On Sports Banter and Maggot-infused Coffee:


This morning, my first cup of coffee appeared to be replaced with maggots. Thousands of them, squirming and gushing and being generally icky.

In disgust, and fearing that true Lovecraftian horror would soon emerge from the mass of maggots, I threw the cup of coffee at my admittedly crowded living-room wall. It proceeded to shatter into tiny pieces of cheap porcelain and coffee, revealing that there were no maggots in my coffee.

It had all been a hallucination, or a vivid daydream, or cultural enrichment, courtesy of Yuggoth.

“Maybe I’m just tired”, I thought, before I fetched a new cup of coffee with which to awaken and enlighten my melting mind, cursed with brain-fog and intelligence-drain as it is in this horrible and overcast post-apocalyptic morning of mid-february 2020.

As my gigantic brain-erection began fizzing and sizzling with the cruel and unusual rage, wrath and ruin that can only be attributed to enough caffeine to power a moderately sized Norwegian village, I embarked upon my daily crusade against the blank bleakness of the digital paper and the harsh black void of my keyboard.

Deus vult, motherfuckers, deus vult.

Even as my fingers, conspiring with my throbbing brain-boner, typed the admittedly absurd (and quite possibly stupid) maggot-coffee-introduction, I wondered why.

Why the maggots, Moiret? Why the maggots in the coffee? Seemed about as good an introduction as any other, as I sit here, waiting on the coming of Corona-chan to cleanse the world of non-believers.

Deus vult, you bastards, Deus vult.

I will admit to being mentally and physically drained today, after a fairly exhausting yesterday. Reading the news chronically and obsessively does not help matters, if I am to be honest.

Particularly not whilst drinking coffee in the morning. Which finally explains the bloody maggots and the bloody coffee. It’s all to do with the news. Or lack thereof. It has reached a point where nothing is to be trusted. Trust no-one and believe nothing. Everything mass-media manufactured news item appears to be served with a delicious side-dish of propaganda and flat flatulent lies.

Mental and physical exhaustion inevitably comes to mean that inspiration is somewhat lacking today. Yet, write I must. Or else master will beat me again.

News ain’t news no more and nothing is true and everything is fake news and I can’t trust anything any more, not even my own bloody mind. Or my own perception of my own morning coffee which, for those in the know, is where I tend to find God each and every morning. (Which is the meaning behind my avatar. Or “logo”, if you will.)

Besides, for the topic I wished to tackle today, with maggots bathing in my coffee and Lovecraftian horrors nesting in my brain, I could not figure out a proper introduction for love nor money.

In fact: today I would much rather lie down in the corner and drown my woes and worries in coffee and home-made wine. With cyanide chasers on the side. So I let my fingers do the talking, as my wife so often have asked me to do.

Then I settled for the soothing crackle of painkillers upon my ruined and ravaged nervous-system, upon my aching and failing skeletal muscular system, upon my self-deprecating illusion of literary talent and artistic merit.

Also: I have been rather obsessed with Lovecraft lately, for some odd reason. For such a silly person like myself, “lately” comes to mean the last two years or thereabouts. I don’t let go of fascinations, interests and obsessions easily, to put it as simple as I can.

Prior to Lovecraft, it was Poe.

Prior to Poe, it was Milton.

Prior to Milton, it was Bukowski.

Prior to Bukowski, it was Thompson.

Now, this is not exactly true, as these literary obsessions often happen at the same time. But it looked better written down, and sounds better when read, when saying “prior to”. Makes me sound like I know what the hell I’m doing. And we all know that appearances is everything. Any illusion given about professionalism is a good illusion of professionalism. Make of this what you will; I am rambling, as per usual.

All of these authors are dead white guys. And so it will mark me as the devil incarnate and probably some god-awful racist sexist xenophobic Trump-troll Russian bot with a homophobic love for all things pale, male and stale in the literature department. There are, after all, far too many books written by white western male authors in our libraries. And we can’t have that, and anyone who read them contribute to some manner of oppression or marginalizing or something-or-other. But that is a ramble for another day. I have to push forward to get to the actual point sometime today.

Oh, well, such is the way of things: no matter what one does, someone somewhere can – and will – build a monument to offence around it, which reaches all the way to the teary-eyed and dry-heaving heavens above. The tower of Babel has been replaced with the tower of Offence. And all they do in the tower of Offence is babble.

Obsessing over old, dusty and decaying literary works (or obscure extreme metal from eastern Europe) beats obsessing over sports, however.

I have always considered professional sports a waste of time and money that could be better spent elsewhere. Like being loaded onto a rocket and blasted into the sun. Or sunk into the depths of R’lyeh, to be lost there in non-euclidean geometry for evermore. Or placed in a container atop the mountains of madness, then blown to smithereens.

Regarding sports banter, Quote the snowflakes: Nevermore.

My own dislike of professional sports aside, I can easily understand why people enjoy watching it, reading about it, learning about it and obsessing over it. A man needs a hobby and a man needs his entertainment… and his obsessions. Why not? I can’t think of any reason why not.

Ann Francke, on the other hand, can think of plenty reasons why not. All of them ridiculous. Not Anne Frank of diary-fame. A different Ann Francke.

And so we come, at long rambling last, to the main point on today’s agenda.

Sports banter amongst men at work may encourage laddish behaviour, and so should face the wrath and ire of frail and frantic feminism on the battlefield of allowed speech.

See pestilent article linked below.

Then marvel and be amazed at the unfettered arrogance on display.

Sports banter leads to tall tales of the sexual exploits and conquests of the weekend, see, and so men should not be allowed to talk about things men generally find interesting in order to not keep women out of the limited social folds of the corporate machine. God forbid that men should be able to bond with other men over shared interests. Men must be isolated and contained, each in his own cell, for the safety and inclusion of women. With the added bonus of tearing down any manner of male camaraderie, mentoring and fellowship.

For sports banter is not inclusive enough. And probably not diverse enough. Definitely not feminine enough. And absolutely not feminist enough.

Anything said, spoken, thought, done, danced, sung, spelled, spun, spat, vomited, grunted, sweated or otherwise secreted, written, rambled, raged and rotoscoped must first and foremost pass the test. The test is whether or not women may take part in the conversation.

Apparently, to the eyes and drab drool of feminist women, nothing is more terrible and terrifying than not being the centre of attention at all times.

Imagine something as horrible as not being able to put oneself in the midst of a conversation as a soaring centre-piece of whatever and what-not.

Imagine the terror of not taking part in a conversation once in a while.

Imagine being so bloody arrogant as to demand rules be put in place so that people shall not talk about something which does not interest you in particular.

It is absolutely, mindbogglingly, insanely arrogant.

And terrifying.

Ann Francke, she who did not live in a cupboard, invokes the slippery slope with ghastly grimaces of delight, as she states that there is but a small step from sports-banter to tales of sexual conquest.

Laddish behaviour – one assumes she refers to any and all masculine behaviour – must be stomped out and left to die. For all things masculine are terrible. Men are maggots, and are to be gagged and blindfolded for the convenience of women in whatever workplace they co-inhabit.

What is even more extraordinary is that she – in almost the same breath – claims that she does not suggest that it should be banned. Even when that is exactly what she suggests, since it ought to be curbed according to her.

Just your everyday double-speak from the forked, serpentine tongues of feminism, where A and Z is the exact same thing, where 2+2 equals 5, where yes means both no and yes, where no means both yes and no. All is possible in the land of Feministan, also known as the land of make-belief.

I will have to admit that women do not seem as strong and powerful and empowered and independent as all that if they have to demand men not talk about bloody sports in the workplace for reasons of feeling left out of the conversation. There is nothing particularly strong, independent, empowered or mature about demanding certain topics – which are completely tame topics – be banned from workplace banter. Particularly so under the preposterous pretence that it might cause men to slap each other on the back and talk about their sexual conquest over the weekend. For men think only about sex and sports. And beer. Of course. Which is not true. I have absolutely no interest in sports.

One would think, and not unreasonably in my humble opinion, that any mature adult human being – be that human being male or female – would be able to accept that, sometimes, not all conversations include topics that one self is interested in, and that it is quite alright that one can not participate in that conversation at that point in time. Sometimes, believe it or not, people will talk to someone other than you. And sometimes people will even talk about things that don’t interest you.

Very difficult to grasp, I understand, but there you have it: the world consist of more than women, be that one individual woman, or women as a group. I should not have to spell this out, but such is the state of the world.

This is almost as absurd as the “women poop at work” article… Of course, the implications of Ann Francke whose diary is not published, is far worse, as this goes for the jugular – so to speak – in attempting to curb something as innocent as sports banter at work.

Men, believe it or not, are quite capable of managing themselves without having a woman around to act as a moral guiding force, deciding what is or is not acceptable behaviour or suitable topics for discussion. Women do not have to act as parental figures to grown-ass men, demanding that they behave in a manner that pleases them and talk only about things which women are interested in. And men should not accept that the will of women dictate their behaviour or topics of discussion amongst them. It is ridiculous.

Now, I do of course understand that there is a difference between the workplace and just about any other place. I understand that there is a difference in accepted (or expected) behaviour in professional settings as opposed to non-professional settings.

I also understand – despite the strange brutish man-beast Ann Francke of the non-famous diary have manufactured in her sheltered head-space – that men talking about sports does not equate to men talking about the latest cheap thrill picked up in a bar come closing time late Saturday night. But, ya know, laddish behaviour and the stereotypes of men reign supreme in the minds of those who claim to dislike the use of gendered stereotypes.

Sports banter makes women feel left out and not included, she continues, with all the poor swooning ladies she can paint for us in-between her snarling and thinly veiled contempt for men and all things masculine.

Ignoring, for a moment, that not all men enjoy sports and that some women in fact enjoy sports, I would propose that these women may take their feelings of being left out and kindly fuck off.

Admittedly, I may be harsh here – blame that on the maggots in my coffee and the strange influence of Yuggoth on my mind – but it seems rather egotistical, self-obsessed, entitled and narcissistic to me for women to expect and demand that everything; every single conversation, every single happening, every single event, has to revolve around them in some way or other, be that them as a person or their interests.

It also seems contrary to the notion of women being strong ‘n’ tuff ‘n’ capable if they can not handle guys talking about a topic which does not interest them in the workplace.

But what the hell do I know?

I have been designated the role of oppressor, so I am of course not allowed to comment on anything. Particularly not where sex and gender is concerned. Except how horrible, terrible, vicious and cruel me, myself, I and the rest of the guys are, of course.

Despite not being allowed to comment on anything, I have to wonder – do these “rules” of inclusivity, these “rules” of accepted workplace banter extend to female topics of discussion? If you will allow me to think in stereotypes for a moment; would one stomp out women discussing the latest manufactured reality-television drama? Or make-up? Or fashion? Shopping? Footwear?

Women discussing fashion choices, shoes or reality television at work may lead to birdish behaviour. It may even encourage them to cover each others faces in yogurt and cucumber-slices and perming each others hair whilst discussing last months period or the lack of batteries in their monstrous vibrators. For that is the only thing women talk about, right? Vibrators and periods?

One would not be amiss in thinking that this would make men feel less than included in the conversation. It should be curbed so that all and one might feel included in the workplace.

It has to be equal, after all. All and one must feel included. So any topic of discussion (stereo)typically feminine must be curbed, lest it leads to men not feeling included.

If there is one thing feminism has been, and continue to be, remarkably good at, it is infantilizing women. It is painting women as absolutely incapable of dealing with anything. It is painting women as egotistical entitled twats who demand that everything revolves around them. If it does not, then women must be protected from it. Clearly to such an extent that women must be protected from topics of discussion which they are not interested in.

At the same time, it proves that it views men as inherently more mature and capable than women. For men not only accept that not every bloody discussion has to involve something that is of particular interest to them, men are expected to do so. Just as mature adults should be expected to do, of course. In fact; men are mature enough, and are considered to be mature enough, to accept that people do not have to bend over backwards to accommodate their slightest whim and fancy. Women, apparently, are not considered mature enough to accept that people sometimes discuss things that are outside their sphere of interest. Still, it considers men as absolutely incapable of acting properly without a woman being present to supervise them, since women are more mature and definitely more moral, prim and proper and all that jazz.

The whole ting is bloody ridiculous. Bring forth the fainting couches gentlemen; there is a strong and independent whamen coming to work here!

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 19.02.2020


Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
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Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
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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
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A Few Lines on Dogs:

Groucho Marx once said that “Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read”. I believe this to be one of the truest statements ever uttered by a man, though I admit I had to get dogs myself before I properly understood it. At the moment, we have two dogs. The first one we got was a tiny chihuahua. Her name is “Zappa”, and she is not exactly race-typical. She is also, quite literally, a bitch.

