Author’s note, «My Generation Killed Rock N Roll»

(This is my Author’s note from the latest collection of ramblings. Get it via the links below.)

Author’s Note


Music fills the room as I attempt to write this introduction to this second collection of my very own home-grown writings, ravings, rants and ramblings.

Staring out the window, I see grey rubble, busted concrete, stones and bricks… pure destruction on the construction site.

Grey skies. Cold winds. A not insignificant threat of rain.

Grey buildings silhouetted against the grey sky.

Grey roads.

Filthy pavements.

An end-of-the-world feeling eats its way through everything. Blame Corona-chan for this apocalypse sensation; locking us down, forcing us into self-isolation to appease the beast and keep the viral pandemic at bay, subdued and somehow controlled.

Though, of course, for a pseudo-hermit such as myself, nothing much has changed excepting that a lot of businesses are closed… and the mail is even slower than usual.

What a year 2020 turned out to be, and as early as this! It does not bode well for the remainder of the year. What a fucking let-down this whole thing is, man.

Originally, I wrote an author’s note for this collection back in December of 2019, planning for a release in February or March of 2020. Things got in the way, however – external happenings over which I had no control, forcing a later release-date.

Hopefully all will now go as planned, and this collection of contrarian ramblings will find its place in the overflowing bookshelves of distinguished and scholarly gentlemen and ladies of culture, class and good breeding sometime in the merry month of May, 2020.

Yet, who the hell knows anything any more?

Nothing is ever certain. Over night, things became even more uncertain.

Hopefully I will manage it this time, as I won’t then be forced to write another introduction to these ramblings. Though, admittedly, being a sufferer of chronic keyboard-diarrhoea such as I am, writing an introduction is not a problem.

Ending it is.

I do not talk much, but by God do I write much.

Probably too much, come to think of it.

Oh well, that can’t be helped.

The ramblings within were originally published on my blog ( ) from January through December of 2019.

2019 was a remarkably rough year for me, with illness and pains and stress and struggles and trials and tribulations galore. More like than not, this is reflected in the ramblings within.

For better or for worse.

There are some pieces I did not include in this collection. Some of them ended up as being very repetitious. This may very well be all fine and dandy for a blog updated on a weekly basis. Not so much for a book, in my humble opinion.

Those who have followed the blog and/or my channels on YouTube and BitChute may perhaps notice that the “Why I am an Anti-feminist” series is absent from this collection. There is a simple reason for this: I aim to publish them in a volume for themselves.

Such a professional rambler am I.

Just gotta clean them up first, using all the professionalism granted me from my furious attempts at iron-willed self-discipline.

As we all should well know: the most important thing with a book is having a snappy title and an eye-catching cover.

I have yet to figure out either for the anti-feminist series.

The insides don’t matter any more. Our cultures suddenly decided that judging a book on its cover was the way to go.

Contradicting all prior wisdom and knowledge in the process.

I can not stand identity-politics at the best of times. Now, at the worst of times, I find I really and truly abhor it. Superficial traits has become the only thing that matters. And it is so cheap, so simple, so naive and so – ultimately – dehumanizing. Reducing people to their genitals, the colour of their skin and their sexuality is way too fucking quick-and-easy.

No wonder it got to be as popular as it is. We are losing our ability to focus, to concentrate, to spend any amount of time on anything.

Everything has to be quick, easy, simple and superficial… plastic and synthetic. Identity-politics is the product of a society gone astray, devolving into hedonism, decadence, debauchery and simplicity.

NOW it happens.

And NOW it is gone.

Nothing happens between the NOW and the NOW. Nothing substantial. Nothing that can be grasped, held and enjoyed. Straight from the NOW and straight onto the next NOW. With no thought about what consequence, if any, the NOW has on anything. Particularly not on the NOW.

Now we find ourselves in the grip-and-claw-and-teeth of a global crisis; a pandemic, in fact. The chickens come home to roost. NOW has suddenly become there, then, what, where and when. It is remarkably strange to experience. And I am curious to see what the outfall will be, curious to see if our priorities will shift when this crisis is over and done with.

