(AN: I will be taking some time off for reasons of health. A mind can not function properly when running on very little sleep for a very long time. Add to this insomnia the chronic pain, and the shit hits the fan. No updates next week. Will be back the week after, though. Hang tight and have a good one!)
The weight of the world can be crushing. The rush, the stress, the constant buzz and activity expected of any functional member of society can be devastating. There is this current in our cultures that constantly push and pull in this or in that direction. To achieve, to succeed, to be constantly on the move and never take a break. Seems we turned into a society of over-achievers, where a glorious corporate career is celebrated and considered to be more important, to be more rewarding and more gratifying than a simple life, or a humble life, or family-life, or doing with ones life as one wants to do with ones life.
This culture we have created is a culture that can not help but create chronic stress. How much freedom; how much downtime does one have in ones life?
We are pushed out the door; trained into stress from the moment we are born, it seems. Straight from the womb to kindergarten, then to school, then to more school, then to work, then to the grave. To school, where one learns how to be productive; I.E. how to be a busy working-bee, to work, to tired toil permanently. From the cradle to slavery, if you will allow me some overt (and not particularly clever) melodramatics.
If one does not contribute, one does something wrong.
Of course; as men – we do something wrong if we contribute as well as doing something wrong if we don’t contribute.
Time to step down, men, and give women your place, the hive-mind will say. Then they’ll turn around and say that men who earn less than women are not good and decent marriage-material.
Women out-earn men; there must be some way this victimizes women. Men become poorer; women most affected. It is a very interesting thing to behold. One would not be amiss in saying that the serpent speaks with a split tongue; one would almost be inclined to believe that hypergamy is real. But that would be a misogynistic thing to say, apparently, so I will leave it unsaid, unwritten and unseen. You did not just hear me say it, did not just see me write it. You are hallucinating.
It’s probably stress-induced.
You should see a doctor for it.
If one does not succeed in this or in that, one is a loser. This seems to be the thing; men who do not succeed or who fall to the sides, who drop out, who become disabled and can’t work are not proper men. Men are defined, and define ourselves by what we do instead of who we are. This is a damned shame, but that seems to be the way of it. It is not good, and it is not healthy. Pushing oneself too hard is damaging.
This is not, of course, to say that people should not strive for success; that people should not strive towards excellence in whatever field. Far from it; I long for some success myself in my chosen field(s).
It is not, however, the most important thing in the world. Who one is should always be considered of more importance than what one does. The line that separates work from man and man from work ought to be clearer than it is. The first line written in a man’s perception of himself should not first and foremost be his profession. When all one defines oneself as is ones work, work is all there is. To my eyes, this can not bring anything but stress.
I used to refer to myself as an artist and a writer. And that was all that I was, and I was at a loss for anything else. It was not what I did, it was who I was. Which of course resulted in me not doing much except write and draw constantly… as though I wasted time if I did not do so. (Now, on the other hand, I refer to myself as a scribbler of lines and a semi-professional rambler. Seems fitting.)
Anyhow; I went to art-school and learned how the world of art operates and got disgusted with the whole scene. Then I got a book professionally published, experienced far from decent treatment by the publishers and so got disillusioned with the whole thing.
Thus; if I was an artist, I had to be part of that scene… and that was not in the least bit tempting.
If I was a writer, I had to deal with preposterous publishers and all that stuff… and that was not in the least bit tempting. And this is not to mention the seemingly unending demands for shoulder-rubbing and being bubbly and social and such that do not befit a grumpy pseudo-hermit such as myself.
I wanted no part of either of these worlds. They both seemed plastic, synthetic and phoney to me. Still do, in actuality. Self-congratulatory and self-aggrandizing; people who believe that the worth of their artistic work is of more importance than that of the so-called low-value work.
You know; the work of those who actually lubricate the cogs and wheels of our society; who keep the gutters clean, who keep the sewers working, who keep the electricity on, who collect and remove the garbage, and so and such.
Champagne-socialists with a bloated sense of their own importance.
As such, I was neither an artist nor a writer.
In fact, I lost faith in both art and writing for many years.
Cue existential crisis.
Cue identity crisis.
Cue me being confused and confounded for years, due in no small way to never defining myself from anything but what I did, never really figuring out who I was. Add to this a culture in which men are never really encouraged to do anything about this, and the shit hits the fan. There is a not insignificant amount of books focusing on women finding themselves, seeking themselves, celebrating themselves, whatever. Many of these have become best-sellers, blockbusters and whatever else. “Eat, Pray, Love” comes to mind as one example. I read it. It is dull and it is boring and superficial (albeit hiding its superficiality beneath a plastic layer of depth… the movie is even worse) and it is obviously not written for men. I have no issues with this, of course. I have issues with this being a message delivered solely to women: that it is very important that they find themselves and so and such and this is empowering and fantastic and screw the patriarchy, am I right, girls?