At the moment, she is sleeping right beside me on the sofa as I type, resting and nesting – as it were – partly atop, partly inside a woollen blanket which was meant to be used by the domesticated primates of the household. The bitch has, as one would expect, claimed dominion over the woollen blanket. In fact, she appears to have annexed it as part of her ever-expanding empire. To her, what’s hers is hers, and what’s ours is also hers. This is as it should be, I suppose. After all – chihuahuas have got their reputation for a reason. Whatever it is, if it is in the immediate vicinity of a chihuahua, it is theirs. Much like the seagulls in Finding Nemo, they will cry “mine”, and reach for it with all their snoot and incredible sense of fun.

What a bitch.

This little bundle of snoot, paws and twitching tail have done more good for my emotional well-being and my mental health than any amount of babblelogue psycho-therapy, psycho-pharmaceutical drug-cocktails and various and sundry. She is, and has been since we got her, a phenomenal help and comfort in the darkest moments and an amazing friend through and through. And I love her with all my beard.

A year after we got her, we got our second dog. Supposedly a chihuahua, though I believe there is more than a smidgeon of Tibetan Spaniel in his bloodline. His name is Fenris. He is a handsome son of a bitch, as well as being ridiculously clumsy, funny and good-natured. He wants nothing more from life than eternal belly-rubs and ear-strokings. Preferably at the same time. I believe that both of our dogs, through a gentle application of belly-rubs combined with the occasional treat (preferably duck) have obtained enlightenment and so live in a state of permanent Nirvana.

Until, that is, they spot someone outside with the audacity – the rudeness – the unfiltered egotism to walk on the pavement where either one of our dogs once took a shit, took a piss, or found something to eat which they should not eat. Usually some manner of faeces. Loss of Nirvana is of no matter and little consequence, of course, as the state of Nirvana is soon to be reached yet again. Just a small slip-up, a little stumble, and that is all there is to that. I love both of these tiny bastards with all my heart, beard and beginning male pattern baldness.

Quite a few years ago, I knew a guy. We were never close friends, but we spoke ever so often. He was one of those “tough guys”. Not “tough” in any negative sense, mind you. (Though I suspect quite a lot of the feministas and various other prophets of the church of woke would refer to his mannerisms as “Toxic Masculinity” (TM)…) He was not violent, or anything like that. Just your regular no-nonsense guy. Hard-working, salt-of-the-earth, not-taking-shit-from-anyone kind of guy. Straight-talking, honest and perhaps slightly too fond of the drink. I don’t believe I ever saw him fazed by anything. He took everything in stride. Stood up for himself as well as his friends when needed, never shying away from a challenge. Typical “manly man”; a good, decent and honest man. As far as I knew him.

He also had a dog. A gorgeous German Shepherd. I can not remember the name of his dog for love nor money. This was years ago, and as much as I can remember the night in question in good detail, I can not remember the name of his dog. I remember his name, but I will not mention that here for his sake.

So I met him this one night, completely beside himself. Drinking gin straight from the bottle, in an obvious attempt to mask some severe emotional pain. Beyond comfort, seemingly caught in some terrible, frightful, dreadful despair which I could not understand nor comprehend. It was not easy, getting anything out of him. Seems whatever pain he was drowning was devouring him. As though the reality of the situation had not yet reached him.

After a while of talking with him, amidst the tears and dread despair, he managed to get it out: he had had to put his dog down. This was unexpected, to say the least. Yet, of course, it explained everything. Turned out that his dog had got a tumour on his brain – the dog was getting on in years – and that this tumour had gone unnoticed until it altered the behaviour and personality of the dog. He went from being a kind, friendly and obedient dog to being aggressive to the point of attacking his owner. And so he rushed his dog to the vet, took all the tests there were to take and learned that there was absolutely nothing they could do for him. It was either euthanasia, or the rest of his short days in agonizing pain and with aggression and violence to boot. He opted for the humane option, as I believe most of us would. Not an easy choice by any stretch of the imagination. Yet, it is the correct choice in my humble opinion.

So there stood this tough guy, always unfazed, untouched by whatever insults or threats people could throw his way… a man who took everything in stride, no matter what challenges he met in life… weeping, mourning, completely lost in grief, far beyond any comfort.

I’ll tell you, seeing this man – this tough guy – so broken up, so absolutely devastated… it does something to you. By this, I don’t mean that I find it uncomfortable or pathetic, seeing a grown man cry. Far from it, in fact. Yet, seeing him so upset, so broken that night… It is such a profound thing to see and to experience that I struggle to put it into words. These were wounds that would never completely heal. I understood as much, even if it would be years and years until I got a dog myself.

Men tend to be natural problem-solvers. As far as I have understood it, this is part of the reason as to why men don’t cry as readily, as much or as easily as women tend to when faced with some big problem, obstacle or whatever. Our first instinct is to solve it. And crying does not solve anything. Sure; crying may let out some of the pressure in the heat of the moment. But it will not solve anything, and the pressure will build again.

Better, then, to grit ones teeth and puff ones chest out, soldier on and figure out how to bloody solve the bloody thing. Crying may come later. When all else fails. As was the case with this man and his dog – there was no way to solve the problem, without losing his dog. He solved the problem, but was faced with a problem which he could not solve: the loss of his life-long friend. So came the grief, so came the despair, so came the sense of loss, so came the tears. He did the right thing by his dog. I can only imagine how hard that choice was. No wonder he was inconsolable.

For my own sake, I very seldom cry from sadness, or when facing problems. It has happened, but it is incredibly rare. I do, however, cry fairly regularly. From joy. I get moved to tears extraordinarily easily. Just looking at my dogs sleeping or playing will often do the trick. There is no problem to solve there, so it is much easier to get lost in the moment and become absolutely overwhelmed with joy and love. This is not something I am ashamed of. Quite the opposite.

I don’t get this obsession our cultures have that “men have to learn how to cry”, and other such piss-pottery. Men are very adept at dealing with stuff. We just tend to deal in a way that differs from how women tend to deal. And there is nothing wrong with this. Men are not defective women.

I propose a worldwide campaign, titled “Women need to learn how not to cry”. See how far we’ll get with that, before being accused of various soggy knees, before we get accused of viewing women as defective men. Instead of society accepting that we are different and so deal and cope differently, men must be re-educated, re-modelled, re-engineered so that we deal and cope in the way women deal and cope. For the feminine is the standard and the masculine a deviation, for some strange reason.

A dog becomes a natural part of the family. Way beyond being only a pet. There is a bond between a man and a dog that is just as strong as – if not stronger than – any bond between a man and any other human being.

Outside of my dogs – and of course my wife – a book has always been my best friend. (I have, as of yet, not attempted to read a book inside my dog. And I would much prefer not to.) I have been reading ferociously since I was a small kid. Books that were too advanced for my age-group at the time, apparently, though I believe that to be baloney and bullshit. Who decides what is proper reading-material for any age-group? Excepting the obvious; pornography, for example. So I finally understood what Groucho Marx meant. And I wholeheartedly agree. At times, I believe that dogs are too good for humanity; that we don’t deserve them. They are the most beautiful creatures there are. I often prefer their company to other human beings, that’s for damned sure.

Throughout my life, I have heard the statement “Men are dogs!” expressed by scores of women as some strange form of insult. And it always makes me giggle and snort. Apparently, it is meant as a statement of disgust. Pointing to the animalistic nature of men, or something to that effect. It is meant to be an insult. Which is about as ridiculous and absurd as any other thing conjured forth from the darkest recesses of the feminine shadow could ever be.

For what are dogs known for? Loyalty. Loyalty and love. (And cuddles.) Unquestioned loyalty and love without hesitation. Wanting nothing in return but your friendship. (Putting aside the obvious, which is food, shelter and water.)

Whenever I encounter that statement, I can not help but take it as the highest compliment. For it could not possibly be anything but that. Excepting to people suffering from chronic cat-hoarding and boxed wine addiction, I suppose.

If men are, in fact, dogs, then it stands to reason that men are good, noble, loyal, pure, true and very fond of food. It stands to reason, then, that men will put themselves in harms way to save someone else. That men protect, defend, and cuddle… that men overflow with kindness, love and good, playful humour. And honestly, I agree. To quote Tom Golden: “Men Are Good”.

I can not imagine any higher compliment than being compared to a dog. Dogs are good, and so are men.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 08.02.2020

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
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Why I am an Anti-feminist, Part 13

Didn’t find the time for a drawing for this one. Please Enjoy a photo of my beard enjoying a cup of coffee.

One of the things that most confound me in this ever-lasting current year of confusing culture-wars and social justice nonsense is this willingness from women in general, whether feminist or not, to be considered victims and to consider themselves as victims.

Whatever can be held forth as an example of victimhood will be grabbed, smeared in their faces like blood and warpaint, then held forth as a supreme example of the perpetually victimized woman.

The best example of this, I believe, is the wage-gap. The feminist lie about this has been debunked over and over again.

Time and time again.

Again and again and again.

And still it is being used to justify their infantile victimhood-complex, used as proof of overt discrimination; used as an example of why feminism is still ever so sorely needed in this age of the mighty hysteria.

The truth is out there for everyone to see. The wage-gap, as feminism prefers to present it, is long since debunked. And then it is debunked again. And a third time, just for good measure.

It is, in fact, an earnings-gap.

Meaning: men work more than women, men take on more overtime, men are better negotiators than women, men take less sick-leave, men work more dangerous jobs… and so forth and so on.

There is also this pesky little factoid to contend with: it is illegal to pay someone less or more depending on their sex.


Which makes me wonder where all the lawsuits are. Where are all the companies going bankrupt from having to pay legal fees, being sued into oblivion, being assaulted day and night by police-forces, besieged by law and order from clearly breaking the law?

Not that this matters much, of course. For lately I have seen the feminist hordes move the goalposts ever so slightly, and apparently unseen and unnoticed, cloaked by the nights veiled satin madness. This time around, being unable to still keep the wage-gap lie going as they used to, they claim it instead to be proof that typical female professions are considered of less worth than typical male professions… further keeping the wage-gap myth going, despite it being debunked. And no evidence needed, of course. Believe women. Even when they make no sense and present no evidence but their own assumed assertions. For women have got to be victims. Otherwise, what is the bloody point of feminism?

The feminist hive-mind are well aware that the pay-gap is false. They just don’t give a fuck. Or they choose not to believe it, as victimhood just taste so damned sweet in their mouths and scatter-brained infantilism. A feminist will roar in your face, spittle and drool flying everywhere, that “Did you know that women are paid less than men? And – no – this has nothing to do with the aforementioned reasons. We are discriminated against, I promise! Fuck-face!”.





Followed by a kick to the chest to send one plummeting down the morally decayed and emotionally bankrupt bottomless pit of dread feminist despair; victimizing and infantilizing the poor whamens one second of free-fall at a time.

This I can not grasp. They are well aware of the debunking. They just don’t care. They want to be discriminated against. They want to be victims.

So strong. So tough. So resilient. Nevertheless, she persisted. And all other pathetic platitudes and select sentences that say little, but sure as hell help in boosting some frail and frantic feminist egos. It sure must feel good to be constantly validated and celebrated, no matter what you do. Or don’t do. Even when just doing things you’re supposed to do. Or not supposed to do.

When this so-called discrimination has been disproved and debunked, one should believe that the feminist platoons would be well pleased with themselves. That they would pat themselves on their chubby back-fat in self-congratulatory, self-celebratory glee (as is, of course, their greatest talent) and be pleased with this lack of discrimination.

It is, however, the other way around.

They celebrate perceived discrimination.

Not lack of discrimination.

For their core reason for existing is to perpetuate feminism. If discrimination is disproven, they weep and carry on as though the discrimination is there. Can not let pesky facts get in the way of the narrative. If the narrative is disrupted, they have no reason to exist. If they have no reason to exist, they can not carry on. Then they would have to actually cultivate a personality instead of merely being a feminist.

That would be a difficult task indeed, for someone whose main goal, focus, career, belief and reason for fucking living, existing, breathing and feeling has been centred around the spiralling drain of feminism all their live-long life. It is a dangerous thing, to make an ideology such a big part of ones identity that one is adrift in the void without it.

They want to be victims. They want to be seen as both weak and helpless – in need of provision and protection – and as strong and independent – a woman needs a man as a fish needs a bicycle, after all.

And a strong, independent fish can not be expected to live long on land. They need to live in water. Take a fish out of water, and it will die. Take a feminist out of feminism; that is to say: victimhood, and she will die.

Though it is true that they don’t need a man.

They need government intervention instead of a man. Implement this law and that law and all those other laws for positive discrimination. You know: actual, written in law for all the world to see discrimination. Blanket discrimination that favours one sex over the other sex.

Then pretend and feign discrimination over this and that and all the other this’s and that’s. Roaring and screaming, snarling and gnarling and snivelling and weeping that they are ever so discriminated against for being women, despite all these laws in their favour and their favour only, so please, daddy, give us some more. For they are the meekest and the most oppressed and the strongest and the most independent all rolled into one neat sausage roll.

In the windblown wastes of Norway, we have a “law of equality”. The wording of the law says that it favours women and minorities. An odd phrasing for a law supposedly in place to guarantee equal treatment, as it clearly favours women… and minorities. Quite contrary to equality. It was proposed that the wording of the law should be altered so as to actually be equal.