Suddenly, there was something real and not imagined or manufactured to fight.

The brave solipsist warriors of moral virtue and navel-gazing social justice have no imagined and manufactured ill to fight any more. There is something true, something real, something substantial knocking at the door… something with real consequences… something worse than the latest Iphone being too big for the tiny hands of women; something more terrifying than the horrendously sexist air-conditioning.

Only time will tell what happens next. And what a time it will be!

In the meantime, I hope you will enjoy reading this book. I enjoyed writing the ramblings within very much.

Remember: it is quite alright to recommend it to friends and family as well.

How in the world am I supposed to feel like a true and proper professional writer, even if my writings is the product of naught but a humble thought-crime salesman, if I did not push my ramblings by proxy on unsuspecting victims of said thought-crimes? I hope you will enjoy the ramblings within. They are best enjoyed with a bottle of red wine, a glass of Xanax and a rusty chainsaw. As is how life is always best enjoyed.

With regards:

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 12.06.2020

New Year, New Updates

«Rock N Roll»

Happy new year, you filthy animals!

The current year has come and gone. Just as the current years have done since proper recording of time began. And in this new current year, which I meet and greet head-on with a body reeling from the shock of moderately priced champagne and cigars, I hope that we shall see a current year far better than the current years that have gone before. This despite the current year meme probably being a dead meme at this point in time. Not that this matters all that much. I never was that hip to begin with. Staying behind the current trends is par for the course when living in my body and with my mind. I don’t have time for trends. Trend-hopping seems so unstable and unreliable… as though one lives in a constant state of flux, bouncing hither or dither according to the whims of the great trend-setters in the sky or in the ivory-towers of supreme entangled enlightenment.

The current year of 2020 will be dubbed, I hope, the year of the hindsight. Hindsight being, as we all well know, 20/20. Maybe and mayhaps we shall roll back the madness a bit, stay the tide of insanity and refuse to be ruled by greyscaled academics and cowardly politicians who shake and shiver at the mere trembled ire of the feminist and social justice warrior scorned… those who claim to speak on behalf of all and one… as long as all and one can be neatly defined by supremely superficial characteristics where all are the one and one are the all. Mayhaps and maybe we have learned to not buckle down and listen to insane demands from insane cultists locked within the magnificent jaws of tribal warfare; manufacturing the very thing they claim to be fighting against in order to have something to fight against so that they have some meaning and relevancy in their life and in their cause. Their cause and their life being one and the same for reasons of… hell if I know… lack of imagination, perhaps and perchance?

And all the accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout “save us!”… They had a choice. All of them. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men like my father, or president Truman. Decent men who believed in a day’s work for a day’s pay. Instead they followed the droppings of lechers and communists and didn’t realize that the trail led over a precipice until it was too late.”

At the end of the day, in all actuality, new years eve and the next year means absolutely nothing. In the grand scale of the thing, it is nothing but yet another ritualistic celebration… ultimately pointless, futile and meaningless. Things go on as they go on, never-minding the change of this or of that, never-minding whether the year flows into the next, as time flows into time into time time and time again. Over and over again. It is what time is; another human characteristic: the need to define and to understand and to neatly label everything and mark the label with celebrations and rituals.

Which I love.

To my fractured mind and ruptured body, we could do with far more rituals in our western societies than we currently have. We hardly mark and celebrate anything in our lives, just go from this and to that with merely a slight celebration tossed in at certain points in our lives, only to go back to going from this and to that; waves lapping at the shore, withdrawing and lapping again and again, time and time again. Straight from this and right into that with merely a small pause between this and that as if tossing the dog a treat on occasion. Seldom do we stop, properly mark, celebrate and enjoy a moment in time or in life for being that moment in time or in life. The moment is never worthy of our attention for more than a split second; a quick moment. And then forgotten, as though it never happened and didn’t matter.