Men don’t need to do that. And those who propose that men might do good in doing just that are nothing but woman-hating misogynists for daring to consider themselves and their own needs; for daring to put themselves first.
Of course: this is not to say that I don’t consider art or literature to be important, because I really do. I still love art and I still love literature, being a man of culture and good breeding as I am. (Cue sardonic and self-deprecating laughter.) But to believe that it is the most important; to believe that one is a better class of people due to being able to draw a straight line, or due to being able to string two sentences together is naught but absolute rubbish. This, of course, was a tangent and a half.
Struggling with a crisis of identity is a profoundly difficult thing. Men have no identity of their own any more; no healthy masculine identity “allowed” by mainstream culture. Just about all the old male archetypes have been, in one way or other, deemed misogynistic and as such an oppressive tool of the patriarchy, and besides – not only men can have these roles, women can do everything men can do, and so forth and so on.
Men, one comes to learn after hearing from the conveniently cuntish cultural chaos, can not do everything women can do. Women can birth children. Men can not. And so women, by default, have an archetype, an identity, that is solely theirs and that is solely feminine: that of a mother. And this is an incredibly important thing – don’t get me wrong. Just a damned fucking shame, then, that the traditional family unit has been deemed a patriarchal tool of oppression by the feminist hordes, and as such broken up and verboten. Fathers, they have said and sprayed and lied and spat and spun for decades, are not essential and are unimportant. As anything but providers. A father is a walking wallet and little more. Women can do the whole shebang on their own… albeit with financial support from the father, who is shamed and blamed for being a “deadbeat dad” who don’t want nothing to do with his children. A damned shame, then, that the courts favour mothers and the feminist hordes bitch and moan and complain about discrimination whenever a 50% shared parenting default is presented as law… conjuring forth all manner of vicious images and lies about fathers only seeking custody of their children to punish the mothers, and that children will not be safe from abusive fathers and so and such. Nevermind abusive mothers; they don’t exist… of course and as expected. Add to the mix the push some years back from certain feminist groups to remove father’s day and replace it with the conveniently dubbed “special person’s day”, because some children don’t have fathers in their life and so this would hurt them a lot, apparently. The observant among us, who have not gobbled the raw chicken of gynocentrism and feminism, will notice that mother’s day would not be replaced with “special person’s day”, for some strange and peculiar reason. That fathers would not have a day to be celebrated would undoubtedly hurt fathers, but they don’t matter and they don’t exist. As anything but external and permanent wallets.
So not even the role of father is an allowed masculine identity. Women can do that as well. And provider, and protector, and all that was typical male identities.
Warren Farrel refers to this crisis of identity as a “purpose-void” in his book, “The Boy Crisis”. It comes recommended, though I don’t agree with everything the man says.
Purpose-void sticks, though. Because that is exactly what it is. Boys are not built up, are not told anything positive in regards to their identity and their being. Everything good they can do, girls and women can also do. And everything bad they can do, only boys and men can do. So there is no masculine identity left that is “allowed” but a negative one. Yet – the expectations are still there, evidenced by a thousand articles like cigarette-burns up and down the arms of boys and young men: where have all the good men gone, where are the men that pay for dates, that provide, that protect, that are chivalrous and all that other stuff which is both discriminatory and empowering towards women. A not insignificant amount of women, it seems, wants to act like a bitch and be treated like a queen. Equal treatment in a relationship translates into traditional expectations from the male, full and fancy freedom for the female.
Here’s a handy and non-PC hate-speech tip for the women out there: If you want a man to pay for a date, you are going to have to earn the privilege of him doing so. And no – despite the claim that men only ever think about sex – this does not mean that you must put out. How to earn the privilege, you’ll have to figure out yourself. Do some soul-searching and see what comes up. This should be interesting.
The message presented is what it is: he shall provide the most, yet he shall also participate in the domestic duties. Don’t matter that he works more, that he works harder and so and such. Everything needs to be split down the middle. Except the bills. And the workload outside the home. Men also tend to have a longer distance to travel to and from work, so one can add even more time away from home.
There is the strange double-speak: despite the role of provider not being an accepted male identity, it is still an expected male identity.
I don’t see anything wrong in being a provider. That is to say: I don’t see anything wrong in a traditional relationship if that is what people want to engage in. This should be a topic of discussion for those who are involved in the relationship, and only for them. The personal really does not need to be political. It becomes a problem when the role of provider is both one that is expected and one that a man is to be shamed for; constantly reminded that his efforts – and by extension himself – are neither valued nor needed for the family or the relationship. There is no respect or understanding for the sacrifice of the male; the female, we are told, sacrifice oh-so-much and whatever and what not. And so the male need to pick up the slack, need to get of his lazy arse and help out more. He does not do good enough, no matter what he does.
And, besides, he is constantly reminded through dreary television and news and social media and what-not: he is not needed, his efforts not appreciated.
And so, what is to be done?