You know; gender-neutral.

The feminist hive-mind protested, and so the law remains; gendered discrimination written into the law of equality that is there to work against gendered discrimination. Favouring the sex that is – for some reason – considered the oppressed and helpless sex. And so the law of equality is held forth as proof that women are oppressed… otherwise, we would not need that law to be gender-specific, now would we? Check mate, misogynists.

It is a strange patriarchy to live in, in which women are so favoured that they have special protection under law; in which their voices are heard so clear and taken so seriously that a law that is there to guarantee their privilege remain as-is. Odd as well, considering the feminist screech that everything must be gender-neutral.

Except that which favour women, of course. Which is peculiar and odd. In a society in which women are eternally oppressed and downtrodden, where men are eternally privileged and protected, it is incredibly strange to me…

Of course, the feminist hive-mind will screech and jabber that men don’t need those laws for they are written in the very foundations of our society and our culture. Unseen, but still there. Despite all evidence to the contrary.

When boys and men suffer disadvantages, we don’t need to care about that. Because girls and women suffer more. Why else would there be laws in place especially for girls and women and none for men, if girls and women did not suffer more? Check mate, foul misogynist.

Truly, we live in a society.

We exist within a world in which we have been told that all men everywhere oppress women; in which all men everywhere benefit from the oppression of women.

Now; I have had more than enough feminists scream in my face; either through the internet or in real life to really and truly wonder how – if I were so terrible an oppressor – these women would dare scream in my face as they do. Surely, if women are so scared of men as feminism claims, no woman would dare behave in that manner when facing the terrible and terrifying enemy of their mythology and legend.

When a feminist woman feels so emboldened as to personally attack me for me doing nothing but give my wife a compliment on her appearance… or chew me out for daring to be born on the 8th of March and so celebrate my birthday on the international day of the master-sex… or for referring to my girlfriend at the time as “my girlfriend” instead of using her name, I have to wonder how real that oppression is… and how deep the victimhood goes.

I can not be the only one who consider it weird that women are so terrified of men, and still feel so safe and fancy-free in our proximity that they attempt to control our speech, our behaviour and how we should not celebrate our birthday when it happens to fall on the same day as the international day of the Aryan sex… because celebrating my birthday on the day of my birth distracts from the celebration of women, when those two days just so happen to be the same. Because of course it does.

Alas, for women, there is currency in victimhood. Because people in power will listen to women in distress. As will everyone else, for that matter. There is a need – deeply rooted – within all of humanity to protect women. Now, this protection will be different depending on culture and time and place and whatever. It is still there, however. Women are to be sheltered and saved from this and from that, from tit and from tat and from arse and legs. Biologically, women are more important than men. And men are not as important as women. Women and children first; and to hell with the men… and the boys.

On the Titanic, boys over the age of eight was considered to be men, and so, potentially, left behind to die. (Dr. Charles Pellegrino, “Her Name, Titanic” McGraw-Hills Publishing Company, 1988) So that adult women should survive. How terribly oppressed; how very much treated like chattel when their right to live is greater than that of 8 year old boys!

I would consider being allowed to live where others are expected to die – in fact, to sacrifice their lives for me – a severe privilege. But what the hell do I know, here I sit close-to-weeping after reading an account of a ten year old boy left behind on the Titanic to die; basking in the glow of his eternal male privilege and all the accumulated wealth of his life-time of oppression.

All ten years of it.

Muh patriarchy hurts men too. Because of course it bloody does. Everything must be blamed on men.

I see precious few feminists complaining about “women and children first”, and other very clear female privileges… unless they are able to paint that as women being victimized, of course. Which they will. Though, they will still be reluctant to change it.

One can not take anything away from women, you know. You can only give to women, of course and as expected.

Particularly so when that which is given is taken from men. For men deserve nothing, but to give.

I may sound hyperbolic. But I struggle to see anything but that in situations where men – and young boys – are expected to give their lives so that women shall survive.

That is an extreme example, of course, and I will freely admit to that. It still holds true, however.

We must have so-and-such percentage of women in leadership, and we must have this-and-that percentage of women in this field of study or in that field of study. And on. And on. Talent and merit matters not; only sex. And skin-colour. And other such superficial things. But mainly sex. Because women matter more than anything else.

Women, first and foremost, must be protected from their own choices. But only if they identify as feminist.

I remember the Las Vegas Shooting of 2017, which prompted discussions from feminism on Toxic Masculinity and male violence and all that other stuff which one has come to expect from those who celebrate every single tragedy of this nature for reasons of being able to push their narrative… standing on the corpses of the victims to propagate their political platitudes and say, in voices loud as thunder, that there is something wrong with men.

Remember: it is only a mental health issue when women do something wrong.

Though, of course, considering that masculinity for bullshit-reasons is considered a pathology, one could make the claim that discussions on how terrible men are is a discussion on mental health. This assumes, of course, that one agrees with “traditional masculinity” being presented as a pathology. Which one has to suffer the psychopathology of feminism to agree with.

I remember reading about one young man – a Jonathan Smith, age 30 – who saved about 30 people during the Las Vegas shooting, through his bravery. As a reward for his courage, he got shot in the neck and will, with all likelihood, live with the bullet lodged in his neck for the rest of his life. If that is not enough of a reward for his self-sacrifice, he will also have to live with hearing people blame masculinity, blame men and – by extension himself – for what happened that night. Sweeping generalizations about men and the wickedness of men are par for the course; part and parcel of living in the end-days of western civilization.

Honk, Honk.

There are no sweeping generalizations about the kindness of men; the capacity men have for self-sacrifice, the protective nature of men, and so forth and so on. People have attempted.

Yet, oddly enough, every time someone brings forth the kindness and goodness of men in general, they are attacked for neglecting women… for discriminating against women, for not mentioning the achievements of women. And men are attacked for being violent, being rapists, being this and being that. For one can not say a single word of good about men. Men are obsolete, remember. There is only one sex, and that sex is female.

If anything good is said about men in general, women – whether blatantly feminist or not – will scream victimhood and demand women be included in what is said. For women are victims of someone saying something good about men. Women are victims by not being catered to all the time, by not being celebrated constantly.

It is rage-inducing.

It strikes me as weird, wacky, self-indulgent and incredibly egotistical.

There is no room in our societies to celebrate men. There is only room to celebrate women. There is no room in our societies to harbour empathy for men; all empathy must go to women, all celebration, all everything.

Otherwise; the feminist hordes will screech and writhe in agony.

For anything positive said about men is like kryptonite to a feminist; a most potent allergen. She will break out in hives and in anxious sweat; she will break out in asthmatic fits of rage and wrath and ruin. Then she will cry and weep and demand that women be celebrated and men be neglected. For men have had it all for all time.

And that is true.

Men have had all the ridicule, all the shame, all the self-sacrifice, all the deaths, all the violence, all the neglect, all the abuse our societies could ever willingly lay on the shoulders of an identity group for decades.

And not a damned thing is done about this. For trying to do anything about it further cements, in the minds and eyes and claws and teeth of feminism, the oppression and neglect of women and the so-called constant celebration of men.

Even when men are vilified and made to look like some parody of a James Bond villain… over-the-top and ridiculous. Even when masculinity itself is smeared as something destructive and dark and dangerous, something pathological that must be un-learned and done away with. Men can not be victims. Even when we are victims. For even then, men shall be vilified. For pointing this out means we hate women; that we suffer and struggle from both fragile masculinity and toxic masculinity. And all is wrong with men, and in the world of men there is nothing correct, nothing right, nothing good and proper and true.

And this is also true.

Because feminism has seen to it that nothing shall be good, proper and true in the world of men through refusing men to speak on men’s behalf, through refusing the world to celebrate men and masculinity.

And that is that for this ramble; it was a good vacation and a very good Christmas. And now I struggle to get back into the habit of writing every day since I allowed myself to be a bit of a lazy bastard for two weeks. Oh well; I shall regain my composure and my insane and nimble fingers to wag my tongue at insanity once again. Join me next week, if you please, for more rants, ravings, writings and ramblings.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 04.01.2020

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Why I am an Anti-feminist, part 11

«Mid-day Greetings»

One of my most favourite memes of all time is one in which there is a picture of a Barbie doll. Above the picture of the Barbie doll are the words “This is Barbie”, followed by the usual inane ramblings from feminism about the negative body-image, the stereotypical whatever and what-not and the negative effect this has on girls… how terrible and oppressive and so and such (and every other buzzword) it is. Next to the image of the Barbie doll is a picture of a He-man action figure. Above that picture, the words read only “this is He-man”.

I don’t believe there is any reason for me to explain what this means, though for the unenlightened ones, I may well do so.

He-man is a bloody hulk; a searing mass of muscle and flesh and brawn. An unreachable body for all but the most roided up of men.

And Barbie is a slim woman.

Both of them also happen to be dolls. Toys meant to amuse children. Not that this matters much, of course. Children do not exist to be amused and to play, they exist to be imprinted with an agenda, to be moulded into beautiful pawns of the gender-neutral purple penguin future. I am not all that familiar with the He-man series or its universe, being a child of the glorious animation of the nineties instead; Animaniacs, Tiny Toons, Freakazoid, Batman the Animated Series, etc.

I am, however, aware enough of the He-man universe to know two things:

1: Skeletor is the spitting image of Joe Biden. There is an uncanny resemblance.

2: He-man has not had as many careers as Barbie has, given that she has been granted almost every possible profession in the world – even McDonald’s employee.

Both the “low-status” and “high-status” professions have been granted her, it seems, bottled and sold to these poor impressionable girls who are ever so oppressed by their dolls and their career-prospects.

Now, I may very well be an absolutely entitled man-splaining moron, but it seems to me that selling the idea of women being able to hold every profession under the sun would be very much welcomed by the feminist platoons. And it probably is. As long as the woman is not a slim woman with an idealized body-type that is unavailable to all but a plastic doll. Which she, as a matter of fact, is.

A plastic doll.

A doll made from plastic.

Not a living, breathing human being with organs and emotions and other such pesky annoyances.

She is, in fact, a plastic doll.

Interesting to note is also that her male counterpart, Ken, functions as little more than arm-candy for Barbie. A status-object which cements her as not only professionally successful, but also socially successful. Ken also just so happen to be completely and utterly neutered, fantastically emasculated, devoid of ham as well as eggs, as it were. Which makes me wonder how in the world Barbie ever managed to get pregnant by him… There is a pregnant Barbie doll, for those of you who are uninitiated. And it is absolutely marvellous. And I say this with sincerity – it is a fantastic toy, all things considered. Don’t “at” me, brah.

Come to think of it: the entirety of the Barbie universe may very well represent the grandest and most fantastic feminist utopia – the ultimate wet dream of the feminist hive-mind; a world in which women dominate every profession, men are castrated at birth, thus serving no purpose but to be yet another success-object for Barbie and her friends – an object upon which the women then may release all their scorn, anger and malcontent when needed, who obligingly crawls back into his cage when the women are done with whatever he is needed to do at the moment… after all, when all the lids are screwed open and the living-room remodelled, what use could he – or any man, for that matter – possibly have?

Due to the emasculated nature of Ken, I can not possibly reach any other conclusion than this: the Barbie universe is a world in which babies are conceived through the use of synthetic sperm, aided by doctor Barbie herself. As such, the Barbie-verse has successfully eliminated the archaic notion that heterosexual intercourse is necessary for procreation. Heterosexual intercourse obviously being – as one should be well aware by now – rape of the woman, no matter what.

In structuring their society in this manner, Barbie and her cohorts have succeeded in eliminating all rape. Excepting stare-rape, fart-rape and all that other stuff. But that is of small consequence within the confines of this universe. For Ken to be blinded at birth is next on the agenda, thus eliminating once and for all the pesky male gaze and any future possibilities of stare-rape.

Through this reasoning, we come to realize that Barbie, as opposed to the claims from feminism, actually represent the pinnacle of flaccid feminist fantasy. Surely it is a wonder that they do not celebrate her. Had she not been slim, they probably would have. Yet, they must have something to complain about, why not? Nothing is more important to feminism than perpetuating feminism, thus the need for something to whinge and whine about. Otherwise, they would have to consider themselves obsolete and find new careers, which for a professional feminist of no ill repute is a hard task indeed. Make no mistake – there is a lot of money and power involved in feminism. And they have to maintain that stream of money and flow of power by any means, any whims and any whines necessary.

The Barbie universe is a feminist utopian fantasy. An ideal society for all but those pesky non-feminists out there, for whom it is a dystopian fantasy. Of course, these people do not matter. For they are not flying the true colours of the searing sisterhood.

The society which Barbie and Ken inhabit is one in which women rule absolutely everything by virtue of nothing but their sex, sexual reproduction does not exist, boys are castrated at birth, growing up to be little more than man-servants… a society in which the lives of men is an existence of absolute slavery and servitude.

Beneath the fluffy pink exterior of the Barbie-verse lies a society of gloom and doom, of chains and whips, neglect and abuse.

See – I can do it too.