And so, on it goes, the grind, the eternal grind. Clap clap clap, snap snap snap, now now now. Do this, do that, do this and that and do not stop and do not pause and do not consider and do not for one second merely enjoy. For there is always more to be done, that has to be done, that you must do before you can enjoy. And then you die, wondering when in all this mess of life you found the time to do nothing but enjoy. With 20/20 hindsight, the value of a life well lived and beautifully spent seems very clear and obvious indeed. Too bad it was lost in the perpetual grind.

Alas; yet again, I took to rambling when I should have been focusing. Stream of (sub)consciousness does have its drawbacks from time to time, as do freeform (dis)association.

I was thinking of wishing a happy new year to those who consume the material of this blog or of this channel; warm wishes for a happy new year and a big thank you for the year that just flew by in a fit and in a flurry. The current year is always a struggle. Until one realises the futility of the struggle and so get engulfed in the stream instead; becoming like water, as the Taoists would say. Which, admittedly, is an incredibly difficult thing to do. Particularly so when steeped in the waters of insanity, gender-politics, a looming threat of tyranny and the collapse of society such as we know it. Which, as the enlightened observer would know, is more or less all I do with this blog and with this channel. Which makes the aforementioned so much more important. A healthy detachment; separating personal life from professional life as best one can and enjoying the moments in the personal life whilst simultaneously enjoying the moments in the professional life. That is if my ramblings, rants, ravings and writings can be referred to as professional, of course. I believe that they can, but I am clinically insane according to some and full of piss and vinegar according to others, so what the hell do I know? Less than I believe that I know, yet more than some people would admit that I know, I suppose.

The year of the immaculate hindsight will see some changes on this blog and on the BitChute and YouTube channels. Not that heavy, mind you, but enough to warrant some forewarning. This will be a year of change in my personal life. All for the good, mind you, but still things that demand my attention so that I will not be able to update as often as I did in the current year of 2019. I may have to settle for one meagre update a week, with a few pauses in updates here and there. This is just as things will have to be in this year of the flabbergasting hindsight.

To be clear: I am not going mellow or anything like that. I am still full of clinically insane piss and vinegar, full of righteous anger and full frontal fury. Maybe even more so. I had a good cathartic run with my ramblings last year – if I may be so bold as to admit to the selfish nature of my ravings – and it has done me a world of good. Hopefully, other people have found some enjoyment, enlightenment, information and catharsis in them as well. Hopefully, it has done other people some good as well. Hopefully, more people will come to enjoy it. I, for one, have no intentions of ending it any time soon.

A small audience and few views are of no concern to me, in all honesty. What matters is that it gets heard, it gets seen, it gets out there. Were I doing this merely for popularity, I would most certainly not be writing about the topics I write about.

In March, or thereabout, I am releasing yet another collection of my ramblings as a book. Through Amazon once again. These are all ramblings that are freely available on my blog and on my BitChute and YouTube channels, though collected and cleaned up a bit.

Not all I wrote last year is collected there, however.

I had a hard time psychologically – which translates into severe pain in my entire body as well as my psyche – early in 2019, and so my raving ramblings suffered a drop in quality in which I repeated myself far too often from one week to the next. Those that are too similar, that are marked by repetition as a result of pain and fatigue, are not included. Though I humbly believe it is a damned good collection nevertheless.

Releasing books such as this is how I attempt to gain some revenue from doing this thing that I do such as I do it. I am very grateful to those who have bought the books of yesteryear, and will be very grateful to those who buy the books of this current year. It helps keeping the blog and channels going such as they do. There are more than one book being released this year. Three are planned, though there may actually be four – depending on how much I am able to write and edit throughout the year.

And that, I think, is that. Warm wishes for a happy year of the hindsight for all of you.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 01.01.2020

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle:

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback:

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:

Vol 1 Paperback: Vol 1 Kindle:

Vol 2 Paperback: Vol 2 Kindle:

Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback:

Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback:

Other links:

Redbubble shop:








A quick announcement and a question:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That would be all the announcements.