A big, flaming, politically incorrect and ferocious middle-finger can only go so far. Shitposts and edgy memes, despite their humour and ability to at least open a few eyes a bit, does little but act as a source of catharsis – albeit a very functional source of catharsis. I do love me some spicy memes.
All the archetypes are gone; stripped from the male just as his testosterone-levels; declining and declining, dwindling and fading. Which, oddly enough, is not seen as a crisis as much as it should be. I wonder why.
It is rather simple. First: men need to learn how to say no to women. Really. This does not mean to say no to everything just to be an arsehole. It means to say no when you don’t wanna. I know; this does sound obvious. Yet: men, we prove time and again, have an incredibly hard time saying no to women. Far too fucking thirsty is your average man. Pussy-begging and what-not.
Secondly: focus on yourself, your needs, your wants, your hobbies, passions, interests, whatever. This can be done, even in a relationship. Profound and unexpected, I know, but there you have it – it is completely and utterly possible to focus on oneself as a man, as a human being, and still be in a functional relationship with a woman. Any woman who does not accept this is a woman not worth the time of day.
Oh, my, what a terrible misogynist I must be.
The trick is learning to expect the same from women as you would from men.
Oh my, them’s fightin’ words to the feminist equality-brigade. Equality for me, but not for thee, they’ll say and sway as they stumble on their luscious backflab. Oh boy, I’m mean-spirited today. I just got laid. I’m bursting with testosterone and my beard has grown four inches since this morning. Shame about the male pattern baldness, but, oh well – must be proof of testosterone-poisoning or something to that effect. Besides; the feminist-hordes kinda laid the ground rules for viciousness and spite. I am simply returning the favour: speaking in their language.
And this is a complete lie. For if I did, I would be calling for a culling of the females; calling to kill them all. And I would never do that. Hell: I don’t target women either: I target feminism. And feminism, you have to understand equals neither women nor equality.
Thirdly: figure out your strengths. And cultivate them. More importantly: figure out your weaknesses. And conquer them. This is a long, slow and tedious process. In fact: it is a constant process. As it damned well should be: nothing worthwhile is over and done with inside of two minutes. Except a quickie.
Lately, I have found it fascinating, the shame and ridicule that is thrown men’s way through television and whatever else as men go through their “midlife crisis”. I suspect you all know the stereotype; the middle-aged man trying to recapture the glory of his youth, making a complete fool of himself in the process… rightfully and justifiably returning to his proper role and place as the follies of his crisis is revealed in full: he is nothing more special and exemplary than what he has been for years, and nothing is worth recapturing as there is nothing there to grasp.
Allow me to present a differing perspective on the male mid-life crisis.
This is a man who wakes up, just about halfway through his life, realising that he has spent most of his life working and providing; sacrificing himself and his passions and hobbies and whatever else in the process. There has been precious little time for himself, precious little focus on his needs and wants and desires, his hobbies and interests. In fact: they have been considered childish, or brutish, or selfish and whatever else and so have been pushed to the wayside and forgotten: better to settle down with a movie and focus on the relationship than it is to play silly video-games with his friends in the evenings, for example. After all: both him and her work most days, and hardly ever see each other and what about her needs and what about the relationship and what about the family and when will they ever spend time together?
In realizing how little of himself he has actually realised; in realizing how much of himself he has actually sacrificed, he seeks to reclaim himself from the shadows.
You know: like women are encouraged to do through just about every form of media there is. “Eat, pray, love”, anyone? Women who do this; who go through the same process are celebrated and encouraged. Men who do this are ridiculed and mocked.
Mayhaps the mid-life crisis would be lessened, the foibles and follies of recapturing something that has been lost would be unnecessary, if men were not expected and encouraged to complete and utter self-sacrifice, be that for society overall or for the women in their lives and for their families.
At the very least, in times past, men got a certain amount of respect and gratitude for their capacity for self-sacrifice. There was some manner of social reward for them in doing so. Which, one assumes, kept the whole thing going for a good and long while. Now, on the other hand, there is just this constant nagging… this constant bitching and moaning and complaining and it is never good enough; there is no respect and no gratitude, no social rewards but the constant flow of what can only be referred to as thinly veiled contempt. Prompting him constantly to give more, to do more, to sacrifice more, and more, and more.
Because it is never good enough.
And even when doing what all the articles and all the women who write said articles say, it is never good enough.
Self-sacrifice to the point of self-annihilation, and still expected to do more.
Such is the plight of man. And it ain’t getting any better. The tide will only turn, the winds will only chance, when men stop. When men focus on themselves and their own gratification; when men come to realize that their true self lie within themselves – as corny as that may very well sound – and not in what they do or in how well they can provide. Better to be poor and content than rich and miserable. Better to be self-actualized than to be self-sacrificed.
Know thy self, and all that is good will follow.
- Please like, share and subscribe
- Moiret Allegiere, 02.05.2020 (The year of the apocalypse-bat)
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
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop