I do say so myself. Which tend to mean that no-one else will enjoy it.

The topics explored is much in the vein as my other writings, though with more of an emphasis on the personal and the individual. That is – my personal and my individual experiences, with some slightly spiritual stuff thrown in there for good measure, as I stumbled upon the spiritual path some years back and am just about as confused with that as I am with everything else in this weird and wacky world of ours. Best to just walk it with a smile and a raised middle-finger, I think.

It will be published through Amazon, as my funds don’t allow for anything but that. Just as Howling at a Slutwalk Moon was published. One digital, one paperback. The difference being that, barring one or two instances, nothing in this book is published previously. As I am weary of keeping anything behind a paywall, I plan on releasing each and every poem in the book at a monthly basis. For your reading or listening pleasure. That is – one poem a month after the book has been out for some time. Not entirely decided on how long to wait before I start publishing them, so that will be something I have to consider. It will not interfere with my regular upload schedule, which is once or twice a week, depending on the length of the beast I am writing and the amount of research needed and so and such.

Now, I am aware that poetry won’t make me money. It will, in fact, only make me mad. I am not expecting many sales on it, is what I’m saying. Yet, in order to torture my poor and tortured artist soul some more, I will release it into the wild. Because, why the hell not? There can be no more harm in that than there is in what I have already released into the wild.

Work is also moving forward, albeit slowly, on a book chronicling my experiences with psychosis and psycho-pharmaceuticals and the personal transformation and eventual red-pilling that came as a result of that. I am about half-way through a rough draft. This is one that I plan to release in a similar manner, though that will not be until sometime mid-or-late 2020.

I have a few ideas for other books as well, in the red-pill philosophy vein, in the men’s advocacy vein. None of which will interfere with my regular upload schedule, but all of which are too big in scope to be blog-posts first and foremost. They will require more structure than that. These will also be published in the same way, with the book first, then each chapter at a monthly basis after such-and-such a time.

That would be all the announcements.

Now, for the question. A very simple question for those brave and heroic few who watch or read my content on a regular basis – all 20 or 30 of you.

Of course, I jest based on the size of my channel and my blog and what few views I get – I very much appreciate you taking the time to read or listen to my ramblings. I think it is very humbling that you find enjoyment in these things that I do. And so I would very much value your input.

And the question is a simple one, as these things go: are there any particular subjects you would like me to write about? Not that I am running out of things to write about, quite the contrary. Suggestions are a damned good thing to have and to receive.

And that is that.

Until next time:

Take care!

  • Please like, share and subscribe
  • Moiret Allegiere, 09.09.2019

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/