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

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

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

And that is that.

Until next time:

Take care!

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 09.09.2019

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback:
Vol 1 Kindle:
Vol 2 Paperback:
Vol 2 Kindle:
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback:
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback:

Other links:
Redbubble shop:

«Raven», and some news.

raven lowres

Illustration: «Raven», 2019, Moiret Allegiere


Something short-ish today, as have become the norm on wednesdays. For reasons far beyond my control, of course.

Well, not that far beyond, perhaps, but far enough that I feel comfortable in shifting some burden away from myself and onto the realm of happenstance. Happenstance, in this particular instance, having to do with overexertion and illness. Which is a god-damned bother in itself.

See; the bastard lovechild that is this book of mine; that glorious assault on public decency dubbed «Howling at a Slutwalk Moon» is due for release either this weekend or early next week. Editing it took its toll on me, frail sickling that I am, forcing me to place most of my focus, energy and concentration on that one looming threat on the horizon.

As such, it left me with far less energy and focus to direct at other things, leaving this little rambling-space on wednesdays dedicated to… well, ramblings of a less pre-planned and more spontaneous nature. Which is fine, I suppose, were it not for the hole in my nuclear brain cavity left there by what I consider to be a less-than optimal output these past few weeks. That is the way of things, however – some things must take less priority than others at times, and with limited energy come limited output.

At the very least, since I am exhausted and fatigued, my creative juices are flowing. As they are known to do when I have too little energy to do anything about the free-flowing ideas, elusive bastards that they are. What is needed is focus and energy. I find it astonishing how much energy can be drained by merely sitting down and writing. Or drawing. Depends, of course, upon the topic being written or drawn.

Lately, there have been much twisting of the brain and churning of the nuclear cavity within, leaving me drenched in sweat and something I assume is ectoplasm, but may very well be a manifestation of sleep-deprivation and good old fashioned grumpiness.

I have a comicbook in the works. And a collection of poetry planned. As well as working on this elusive book of mine wherein I chronicle my experiences before, during and after quitting a veritable potpurri of various psycho-pharmaceuticals. This whilst doing my regular drawings, writings and videos for the blog, YouTube and BitChute as well as editing «Howling at a Slutwalk Moon».

And now; my fear, my anxieties and my tribulations are two-fold: what if the book does not sell? or, possibly worse, what if the book does sell? Oh my, what a horrible state to be in; a sort of self-inflicted dissociative state of madness and fatigue, he said, half-mockingly.

There is a long post coming this saturday; a sort of satirical tragedy in three parts set in the present day. Inspired much by the recent nonsense from Antifa and their obscene thuggery as well as the looming threat of censorship.

And that was a horrible beast of a thing to write.

And I am very pleased with it.

Which tends to mean that no-one else will enjoy it.

But, oh, whatever, nevermind.

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– Moiret Allegiere, 03.07.2019



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A quick update

Baphomet patriarch lowres

Ill: «Grand Patriarch (Or: Baphomet re-imagined for the age of nonsense)», A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere.


Lately, I have been working on compiling a book.

The book is nothing more exciting than a collection of my blogposts, with some of my attempts at poetry thrown in there, I’m afraid. But it sure as hell keeps me busy! I aim to selfpublish this book within three months or so from now. The working title of the book, and the one I probably will land on is «Howling at a Slutwalk Moon», an apt description, even if I do say so myself.

I am also working on a book detailing my experiences with the mental health services, psycho-pharmaceuticals and the muddled mess this made of my sanity and my life. This will probably not be done until mid-to-late 2020.

These two projects take quite a lot of my time, and as such the wednesday posts have been little more than a drawing lately.

Got something going up on saturday on ideological purity and our tendency to learn nothing from history, thus allowing it to repeat itself over and over and over again.

And that is all.

Be well.

  • Moiret Allegiere, 13.03.2019


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