And I wrote this “thesis” after a night of poor sleep in the span of ten minutes. Overanalysing something to the point of absurdity is not difficult at all. Why should the feminist interpretation be more accepted? Personally, I think I make a compelling case. Particularly so if I could flesh it out some more… much like the body-positivity Barbie dolls have been fleshed out in recent years. They are highly irregular around the margins, one could say.

Anyway – the roided up action figures made for boys do not damage the self-esteem and body image of boys and young men. I know this to be true, because the feminist hive-mind have told me so. (Now, I tend to believe children in general to be pretty adept at separating fantasy from reality and toys depicting human beings from actual human beings. I have this radical notion that kids are far more clever and far more intelligent than we tend to believe. Also – I really like kids. They are great.)

You see, these figures for boys are representative of a “Male Power Fantasy”, and as such is negative for girls and women having to endure the terror of the male power fantasy, not for boys and certainly not for men. Unless, of course, the discussion can be whip-lashed about a bit to focus on toxic masculinity. Which is harmful to boys and men, but most of all to girls and women. Because nothing else matters but women and girls.

The only ones allowed to speak on what is damaging to boys and men, or what is good for them, are the followers of feminism.

Because nothing else matters.

And that is all that there is to that.

This is also something the feminist hive-mind have told me. And so it must be true.

Because nothing else matters.

Yet, if I were to make the claim – as I have just done, albeit in more words, that Barbie represents a “Female Power Fantasy”, I would have a feminist fatwa on my head. (Which I probably already have.) It would not be taken seriously. And, I believe, rightly so.

The polls are in, the votes are counted and the deaf, dumb and blind have had their say. Their say is simple: Barbie makes girls feel uncomfortable about their bodies, inadequate and so-and-such. And sop they must either be banned, or altered to fit in with their vision of the world. Because nothing else matters.

Implicit in this line of feminist reasoning, taking into consideration that He-man apparently does not create similar body-issues in boys, is the notion that girls are psychologically weaker than boys – that women are emotionally more fragile than men; that they are much more likely than are boys and men to give in to peer pressure and societal expectations of a negative nature. Girls are far more impressionable than boys. Except when they aren’t. Which is, as it always is, when, whatever, never-mind.

Boys are not affected by unrealistic body-whatevers, nor unreachable beauty-whatevers from their toys. Girls are. Therefore, we must not care about boys because they – as opposed to girls – are completely capable of separating toys from reality, fiction from non-fiction and their power fantasies from their actual day to day life. Excepting video-games, which have the awesome power of turning them into foul misogynists and other such naughty things. This makes no sense, since boys and men are misogynists by default for being moulded into hating women from the moment of birth… but, no mind, little matter. Feminism and its ideas do tend to get very confusing, self-contradictory and strange. Which may very well be by design, creating a simple intellectual “out” for every possible refutation for reasons of being designed in a confusing manner.

“This is true. And so is this other thing, which is the exact opposite to that other thing.” This is because feminism is not a monolith. Except when it is. Despite that it isn’t. All dependent on the whim and fury of the feminist in question, at the moment of questioning. Individualist when it suits them, collectivist when it suits them.

Feminism does not exactly leave us with a good picture of femininity, nor does it grant us any belief in the strength and resilience of girls and women when feminists carry on as they do, is what I’m trying to get at.

All the while, they give us an incredibly telling view into their opinions on the resilience and strength of boys and men when compared to that of girls and women, which is quite simple: Boys and Men can handle anything the world throws at them, Girls and Women can not. Evidenced by #killallmen being considered A-OK, whereas any criticism of a woman – particularly a feminist woman – is enough to render them slaves to PTSD for the rest of their lives, and is more than enough proof of the terrible misogyny of the internet as well as all men everywhere. Men are well suited to endure a constant negative message – up to and including calls for gendercide, even on national fucking television in Australia, as we have recently seen. Mona Eltahawy on the – I believe now infamous – Q&A feminist special.

They removed that segment from the internet after a while. Claiming it to be too “controversial”. I believe to engage in damage control on behalf of feminism. It would be far more damaging to the image and reputation of feminism to keep it up, and so it is removed. Clearing away evidence, as it were.

Or am I being too cynical and overly paranoid? I don’t know. One man’s paranoia is another man’s reason, after all.

One thing is certain, however: all this abuse, and more, men shall endure. For men are expected to endure it. Yet, women are not even suited to endure criticism. Nor do they ever need to. They are to be hoisted way above that. #believewomen does not only refer to nefarious claims of dubious sexual assaults. PTSD from Twitter. Post Twitter Stress Disorder. Social-media-shell-shocked. Poor whamen and their social media shenanigans. They most certainly deserve a safe-space on the internet to spew their #killallmen without being harassed for it. How else would they be able to demonize all men without being reminded that men are, as a matter of fact, actual human beings that may not take kindly to calls for them to be killed solely on the basis of their sex?

Yet the claim from feminism is that men in general view women as weak and incapable? It is not men that claim women to be victims of the air-conditioning and the misogyny of temperature. Or of male flatulence. Or exclamation marks. Just putting that out there for you to chew on.

It is quite telling, I think, that feminism seek to shut down – to cancel and remove – anything they dislike. If failing to cancel it, they attempt to mould it into something they enjoy.

Instead of just accepting that some people enjoy things they themselves do not enjoy and carrying on with their life, they would rather make it so that no-one shall enjoy it. A world in which they have to co-exist with people who knowingly and without a moments hesitation enjoy something they can not stand is a terrible world to exist in. There is a reason for me referring to feminism as totalitarian and tyrannical. If something does not suit their delicate sensibilities, it must be shut down so that no-one can enjoy it. And people oblige. For some odd and peculiar reason, people oblige them in their quest for moral as well as ideological purity.

This man wrote something on a portrait of Stalin in the newspaper! Off to the Gulag with him! Subterfuge and acts of terrorism!

This man made a joke about female lingerie! Off to the Goolag with him! Subterfuge and acts of misogyny!

Imagine the horror of someone enjoying something you do not enjoy!

The horror!

The Horror!

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi.

…Ford Transit Gloria Mundi…

Such is the case with striptease and pornography and grid-girls and Barbie and nude modelling and Fifty Shades of Grey and tit and tat and arse and legs. If the feminist horde do not enjoy it, none shall be allowed to enjoy it. It does not matter what women in these professions say, whether they enjoy their work or not. The feminist hive-mind – that is to say, their moral superiors – have decided that these women are not allowed to enjoy their work, and as such are not allowed to do their work. They are victims of their own choices which are forced on them by the patriarchy, whether they agree with this statement or not. Women can not make their own choices, if those choices contradict the feminist position. Which just about every choice does, since feminism is not a monolith and one feminist’s act of empowerment is another feminist’s act of oppression. In this way, sex-work is both empowering and oppressive to feminism. Which is all about women making their own choices. Except when it isn’t. Which is when it is.

Seemingly and apparently, nothing is more vile and treacherous to these charlatans than a woman choosing to be home-maker, a housewife, a stay-at-home-mother! That is such a terrible affront to the terribly trembling forces that be that they will name, blame and shame any woman who does so, try to convince her that she has not made her own choices but is locked under the spell and awesome influence of the patriarchy and must break free from its chains and instead enjoy what they say she must enjoy. Which is not necessarily what she wants to do, but that does not matter.

Any one individual woman does not exist to an ideology that is collectivist when it suits them and individualist when collectivism does not suit them – no sir, she does not! She is part of the in-group “women”, and as such must do as the sisterhood demands. Otherwise, she is a traitor to the sisterhood as well as the cause. Whatever the cause may be at any given moment. And that cause is as fickle and ever-changing as anything that is fickle and ever-changing could possibly be.

The typical mantra of “We only want equality between the sexes” does not compute very well when feminism opposes equality, such as they do in England where the pension-age has been raised for women to be equal to the pension-age of men. This they can not stand, and so they protest and oppose. Even when men die younger than women, and so ought to have their pension-age lowered for true and proper equality.

It is so obviously not equality they seek that it boils my teeth and grinds my intestines that people still chant this bloody mantra of theirs that it is only about equality. As if that nebulous weasel-term “equality” even means anything any more except whatever a god-damned feminist demand that it means at any given moment. Which is to be opposed by the next feminist. And neither of these are real feminists, nor is their feminism real feminism according to the feminist that oppose the first feminist. Cock me backwards and paint my dogs pink; this whole ideology is so self-contradictory that I cannot fathom why people label themselves as a feminist as though it means anything concrete. Apparently, it means everything and nothing all at once… it is for all the causes in the universe at the same time as being only for the causes of women.

The brilliant Elizabeth Hobson has a saying which I enjoy very much: “Feminism is harmful to children and other living things”. Well put, madam, well put.

If you are a man who enjoy any of the past-time activities mentioned above… if you are a man who simply just want a traditional relationship for whatever reason… may the grand Patriarch Xenu have mercy on your lack of soul!

You are henceforth, and until the end of time, a foul oppressor of women, contributing to the ongoing sexual objectification of women, the subjugation and enslavement of women, the rape, pillage and ruination of women, the body-hysteria of women, the fuck-if-I-know-insert-whatever-here of women.

After all, women were treated as chattel back in the days when they were pampered and protected, as opposed to now, where they are free to do exactly as they wish, as long as they do what feminism wishes them to do.

And as long as men – as well as society overall – pamper and protect them.

Now, I have stated before, that I am not a particular fan of traditionalism… at least not one that is enforced by law or by culture. I believe it removes far too much individual freedom from everyone, be they male or female.

How people chose to delegate responsibilities and roles in their personal relationships – traditional or not – should not be of any worry to anyone but those who are involved. But to claim – as feminism does – that men overwhelmingly emerge victorious in all manner of privilege and what-not when it comes to a traditional relationship is brutally dishonest. At best. No-one lies on their death-bed, whispering “I wish I had spent more time at work”.

Now, I am well aware that feminism makes the claim to care about the plight of men; “Gender Roles Hurt Men Too!”.

Odd, then, that they jabber on and on about men needing to stand up for and protect women. Which is a very traditional gender role, to be sure and to be certain. Protect. And provide.

Provide them with Barbie Dolls and protect them from Barbie Dolls and the negative impact these dolls have on young girls at the same time.

Despite Barbie being created by a woman. This don’t matter much, of course. Celebrating things created by women is only ever done if the things created flows with the orthodoxy. Which it probably did back in the day… However, what self-proclaimed feminists of yesteryear celebrated will not be celebrated by the self-proclaimed feminists of this current year of ours. Except when it is. Which is when it isn’t.

It is almost as though one would be inclined to believe – yet again – that feminism, as it stands, have no end-goals. That it is an ideology and a movement that is created to carry on and carry on and carry on in perpetuity, manufacturing new outrages and terrors and this-that-the-others for every new generation of frail and frantic femininity… even if that means going contrary to the previous generation of frantic feminism and its causes.

Everything, you have to understand, is a women’s issue first and foremost, no matter what it is. Even the things that are not women’s issues first and foremost has to be a women’s issue first and foremost. Which is interesting in itself. Men are victims of violence far more than women are. Yet women are most affected, and are the ones who must be protected. Men are completely capable of fending for themselves. Women are not. And so women must be provided for and protected from men by men, despite all men being terrible and despite men being the main victims of violence. This could well be applied to anything. Meteor hits earth, women most affected. Barbie hits stores, women most affected. Girls enjoy Barbie-dolls, and this is terrible.

Buy a fucking He-man doll then, and stop yer whinin’!

And that is it for this ramble. Join me next week for more Tales From the Crypt, as I attempt to channel the awesome might and energy of my intoxicatingly masculine beard into words once again.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 07.12.2019

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

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Why I am an Anti-feminist, part 10:

«Morning Greetings»

From http://www.etymonline.com:

Rape (v.)

Late 14c., “Seize prey, abduct, take by force,” from rape and from Anglo-French raper (Old French Rapir) “to seize, abduct”, a legal term, probably from past participle of Latin rapere “seize, carry off by force, abduct”.

Latin rapere was used for “sexually violate,” but only very rarely; the usual Latin word being stuprare “to defile, ravish, violate,” related to stuprum, literally “disgrace.” Meaning “To abduct (a woman), ravish;” also “seduce (a man)” is from early 15c. In English. Related: Raped; raping. Uncertain connection to Low German and Dutch rapen in the same sense.

Rape (n.1)

Early 14c., “Booty, prey;” mid-14c., “Forceful seizure; plundering, robbery, extortion,” from Anglo-French rap, rape, and directly from Latin rapere “seize” (see rape (v.1). Meaning “Act of abducting a woman or sexually violating her or both” is from early 15c., but perhaps late 13c. In Anglo-Latin.

Rape (n.2)

Kind of Cruciferous plant… but that’s not important right now.

Well, then, apart from the knowledge that “rape” means both “booty” and “forceful seizure”, (albeit at different times), allowing my immature mind to immediately connect the two into “forceful seizure of booty” and then proceed to giggle like a thirteen year old who has only recently discovered pornography and masturbation… why would I bore you with this?

First and foremost, I find it fairly interesting to see how words evolve and change and grow. How they take on new meanings over time. In another life, I may very well have become a linguist. Though, that would have also meant becoming an academic, which is not particularly tempting, interesting or alluring. Particularly not in the current year.

Secondly, I would like to believe that I am not the only one who noticed a few small details in the definition. And that is “to abduct (a woman), ravish”, “act of abducting a woman or sexually violating her or both”, and – most interesting – “seduce (a man)”.

I take this to mean that women are sexually violated by men, and that men are seduced by women. (Though I have no problems admitting that this may very well be my bias at work.) It does seem to be pretty much such as it is, was, always have been and always will be regarding male victims of female sexual violence. For, interestingly enough, it is exactly as the wordings are in newspapers in our current clown-world climate regarding the same.

Particularly so in this sacred current year of our lord and saviour Id-pol, in which we have been gifted a veritable cornucopia, a seemingly endless stream of female teachers raping their under-aged pupils or students. Only for the act to always and ever be referred to as her seducing him or them engaging in a romantic affair or a light-hearted, sexual romp.

One of my favourite cases must have been the one female teacher who claimed that she was the one seduced by the kid… on multiple occasions. She was the victim, you have to understand, of her statutory rape of her student as well as her misuse of power.

Yet, if the we’ve-got-to-complain-about-something-nag-nag forces of frail and fragile feminism has taught us anything, it is this: anyone in a position of power may never have sexual relations with anyone who is beneath them in the chain of command. That is rape, no matter what. According to feminism. This only ever applies when it is a man doing it. As one would expect. If it is a woman, even a teacher and her student, it is not rape. It is seduction, it is a romp, it is a romantic affair. It is this or that or the other. The lengths people will go to in order to not use the word “rape” when it is a woman raping a man or a boy are extraordinary. And, admittedly, impressive in its perverse way.

Part of this refusal to use the word “rape”, I believe, is due to the laws in the countries concerned, in which rape only happens if there is forced penetration of any part of the body, not when someone is forced to penetrate. Being forced to penetrate is another thing altogether, which may go a long way in explaining why there are so few men popping up as victims in the rape-statistics. Forced to penetrate is simply not counted as rape, and is as such not included. They look to cases of rape for their statistics, brilliantly ignoring cases where the man is made to penetrate. For it is not counted as rape. Sneaky, weaselly and very, very feminist. That is one way to make it appear as if men are seldom, if ever, raped, I suppose. And if they are, it is a man doing it and not a woman. Excepting if the woman penetrates the man with something. Supposedly. Skewed statistics and the kiddy-diddlers. (Excellent band-name. I charge 15 percent royalties, should you chose to use it.)

It is very easy for feminism to just change the definitions around, make the laws and the terminology gender-specific instead of gender-neutral in this era where everything must be gender-neutral except this one thing and that one thing and this other thing, according to the whims of feminism, then sit back and watch the sweet victim-credentials roll in, alongside the government funds to combat the horrible all-male rape squads that prowl the streets at night with unhindered glee in this terrible rape culture of ours. I am looking directly at you, Mary P. Koss.

The rape-squads march with vicious grins alongside the terrible Nazi pug storm-troopers, seeking to forcefully seize all the booty they can carry, ravage and/or defile in their jew-gassing white supremacist misogynist paws, brave pawns of the patriarchy that they undoubtedly are.

We are truly living in a Neo-nazi pug-infested morbid rape-culture, in which rape of a woman is never ever frowned upon, taken seriously, believed or punished… despite raping a woman being considered, both in law and by the culture at large, one of the most heinous crimes one could possibly commit, at times being considered worse than murder.

A woman raping a man, however, is not frowned upon in such a way and such a manner, oddly enough. That is impossible, according to the culture at large.

It is almost as though one would be inclined to dub it a rape-culture, based on feminist definitions, where the victim of rape is never believed and the perpetrator never punished…

Almost as though one would be inclined to believe that we live in a culture in which it has been decided that women are wonderful, and as such are incapable of doing anything terrible, horrible, wicked, evil, cruel, tricksy or false. To such an extent that, when they are found guilty without a doubt, there has got to be some other force to lay the blame upon – usually some terrible abuse, usually suffered at the hands of a male.

Now, I will absolutely and freely admit that I do think it is incredibly important to understand what drives people to do terrible things. Whether those that do so are male or female. Understanding the underlying causes of this, that or the other makes it easier to transcend the underlying causes and so heal – on an individual level – from the trauma or abuse that otherwise may drive people to despair and destruction. This is obviously not to say that I believe people, no matter their sex, should not have to suffer the consequences of their actions. Nor that I condone or support their actions in any way, shape or form. It is to say that understanding the reasons may help forge a path to walk that does not end in disaster, be that disaster something that affects the whole of society or only the one individual.

There is a difference, however, in understanding the causes for something and making excuses for something. It is possible to be empathetic to the trauma and struggles of someone, whilst simultaneously condemning their actions and demand that they face their punishment, whether male or female. Though, I suspect, in this era of the black and white thinking, in the age of identity politics, these are heretical words…

…when aimed at a male, considering that masculinity itself has become a force of crusty, black and decaying evil all alone on its lonesome. It is the bogeyman of our day and of our age, alternately dubbed “toxic masculinity” for not wanting to speak the whole truth of their conviction, which is that all masculinity not in direct service to women i.e. feminism (he for she, for example) is toxic masculinity. There is certainly room for a whole lot of nuanced understanding when it is a woman doing something bad. I am reminded of the medical student in England who, amongst other things, stabbed her boyfriend and got off with no punishment for reasons of the judge not wanting to hinder her promising future career-prospects. As a surgeon. And no wonder; after stabbing her boyfriend, she has already done half of her internship regarding surgery. It would be such a waste of her time and efforts to punish her for doing her job as a surgeon pro bono.

Oh boy.

You have got to understand this: we can not, under any circumstances, have a woman’s future destroyed on account of her fucking it up herself by being violent, crazy, drunk and coked up.

When it suits the powers that be, women have absolutely no agency and no self-determination. Which would go a long way in explaining why feminism believes women incapable of making their own choices, if those choices are choices that go against the sacred tenets, the bewitching rules of the coven of feminism and its broomstick waving, high-flying fancy. Women are as such absolutely incapable of fucking up their futures themselves.

For, in being so strong and independent, they are completely incapable of making their own decisions, bad or good. Now, these are not my opinions – to be clear and to be certain. I absolutely believe women to be just as capable as men of fucking up or not fucking up.

For, you see, I believe men and women should be treated equally. A very radical, dissenting and terrible thought in this age of frail, fragile, fractured, fracturing and fear-inducing feminism I know, but it seems I can not help but be a radical. Even when I don’t wanna be a radical. Or, for that matter, believe myself to be a radical. I am a fairly boring person, all things considered. And I am absolutely fine with that.

What I am not fine with is the feminist hive-mind, including – but not limited to – their SJW cohorts, goons, squadrons, academics, politicians and so forth and so on, ever and always changing the meaning of the word “rape”. One has got to be wilfully blind to not notice this. It is being changed to include anything a woman does not enjoy – including being looked at by a man in a manner that does not suit her delicate sensibilities.

Which is interesting to me, for how is it possible for women to read the minds of men and, in so doing, decide what their intentions are? How could anyone but the man in question possibly know what is or is not his intentions? The subjective feelings of anyone should not be enough to get people punished, be that through law or through mob-hysteria. Yet, we are standing here, in this grey and shady current year, implementing thought-crime laws where the wielder of thoughts do not get a say in what he thinks. For someone else knows better than him what he thought. All for someone feeling uncomfortable under the terror of his male gaze, reading his mind and telling him what he thinks, never giving a fuck what he actually thought, said or did.

In order to be safe, gentlemen, be sure to keep your eyes on the ground when encountering a woman. Keep your head bowed. Do not look her in the eyes. Show respect and deference to your betters! Otherwise, you may very well be charged with the terrible crime of stare-rape. Which may happen on stairs, but not necessarily.

I say this only partly in jest.

That is the most frightening thing.

A pleb and a peasant could not possibly expect that he be allowed to look the aristocratic elite in the eye. How could they? That would tear down the entire social order, fabric and structure. The peasants must be kept in their rightful place. The balance must be kept just as God intended. Some are chosen by God, and some are not. Such as it is, was, always will be.

The meaning of the word “rape” is being watered down so much as to make the entire word completely meaningless. Western civilization is held dangling by a string over a pool of lava by people restructuring and remodelling language to such an extent that nothing has any concrete meaning. There is no definitive meaning to words that once were powerful words with quite a distinct meaning. Racist, misogynist, Nazi, supremacist, fascist, rapist, etc. etc… all these words are now being thrown around willy-nilly in order to shame someone into compliance, to make them defend themselves and not the argument at hand.

If you want to control a population, I believe destroying language completely is a good way of going about it. If nothing means anything concrete any more, then nothing has any meaning any more. If nothing has any concrete and definite meaning, what is there then to build upon – or, for that matter – to stand upon? Thus, order makes room for disorder and chaos.

If merely looking at a woman in a way she disapproves of – without taking the intentions of the man in question into consideration – is enough to label someone a rapist, a predator, or whatever, there really is nothing to the word “rape”. If rape can be anything experienced by a woman which she subjectively felt was creepy or uncomfortable, there can be no possible way to objectively punish someone for the act of rape. This is frightening, when considering that punishment under law is supposed to be handed out based on objectively analysed evidence, not subjectively experienced emotions.

In the era of #metoo, one is guilty until proven innocent, instead of being innocent until proven guilty. Any protest about this very clear erosion of due process necessarily must mean, to the hive-mind and various other witch-finder generals, that one is guilty of something or other. Taking into consideration that quite a few prominent feminists have managed to delude themselves and others into believing that any and all act of heterosexual sex is rape of the woman by the man, it really is not all that far-fetched to think this could only mean, to the feminist fog-mind, that every straight man out there who has ever gotten his willy wetted by a consenting willy-wetter of no ill repute, is guilty of rape.

And me writing this is enough to get me labelled a rape-apologist. And probably a rapist as well. Which is circular logic at its very finest. Of course, I am a married man and have been in this committed relationship for close-to thirteen years. Which means that I have – according to the “all heterosexual sex is rape” squad, been raping my wife for thirteen years. Apparently, she is so weak and frail and completely under my control that she can not leave such an abusive relationship. Feminism does not hold the best view there is in regards to women, if they believe women so frail and weak as to willingly stay in a relationship where they are raped several times a month for thirteen years. On occasion more than once a day. For weeks on end. Months and years even. Oh, the horror! If rape is so terrible as feminism says that it is, I wonder why so many women seek sex, when all heterosexual sex is rape. Are women to stupid to know rape when they see it?

But, I digress.

I asked my wife about this, and she said that she was completely unaware of being a victim of rape for thirteen years and more. What a victim she is, indeed, to actually believe herself to not be a victim of rape. Consensual rape, with all the Oh God Yes-es that entails. Am I making my point clear enough? Good. Thank you. On we go.

First: water down the definition of rape so that it means anything and nothing.

Second: claim that objections to the first point is proof that all men harbour shady rape-fantasies which they can not properly curtail.

Third: use the dubious evidence from the second point to further the agenda and water down the term even more. For women must be protected from the terrible rapist males out there, which, evidently, is every man there is, considering that all heterosexual sex – consenting or no – is rape.

Fourth: rinse and repeat.

Now, I am viewed as either a rapist or a potential rapist no matter what – based solely on the undeniable might and terrible influence of my swinging cock-sword – my deeply loved and horrible rape-implement of doom. Writing about the plight of boys and men as I do only furthers this abject fuckery, as the image presented by the eternally oppressed feminist hive-mind of us terrible MRA’s is one of wishes for eternal rape, subjugation, slavery, and so and such of all women everywhere by all men everywhere. Obvious lies and clear slander is, as it always is, not a problem whatsoever when it comes from the feminist side of things.

They do not need to speak truth to power.

In fact, they are the power that need truth spoken to them.

They may speak in lies and serpent-tongues as much as they wish, and suffer no consequences for doing so. Clearly, this is something any severely oppressed and downtrodden group have always been able to do. Particularly when speaking about the ones that oppress them – or wish to oppress them.


I am thinking, in particular, about a certain professor Rebecca Sullivan, and her incredibly un-enlightened – one could even say slanderous, venomous, lying-until-you-believe-it-yourself, piss-pot, pretentious, hackneyed, dumbfuck, intellectually amputated, failed abortion, fetal alcohol syndrome, crack-baby, slobbering-on-her-shoes, short-bus-material, obviously-diversity-hire, childish interview on CBC, in which she did nothing but spread venomous and harpy-like lies about the men’s rights movement. And did so with impunity. On national fucking television. An MRA was not present, as one would expect, to counter her absolute self-indulgent full frontal rectal-examination of the issues. In this interview, she has her head stuck so far up her arse that she has to breathe through her ears and wipe her nose and butt at the same time at the same place… through placing tissue over her eyes. Eyes that, incidentally, are only able to see as far as her nose reaches. Her nose reaches her belly-button. Just about. From inside her stomach. Am I getting to vile? Good.

In this world, where men are ever so privileged and women are ever so oppressed, I struggle to understand why the ever so privileged class are not allowed to defend themselves against attack from the ever so oppressed class, on state-funded national television where one should believe that the privileged class – that is, the ruling class – would have absolute say over the sway of things going on in the state-funded television, given that the patriarchy that governs all and oppress all in equal measures (yet oppress women the most) fund the bloody thing. The more I think about it, the less sense it makes. Yet people will cling to this idea that women are eternally oppressed by men, all men everywhere, despite feminism holding so much sway and say and might and power and influence as it does. It makes not a lick of sense. Women are so oppressed that they are to be believed without a shadow of a doubt, no matter what they say. #believewomen. And do not believe men. For they are evil incarnate and the rapiest scum of the earth, even when they are good men. And any man is only a good man as long as he does whatever he can do to give his all and everything to women – that is to say – to the cause of feminism.

Men are utilities when they are not sexist rapist scum, and sexist rapist scum when they are not utilities. There are no other roles for us in the feminist utopia.

Here endeth this part of the ramble. Join me next week for more. Today I had to cook my morning-coffee in a Primus, since the electricity was gone for about two and a half hours. I also ruined my daily routine. As a result, I am grumpy at the moment of writing. There was a lot of snark written, and quite a lot of sarcasm. Just as God intended.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 30.11.2019

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Why I am an Anti-feminist, part 8

«Prelude to Despair», Moiret Allegiere, 2019

Everything within feminism is viewed through an ideological framework. Ideology does not necessarily equal reality. So much of their world-view is tainted and painted and corrupted by the blank slate theory.

Feminism tend to view just about everything within society as some manner of ideology and/or -ism. This includes masculinity, which they – in their kindness and inclusivity – have decided is an ideology and not a natural state of being for men.

This is an incredibly weird thing to say. It is par for the course in the current year of the gobble-de-gook, however, and as such must be accepted without question. Of course.

This line of thought has forced its way into the school of psychology, with the new guidelines of the APA for dealing with men and boys referring to masculinity as an ideology and as such something that must be combatted and conquered by men seeking psychological treatment. This does not apply to femininity, as one would expect. Though I am far from being a psychiatrist – thank God and high heavens – I can not help but see the writing on the wall: There is something wrong with boys and men due to them being boys and men that must be fixed before one can tackle the issues that really bother them. Which is an odd way of going about fixing someone that is emotionally scarred and psychologically broken, I will have to admit, as this is pointing to the core of their identity and their being – their very soul, if you will permit me some melodramatic language – and stating that this is the essence of their problems. That is; the core of their being is the essence of their problems. No wonder, then, that boys and men struggle so in this hay-fever society of ours.

This is nothing short of an insult, as well as being bloody dangerous. It ought to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the incredible might and influence feminism holds. Despite them being ever so oppressed… It is very dangerous… Because this means that men and boys who seek psychological treatment will potentially be told that the problem lies in the way they are born – that there is something wrong with them for them being boys, or for them being men. Of course; to the hive-mind, this is not the way they are born – all is learned behaviour, nothing is natural and biological. Which is high level absurdity mimicking Monty Python at their best. Believing that masculinity must be dismantled before boys and men can heal is not helpful to boys and men. Quite the contrary.

It is an incredibly vicious, spiteful and hateful thing. This does not matter, of course. For it is targetting boys and men. And anything that is targetting boys and men has got to be of the good. Because feminism told us that it is, even when they told us that feminism is not about hating boys and men… which falls flat on its face the moment one takes a look at them. If it is not about hating boys and men, why, then, prey tell, do they target boys and men in this way, attempting to dismantle and re-engineer masculinity itself? The only ones who get to define the identity of men are feminists. Men need not apply. Yet again.

Pray the gay away… and pray the masculine away. One has to be blind to not see the similarities. The language is different, for sure. The obvious religious thing-a-ma-jigger is gone… replaced by a sacrificial serpent-cult masquerading as a secular movement for equal rights. The sentiment is the same. “There is something wrong with this person, which must be untaught through some odd psychological experiment.” Social engineering is scary. And rest assured: social engineering is not a term I use lightly. But what the hell could it possibly be, other than that? Ideology has usurped reason as well as common bloody god-damned sense. If I sound paranoid, I would like to quote Joseph Heller, Catch 22: “just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you”.

Oh, but we want to help boys and men, they say, they just have to unlearn what makes them boys and men first.

Anyone looking at this and claiming it to be of the good are off their heads on some drugs which I would not mind getting a taste of for a weekend of wild and frivolous fun. Must be fun to experience such a disconnect from reality, to be transported deep into la-la land and yet remain a – seemingly – functional member of society… potential brain-damage and other lasting side-effects from hair-dye the colour of danger notwithstanding. They’ve got some unbelievably potent drugs, no doubt delivered them by some shady government goon perpetrating some dubious under-handed dealings in a two-faced banana republic. But I am sidetracking again. Sometimes, I just tire of my painkillers and caffeine, is all I’m saying. And Friday binges of wine and Rock N Roll will only get me so far… Variety is the spice of life, as they say. At times, one just need a good dose of delirium-inducing chemicals to make it through the day. And to become a professor of psychology… Or a public intellectual, for that matter. Academia, thy name has become poop.

With these new guidelines, therapy can not help but become essentially destructive for men. Nothing good can ever come from denying men their humanity – which, for all intents and purposes – claiming masculinity to be an ideology, claiming that manliness, that manhood or whatever you want to call it, is something learned more than it is something innate and natural – is. It is a perplexing display of absolute disregard for the well-being and the humanity of boys and men.

But, hold on now, wait a minute minute would you please? It is only referring to toxic masculinity, those destructive traits that are only something men do, which does not refer to masculinity at all, except when it does… for reasons of this fucking insulting and belittling term referring to whichever masculine trait the feminist in question would like to destroy in that moment… the opportunists are at it again. This term refers to whatever is most suitable at the moment it is spoken, written or used in any way, shape or form…

What about toxic femininity, then? Would that be a term deemed suitable for common parlance, your shady highness? Or would that be considered highly sexist, even if used only to refer to those feminine traits that are destructive which only women steeped in toxic femininity would partake in? Worst case of estrogen-poisoning I have ever seen comes from the foaming mouths of academic feminism, pretending this absolute and abhorrent hatred of men and masculinity to be fundamentally empathetic to the plight of boys and men. If “toxic femininity” and “estrogen-poisoning” offends you, but “toxic masculinity” and “testosterone-poisoning” does not, I am afraid I have to tell you that you are a hypocrite of the highest order.

These guidelines, this ideology, this social engineering disguised as compassion is presented in such a way that opposition to it proves their point. It is insulting, infuriating and indefensible. As far as I have come to understand it, the problem is not masculinity. Quite the contrary. It is a lack of masculinity.

That is to say: it is a lack of positive masculine role-models for boys and young men. Boys that grow up without fathers in the home fare far worse in life than boys who grow up with fathers in the home. Single motherhood is a problem, albeit one people are reluctant to tackle. For that is insulting to the single mothers out there. They can not have their feelings hurt. That would not be politically correct. One can insult fathers as much as one could only wish.

…But don’t you dare say anything against mothers, despite stating the obvious fact that children need their fathers in their lives has nothing to do with mothers as such, but all to do with fathers… and their children.

The point is not that single mothers don’t do a decent job. Nor that they are unable or unfit parents. Some are. And some are not. Nor is the point pointing fingers at the father or the mother. Whoever caused the absence of the father is immaterial. It is besides the point. The point is that they only fulfil one parental role. This leaves a hole in the life of the child. It leaves a piece of them untended to. Because both parental roles need to be filled. The masculine and the feminine working together is needed and necessary for a child to be complete. Feminism has made no secret of their attempts – and success, I would dare say, to destroy and dismantle the nuclear family. They are proud of it, they brag about it and they celebrate it.

It is sickening. And still, it is accepted. Women are wonderful, dont’cha know, no matter what. A sentiment weaponized by the fierce fighters for equal treatment… Women can do no bad, men can do no good. By their nature. Despite this nature not existing but being taught.

Yet again, one need only lift the covers of the serpent-cult to see this. One need only look to how fathers are presented in movies and on television, in regular programming and in commercials, to see how little regard our societies have for the role and input of fathers in the lives of their children. And then one can look to how mothers are presented… particularly, this goes for sit-coms and other such quick-and-easy shit-fixes.

Fathers are usually bumbling buffoons, engaging in some silly and eventually futile endeavour which the mother then fixes, using common sense or her higher sense of morality, justice and intelligence. Which tend to be the view held in society overall where fathers and mothers are concerned. Mothers are empathetic and caring and nurturing, fathers are not.

Of course; I do understand the use of stereotypes in comedy. And I quite enjoy it myself, laughing and giggling like a schoolgirl every time Randy Marsh from South Park – for example – breaks out in one of his incredible fits of stupidity. South Park, however, is a balanced show. It kicks in all directions, and nothing is sacred. It may be a poor example, come to think of it.

…A better example might be the Simpsons, which were pretty good for their first twelve seasons or so, then devolved into a mass of worms and wishes, begging us to kill it and put it out of its misery.

The women of Springfield are, by and large, presented in a much better light than the men of Springfield. And to be clear and to be perfectly honest, this is not something that offends me. Or bothers me.

I mention it because it does paint a picture of society, which is this: men can be poked fun at. Fathers can be poked fun at. Women can not. Nor can mothers. This is something seen time and again, with the feminist hive-mind getting all up in arms at the slightest joke at the expense of women in general. Or if women are not presented as the living embodiment of all that is good and true and pure and noble and clean… Or if women are killed on the screen… It is the double-standards that piss me off. As it always is. Poke fun at men and at fathers as much as you wish. Crying sexism when women and mothers are poked fun at whilst laughing when men and fathers are poked fun at does not make sense, when claiming to seek equal treatment of the sexes.

Most men don’t mind men and fathers being poked fun at. In fact, we will probably laugh alongside it, seeing a bit of ourselves in the character and harbouring some self-deprecating humour which seem to be lacking in most modern women, feminist or not.

Point is: you had better be damned fucking sure that equal treatment of the sexes means that women and mothers are also free game for comedy. Because that is actual equal treatment. Not putting women on a pedestal where they are to never be laughed at for fear of offending their noble and delicate female sensibilities. Oh, the swoon… and the gasp… and the eternal offence.

Both men and women, fathers and mothers, boys and girls, sons and daughters, have their silly little idiosyncrasies, their silly little things that can be generalized and poked fun at. When it is only accepted towards the one and not the other, we have a double-standard on our hands and at our feet.

And it is becoming increasingly so, with our mass-media pundits proclaiming any-and-all stereotyping of women or of mothers as some horrible affront to women and to mothers. Instead of them merely being poked fun at, just as men and fathers are. That is to say: instead of them being treated equally to men. Yet, they see only one thing. And that thing is only what they want to see. All else is hidden behind a glowing veil of contempt, ideology and wilful blindness. As well as pure ignorance, indoctrination and idiocy.

Of course, quick and vapid entertainment media is just that: quick fixes, cheap laughs and nothing to think too much about. Overanalysing may be fun for a while, but in the end it is just that: overthinking something which does not necessarily warrant that much thought.

Let fiction be.

Leave fiction alone.

I only mention it because feminism does so; pointing to this and to that as some terrible affront to womanhood, whilst being blind to this and to that simultaneously being just as much a terrible affront to manhood. If one chooses to view it in that light. Feminism makes the claim that women are sexually objectified in movies. Oddly enough, they disregard the thousands of men that are blown to bits and used simply as cannon-fodder in movies, existing only for a split-second on the screen to be blown to bits. Which is worse, I wonder, if one is to analyse it to death and beyond instead of enjoying a piece of art? And what does this tell us about society and its view of men? I’ll let you fill in the blanks yourself.

Of far more concern than bloody fiction is the push we have seen in later years from feminism to remove father’s day, instead referring to it as “special persons day”. Because some children do not have fathers in their lives, ya know, and so this celebration of fathers is absolutely terrible. Some children do not have mothers in their lives either, yet there is oddly enough no push to remove mother’s day and label that as “second special person’s day”.

Strange that.

Let’s just have a day dedicated to “non-gender specific parental figure A or B”, then everyone would be pleased. Except those that don’t buy into this nonsense. But, of course, we don’t care about those bigots, and so forth and so on.

It is very infuriating to see single mother’s being celebrated on a day dedicated to fathers. Every bloody father’s day, this happens. Let us celebrate single mothers on this day for fathers. Because having one day – one day – to celebrate fathers is absolutely terrible. And having only one day to celebrate mothers is equally terrible. They need at least 365 days. In fact, we ought to lengthen the year so that mothers get more days of celebration.

There can be no one day dedicated to the celebration of men and their contributions, be those contributions to society overall or to their families. Thus, international men’s day is a horribly misogynistic thing, as is fathers day. Do I sound particularly angry today? You are damned right I am. I am pissed off. After years of getting pissed on. Anger is an energy – when it is channelled properly.

Listen: it was either this, or starting a mediocre punk-band. I do believe this is the best option. There are more than enough mediocre punk-bands around. Admittedly, there are more than enough mediocre writers about as well. This is going nowhere… sorry about that.

Mediocrity aside, you must forgive me for not laughing. I find that watering my beard with the bitter tears of societal neglect makes it grow in thicker, fuller and more masculine than ever. Something good has to come of it. On the worst of days, I water my beard with whisky. That is how I get those exotic mushrooms growing in there. My beard is slowly developing a rudimentary form of intelligence. Last year, I caught it stockpiling crumbs of food in anticipation of the looming threat of complete societal breakdown. My beard is a doomsday-prepper. Which, admittedly, removes some of the burden from my tense and overstressed shoulders. In short: I am so god-damned manly that my beard is stockpiling for the apocalypse.

This lack of positive male role models for children – not only boys, though it arguably affects them more than girls – is something society should be concerned about. As is this push to remove any and all celebration of men and of fathers in society, going so far as to label masculinity an ideology instead of something positively distinct to them, something complimentary to femininity. When boys grow up with only feminine influence at home, and at schools – given that an overwhelming amount of teachers are female – they get no positive masculine guidance. There is no good male role model for them to emulate, that may teach them how to control and regulate their emotions.

Because that is what men tend to do; stoicism. It is not that men do not have emotions, not that men do not feel. It is that – by and large – we tend to not allow ourselves to be governed by emotion, overcome by them, and so and such. This is not toxicity. It gives way to problem-solving. Emotional reasoning will not get one very far, as emotions are neither logical or rational. Nor are they stable. Emotions are constantly here or there. It is not a good source of problem-solving.

If one is able to look beyond ones immediate emotional response and think clearly and logically about something, solutions present themselves that do not present themselves when in the throes of some emotional upheaval or other. This goes for whichever emotion, be that emotion positive or negative. Making rash, snap, in-the-moment decisions based on immediate emotion is not smart, and it does not lend itself to longevity.

As an aside: for all the talk from women in general and feminism in particular that men do not deal with their emotions because they do not talk about them like women tend to do… what in the everlasting snoot-waffler do you think male men’s rights activists do when writing our stuff, advocating for what we advocate for and so and such? I would dare say that channelling whichever emotion is the driving force behind a wish for change – assuming, of course, that a lot of the driving force is anger, grief, loss, etcetera – into the work done by MRA’s is a very appropriate way of dealing with, and speaking about, our emotions. For it is a practical way of dealing. Granted, I may very well be speaking only for myself. Though I tend to doubt that. Let it also be made clear that this does not mean that I believe the reasoning is emotional.

It is not that men are not in touch with our emotions. Nor that we suppress them. We deal with them differently than women, by and large. And are, oddly enough, lambasted for doing so. Because it is not done in the way deemed suitable by the feminist horde that calls for us to speak about our emotions the way they would like us to. Which is to admit that our masculinity is wrong and that feminism is correct in all their assertions about men and masculinity. I have told this short tale before, but I will tell it again. Because it is suitable for repetition: Back in my Facebook days, I dared complain about my chronic pain and fatigue being a severe burden on me, and as such limiting my enjoyment of life and making me completely miserable when at their worst. A self-proclaimed feminist aged fifty-something told me to shut up and to not make myself so pitiful. Interesting, I think, to come from the mouths of those who claim to want men to talk about their problems and their emotions. A man in pain, a man in emotional distress, invokes disgust in people. It does not invoke empathy or compassion. It invokes sensations of disgust so extreme that the very same feminists who claim to want men to speak about it see no qualms in kicking a man when he is down. Which is it? Either, we have to talk about it, or we have to “man up”. Very interesting, wouldn’t you say? Even if it is anecdotal and as such will be dismissed immediately by the very same forces that brought us to this point in the first place.

To say that masculine role-models, that men and fathers are important to children, is not to say that women and mothers are not important, do not hold innate values which men do not, which fathers can not teach properly to their children. I absolutely believe that women do, that mothers do.

We have, however, reached a point, in this shady society of ours, where merely saying something positive about men or fathers necessarily must mean stating something negative about women and about mothers. Even when mothers or women are not mentioned. Which is absolutely ridiculous. But there you have it, there we are, here we stand. Women are offended when something positive is said about men.

This is an illness. It is a vast societal psychosis. Probably driven by the same drugs I mentioned previously. Delirium ho, and delirious hos.

Ho fucking ho, and honk bloody honk.

I am writing and speaking about men and the innate values and, dare I even say beauty, which men have. If you want nice, fluffy and pretty things said about women in general, go wherever else you want. Because that is all you will find everywhere else, mostly to the detriment of men.

For that is our societies as they stand today – women shall be celebrated, men shall not. And in order for women to be celebrated, it has been decided that men shall be pushed down. For one could not possibly wish to celebrate both sexes, nor both sexes contributions to society. That would be equal treatment. And heaven’s forbid we should actually see that happening.

I would – quite honestly – have no problems with positive things said about women in general were it not for the fact that these positive things said about women always carry with them – in words, not my assumptions – something negative about men and masculinity. Any feminist article will prove as much. Any building up of women will prove as much. It is not enough to say positive things about women – men must be beat down in very clear and concise terms. Or men must be locked out from this or from that educational thing or work-related thing. Girl power ho, and no boys allowed. Which is positive discrimination, instead of being… you know… just discrimination based on sex.

The gender-war is manufactured nonsense, as stated time and again. Both can be celebrated, you know. There really is no need to tear the other down.


I wish I were not born into the peak of the war, into the feminist take-over, into the dystopian future-turned-present. Yet, I am, and so I must go to war myself. Though, I would dare say I am at war against an ideology, not a sex. For gender and sex is not an ideology, nor are they solely a construct. Biology plays a part. A huge part. Of course culture and society plays a part. I find it ridiculous to think that they play the only part, or the biggest part, for that matter. And feminism does not equal women. These ideologues can all go suck the juice of a lemon dripping from their own eyeballs. I am getting tired of this shit. As are many, many more. Both men and women.

Yet, they keep gaining ground. And it is an absurdity how they are able to lie and lie and be debunked time and again, yet still carry on as though the truth does not matter. It is an obscenity how this ideology – how the thought-leaders of the -ism – can spread their hatred, lay forth their calls for violence to be enacted upon men for no other reason than them being men – and get away with it, gain massive societal support and carry on as though nothing happened. For they are not real feminist women, even when they are. And it is quite alright to call for all men to be killed, because that is punching up… even when all the negative statistics are filled to the brim with boys and men. And yet, the empathy-gap is not real. Because women have periods and get pregnant. Yes. This was delivered me as an argument against men and boys being met with less empathy in society. I kid you not. Feminism, thy name is… blargh.

The upper reaches of society may be filled with men… but to look at society overall and claim that men are somehow privileged for their sex is disingenuous to the extreme. The lower depths of society are also filled with men. Applying the same logic, one would say that men are not privileged. Quite the contrary. This does not reach the fevered minds of the ideologues, the hive-mind, the wilfully blind victim-seekers. For it does not fit the narrative. Patriarchy hurts men too, even when it helps men. Herp goes the Derp in the hurr-durr meadows.

Men who tend towards violence are violent for a reason. It is not because of masculinity. It is a lack of masculinity. It is neglect. It is abuse. It is a multitude of factors. A child is not born defective, is not born violent. Boys are not defective at birth, nor are they violent because of the ideology of masculinity. That claim is so insulting that it ought to be curb-stomped into oblivion.

Just as there is nothing innately wrong with femininity, there is nothing innately wrong with masculinity. This is not to say that everything is biological and nothing is social – that would be a silly statement. Just as silly as claiming the opposite. It is a bit of both, as I have come to understand it. Though understanding how much of each is not that easy. Add into this that society is built upon and around behaviours, traits, factors and so and such that may very well be biological, and you’ve got yourself a confusing cake-conundrum that I am in no way qualified to cut with any amount of certainty.

What can be stated with certainty, however, even from a nincompoopish loser on this lonely corner of the internet such as myself, is the very simple thing that human beings are biological creatures. That the bodies of men and of women are different, are designed for different things. To believe that the brains have not evolved to supplement – to work in tandem – with these different bodies is self-fellating absurdity. That is believing that the brain is not part of the body, that the brain is some separate entity. We are not, to paraphrase Alan Watts, merely a body dangling from a brain… If we were, I struggle to see how psychosomatic illness could be a thing, for example… There is a great connection between brain and body and body and brain. This ought to be obvious, as the brain is not separate from the body and as such is influenced by the body and all the weird chemicals floating around in it. And vice versa.

Here endeth part eight. Join me next week, if you are ready, willing and able, for part nine. Lest I succumb to madness and despair, shave my beard, my hair and my legs… clothe myself in a mu-mu and refer to myself as Mother Cyanide… and start my own cult where the carrots are the all-powerful god-head and the ones that really rule the earth.

…Incidentally, this carrot-based religion is actually something I tried to create back in the day, when some random woman on the internet tried to seduce me with tales of tiny snack-carrots and ranch-dressing. But that, I think, will have to be told another time.

Stay of the psychiatric medication, kids – it’ll make you completely and utterly insane.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 16.11.2019

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DIY or die! A ramble on doing things yourself (and various other semi-related topics):

There is nothing better, in the humble opinion of this sleepless cripple, than the satisfaction of finishing some project or other. This goes for most everyone, I would assume. And it applies to any project one could imagine, from the artistic to the mundane, from the impractical to the practical.

I will focus on the mundane and the practical in this ramble, I think, following on a bit from my piece on hobbies. That is to say, I will try to the best of my abilities, seeing as my current struggle with insomnia leaves me a bit unfocused and weirdly scatterbrained.

I was fairly pleased with the piece I did on hobbies. That I was pleased with it tend to mean that very few enjoyed it. One of those strange quirks of the realm of artistic illusion, I suppose. In this realm, the pleasure of the artist does not necessarily translate to the pleasure of the beholder. The opposite also hold true; when I find myself severely displeased with some artistic project, people tend to enjoy it. It is really strange. Not that it matters all that much.

In some way or other, it evens out. I think it is a fairly funny observation, though.

In the dark days, in the long-ago time, when I still inhabited Facebook I posted a picture of some wooden planters I had built from the leftovers of another project I had been building. My caption for these photos were something like: “I built this using primarily my beard.”

I very much enjoy working with plants, tending to them, watching them grow from seed to fruit and everything involved in this process. I also very much enjoy working with wood, and would do so much more than I currently am doing had I only the room. The picture of these wooden planters were very well received. Particularly by women on my friend-list. This is something I found to be very interesting. Especially so since a few of these women, one who commented in particular, presented themselves as ardent feminists. The feminist in question who happened to comment, commented something along the lines of “Your wife must love your handyman projects!” There is absolutely nothing wrong with this comment, of course.

Quite the contrary.

I found it incredibly interesting, however, that it came from the hands of a feminist, seeing as it is very much gendered stereotyping, is it not? Wife enjoys her husband fixing and building things around the home, while the husband enjoys the wife doing whatever it is a wife traditionally does.

I am given to believe that a lot of the differences in the choices men and women make, as well as the interests of men and women, are driven in no small way by us being differently wired biologically.

There is nothing wrong with this either, of course. Were we only able to accept this tender little factoid instead of assuming some manner of discrimination every single time these different choices and priorities, strengths and weaknesses present themselves as differences of outcome. That is to say: were we only to accept, cherish and nurture these differences for what they are instead of fighting against them at every turn.

This is not to say that one should accept every difference as a rule, nor is it to say that you either have to do this or you have to do that, are you a man or a woman. I am not a fan of rigidly enforced social rules, norms and regulations as a general rule. With exceptions, of course.

What I mean to say is that people should be free to do with their lives as they wish to do with their lives, be they male or female. That, whether people chose a traditional path or not, it should be accepted as the choice of that person and that person alone. Of course, in regards to relationships, it should be accepted as the choice of that couple or that family. It is not the place of anyone else to force someone to do something they do not wish to do. And it does not reflect well on any movement when a movement attempts to tell someone that their choices are the wrong choices. As feminism is known to do, should a woman chose something particularly traditional – or something that she wishes to do that falls outside the very narrow realm of accepted professions for a woman as feminism sees it.

Which brings me to my point in regards to the comment left by the feminist – whom I know to be a feminist, because she stated as much quite a few times. As feminists are also known to do. That point being: at the moment I showed some manner of practical ability, some manner of doing and making, the distaste feminism usually shows in regards to the traditionally masculine and the traditionally feminine – man provides and protects, woman receives and is protected (in excruciatingly simple terms – I am aware that this dynamic is far more complex than this) – evaporated and gave room for what I would dare say is some manner of admiration. And that is admiration for traditionally masculine traits, in essence: protect and provide. There is nothing wrong with this admiration. Nor is there anything wrong that men lean towards this, or take pride and enjoyment in the admiration gained from doing things of this nature. Or take pride in these kinds of projects as they are, for that matter.

This sort of behaviour from the feminist, this small and – on the surface – insignificant thing did actually significantly alter my way of thinking where gender and feminism is concerned. It fixed, cemented and set in stone my conviction that people refer to themselves as feminists by default because they have been spoon-fed this hideous lie that it is the only force working towards equality between the sexes, and that is all that it is. So why not label oneself a feminist? It’s only muh equality, ya know.

But, yeah, my scatterbrain scattered its seeds and took me in a different direction yet again. I’ll do my best to get back on track. It was the pleasures of doing things yourself I wanted to ramble about a bit, and that strange sensation of fulfilment and pride that comes from being able to take care of oneself and whatever family one may have through doing so. From small projects to big projects, it does not really matter – the satisfaction remains the same. It does, in no small way, make one feel a bit manly, a bit masculine. And this is a good thing. That feel-good testosterone fuelling that toxic and fragile masculinity; that horrible urge to protect and to provide and to be able to do things on ones own. Terrible. Just terrible.

I am of the humble opinion that doing things yourself is the best course of action to take for most things – provided one has the know-how to do so. Or the ability to learn how to do so. And most things, I believe, one can learn for oneself.

Granted, this DIY-ethos of mine may very well have trickled down from the first time punk-rock filled my soul and body with all its wondrous tricks and trance-inducing rage and riot against the establishment.

What better way to tell the establishment to fuck off than participate as little as possible in the well-trodden paths; that is to say: do as much as possible yourself and be self-reliant, self-sufficient and self-fulfilled, needing little help from the established powers-that-be and any authority left therein? Which, in the end, may very well be a naturally well-established path for men to take. Interesting, is it not?

For full disclosure – I am receiving disability from the government for my severe chronic illness.

So I am not self-reliant in any financial way.

Which is a bother and a burden to me and to my toxic and fragile masculine pride (trademarked). My main wish, or hope, or goal, if you will, is to somehow manage to make enough money on my art and writings to be able to make a living off it. I am absolutely certain that it will never be enough to live some high-and-mighty life of overabundance. But a modest living is within the realms of possibility. Through hard work and sacrifice. And, rest assured, this art and writing I do requires a lot of hard work and even more sacrifice. I have lost friends and family due to the topics I have chosen to write about, and this is no fun.

No fun at all.

No matter how much it hurts, it will be worth it in the long run, as the topics I chose to write about are incredibly important to write about, talk about and learn about. And speaking honestly is good for the self. My choices were to write honestly on these topics, or succumb to clinical insanity from bottling all these thoughts, speculations and knowledge within.

No good fight is fought or won without sacrifice. And the sacrifice is most often severe and most definitely personal.

And were I not entangled and entwined in all this god-damned gender-stuff, all this strange and peculiar culture-war-stuff, I would be writing far more on various DIY-projects. With home-brewing and plants being my main focus, as those two are what gives me the most pleasure and consumes most of my time where DIY-stuff is concerned. With woodworking and carpentry most likely being a close second, the moment I get enough space to really start going to town on projects of that nature. In a couple of years, we will be buying a small farmstead. There will be room enough then. Room to breathe, to move around. Not infected by the inevitable stress and insufferable horror of city-living.

Raising a plant from seed to fruit and then using this fruit in various home-brewed concoctions that will be stored and matured for a year, in order that it is ready to be enjoyed when next years batch is being made is one of the greatest of small pleasures in my life. Of course; foraging plays a part in this, and picking plants in the wild for use in home-brewing or in teas or for food or whatever is a fantastic endeavour to embark upon. There is so much growing out there in the wild ready to pick and use in whichever way one would like that it boggles the mind that so few actually do things of that nature. In nature. And it is done by oneself. By hand. Bit by bit and piece by piece; projects that require patience and knowledge.

Patience being one of those things that seem to be dwindling alongside our attention-spans as our civilization descends ever more into the void of immediate gratification, into the nether realms of instantaneous satisfaction in place of delayed gratification. Fuelled, of course, in no small way by the dopamine-addictions shot into the central nervous system by social media, the tyranny of the stopwatch and various similar maladies of the modern era.

Long-term projects, projects that are determined by, and reliant on, the seasons is a great way to train patience, to cultivate patience as a virtue, to teach oneself to delay gratification and push away the press and desire for immediate satisfaction. Which of course, in itself, is a long term project. For if one has first fallen into the trap and succumbed to the allure of social media likes, clicks, shares and various harbingers of immediate joy and happiness-boosts, the path away from it is long and easy to stray from.

Patience is absolutely one of those virtues which I find to be the most important and the most lacking in society as it stands today, both on an individual level and on a societal level with the immediate and the instantaneous taking precedence, becoming more important than long-term plans and goals.

And here I speak from experience.

For some years back, in the throes of medicinally induced psychosis, I fell into the claptrap of social media addiction myself – completely and utterly sleepless and with faulty wiring in my brain making me erratic, I sough solace in the immediate and ultimately hollow boost of happiness and comfort earned from virtual clicks and likes gathered from social media nonsense. It brought nothing but further despair, making me dig the grave for my shattered glass-sanity ever deeper and, more like than not, prolonged the psychosis and made the path toward stability and sanity, healing and functionality a longer and more winding path. There is neither rest nor solace to be found in social media. The technology itself is neither good nor bad, of course. It is as technology is – completely neutral and dependent upon those that wield the tools and how they act and behave. It is a damned shame, then, that people tend to not know how to use their tools. Or their brains. Because the brain is most definitely a tool that can be sharpened and put to good use, were people only able to let go of the external world and the perceived happiness it brings for a little while to seek solace and happiness within, through meditation and deep introspection. And solitude. People, by and large, tend to gather their happiness from the input of other people. And only that, social pack-animals that we are. We are scared of solitude. This neglects the other, far more permanent and important happiness, which is finding solace and comfort in oneself, being safe and secure in who one is and – hacky as it well may sound – knowing oneself completely.

This also includes knowing ones abilities and what one is able to do. Or not able to do. Which of course translates into various DIY-projects. Having the strength, the belief in oneself that one will be able to complete the task at hand is not necessarily something that comes easily and fluently. In particular in these days, where mockery is thrown about at all things traditionally considered masculine.

I don’t think it is too much of a stretch of the imagination to imagine that traditionally masculine tasks, tools, abilities and so forth and so on is not something young men subjected to the ridicule of all things masculine on a daily basis cultivate all that easily. It is far easier to throw the traditionally masculine aside, to neglect and forget it as some shameful relic of the past than it is to cultivate it. That is to say – far easier to do on a superficial level. On a deeper level of consciousness, however, I fear that it is not all that easy. For the urges, the drive, the longing for the – for lack of a more fitting word – divine will still be there, festering in the subconscious, gnawing and biting and burning for wanting to come out and play, to be unfolded as the natural part of himself that it truly is. And all this and all that and all of the other which he has been told and taught as the gospel according to the feminist hive-mind is wrong and is bad and is poor within him lies neglected and dying for lack of nurture and sustenance, for shame and ridicule and all the clucking of the hive-mind, the buzz and the drone.

This becomes, of course, particularly confusing when he is told one thing and then shown the other. That is: the traditional expectations is still very much alive and well where men are concerned, enforced and rigidly expected by women he may wish to date and the society which surround him. Chivalry is expected. He shall still provide and he shall still protect, even as he is shamed for doing just that. He shall not, however, expect anything in return where the traditional gender-roles are concerned. He shall be enslaved to the role which he is shamed for wanting to fulfil. And she shall be free to do whatever, lest he be labelled a foul misogynist and abuser of his partner or prospective mate.

Should you be interested in some elaboration on these ideas, I delve into it in some rambling depth in my piece: ”What makes a man suicide? Rambling on traditional expectations and Suicide.”, which you can find on my blog or on YouTube or – preferably—BitChute.

I am aware that it may seem like a bit of a stretch, going from DIY to traditional expectations and shaming of all things masculine. The way I see it, it is interconnected and intertwined, which I think the comment on Facebook which I mentioned above points to directly. For feminism claims the eradication of traditional gender-what-cha-ma-call-its whilst expecting, and in no small way celebrating, the traditionally masculine… when it benefits women, and only then. Which, of course, protect and provide does. Now, obviously, a small planter built and small plants grown is not the biggest example of protect and provide. It still is an example, though, as I showcased my ability to build something that would hold something that would provide my family with food, even if it was not much food. And even if it was used for home-brewing. Home-brewing is, at the heart of it, only a week or two of fermentation removed from a reliable source of food.

And there is the thing of it, in my mind – men are drawn to these kinds of practical projects, in no small way due to their biological drive and innate desire to protect and to provide. This is not to say that men don’t do these things solely for themselves or merely for the pure enjoyment of it. That is not at all what I am speculating.

What I am speculating is that this drive to do things for oneself is a desire firmly rooted and embedded in the biology of men, a way to show and to prove that they are prime examples of their species, much like the Bowerbird and the nests he builds to impress and attract a mate. (Which is something of the most astonishing beauty; more amazing than I believe I have ever seen before.) We are really not as far separated from animals and from nature as we believe ourselves to be. Evidently so, if one but opens ones eyes and watches the behaviour of most animals and compare that with the behaviour of humanity at large. Particularly when attracting a mate. This goes for both men and women. We showcase our strengths based on what we know, deep down on a biological, reptilian-brain level, that any potential mate would desire. And we hide our flaws and weaknesses based on the same. We accentuate strength, beauty, youth, fertility, self-reliance, etc. etc. etc. in the most primitive, the most primal manner. Whilst subduing and hiding weaknesses, various faults and flaws, etc. etc. etc.

Simply put; some of the few things that separate us from the rest of the animal-kingdom is our intellect – which, more often than not, creates three new problems for every solution – and our nebulous, vapourwave-like civilizations and societies that are, as these things go, here in a flash and gone in an instant. It is built and it falls to ruin. And we believe that we have learned something the next time we rebuild. Then the process repeats.

All the while we believe ourselves separated from and, ultimately, superior to animals and to nature, never realizing that we are of the same thing.

All the while, we take things so incredibly serious, so absurdly seriously in fact that we feel some strange and peculiar need to categorize everything, to fit everything within neatly labelled boxes of this or of that. And we have the gall, the absurd arrogance to believe that smaller and smaller subcategories will fix all our problems when it, in reality, only creates more problems. For every category, every simple label and neat little box need its own sub-categories, need its own neat little labels that need their own and need their own, and so forth and so on. And every label, every category, every nefarious little box artificially creates and inflates a problem that must be solved through more labels and subcategories within subcategories.

So men doing what men tend to do, and women doing what women tend to do in general need their own labels, their own categories. And these need their own, and those need their own. On and on and on. And that must be fixed and mended in some way, because we are just as opposed to labels and categories for the simplicity that they bring as we are drawn towards them for the simplicity that they bring.

And all this instead of accepting and cherishing things the way that they are; instead of going with the flow of nature, the stream of time, the way of things as things are. Instead of accepting and celebrating, we slice, split and divide to infinity and beyond. We overcomplicate where we should just accept. Then we fight what we have made overly complicated, then we complain that things are so complicated, failing to realize that the only reason things are so complicated is because we made them so complicated in the first place.

And the solution is simple. Let people do as people do. Let people live as people wish to live. Go with what is natural. Don’t shame masculine behaviour in men. Don’t shame feminine behaviour in women. For that is the natural flow-and-glow of things; that is the river, the wind, the Tao, if you wish. Conversely – do not shame feminine behaviour in men or masculine behaviour in women. A real man does exactly what the fuck he wants. And so does a real woman. If that is traditional or not, who the fuck has any right to meddle? Or to care? Life is far too short for these small petty grievances, far too short to let it be bogged down by fighting things that come natural, by splitting, dividing, sub-dividing and so forth and so on. For, in the end, it does nothing but create more complication, more conflict, more ridiculously unnecessary time wasted that could be spent more wisely on something more constructive than fighting what is, in essence, biology and nature.

We tend to do as we tend to do, which is to say that we tend to do what we are wired to do. The differences between the sexes are evident in all animals. And humanity is no exception. We have just grown so smart that we have allowed ourselves to become arrogant in our proclaimed cleverness to the point of complete and utter stupidity.

This is not to say that one should accept everything from everyone based solely on the argument that “it is my nature that drives me to this destructive behaviour”. Of course not. That would be absolutely ridiculous. We are responsible for our own behaviours, in the end. And that includes how we treat others – man, woman and animal alike. We have grown clever enough to not run on pure instinct. This does not, however, mean that the instincts are not there. Ultimately, the main purpose of any biological organism is to reproduce before they die. Which means that, on a deeply subconscious level, most of what we do is done to attract a mate of the opposite sex.

And needlessly complicating matters does nothing but complicate matters needlessly. If there is one thing that you can count on humanity to do, it is to complicate matters to the point of absolute ridiculousness.

Just as I have done in this ramble.

God damn it.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 31.08.2019


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