Internet so Dangerous, part 2


Should you be unaware that the internet often brings out the worst in people, I believe you are lying. Or blind. Or you have been living in a cave without access to the internet for the past 28 ½ years.

Not that I’m judging, of course – I can quite understand the wish to be a hermit. Yet, such is the way of it: one has not been present on the internet if this has gone unnoticed.

There is a strange lack of self-censorship and civility when people are faced with digital keystrokes instead of real life flapping tongues and galloping lips.

It is as though people believe that the text they see is not another human being typing. It is merely machine-text texting, to be easily dismissed as a Russian bot, a troll, or some other nonsensical buzzword-effort at dehumanizing and dismissing instead of considering and digesting what is actually being said. It is remarkably easy to do. Usually, it follows the same pattern:

Person A says something.

Person B says something contrary.

Person A responds with dismissing Person B as a Russian bot. (Substitute “Russian” for whatever bogeyman is currently in vogue.) And then promptly blocks the bastard-bot, son of a thousand machine-whores that he of course is, with neither thought nor self-awareness present.

Rinse and repeat.

It is pure internet-magic from putrid internet tacticians. Every day, we stray further from God and from God’s good graces. Every day, I lose a little more of my faith in humanity.

Oh, the humanity!

This tactic is such a marvellously tried and true formula that it could easily be dubbed “Copypasta”.

Such Artful, much wondrous, wow!

Were it not for the inconvenient fact that Copypasta is made to ruin every last bit of originality, it would be an exercise in pure social experiment clickbait. Masquerading as art, just for the sake of it.

Relax, brah, it’s just a social experiment. Just as the whole rest of the world is; a science project that saw God receive a D. Maybe a D+. Good effort, terrible execution. Back to the drawing board, God. Jesus Christ, I know you can do better, buddy, now put some backbone into it!

Originality, as we so often see, is of no consequence when there are contrarians and other vile cretins to contend with on the internet. Copypasta; for fun and profit!

Besides; ones own opinion is hallowed and sanctified, no matter how inane and ridiculous. Responding to it with disagreement, however civil, is akin to harassment. But only if the victim of someone responding to their chicanery in an open forum that is open for all the forum-happy world to see happens to be a woman, or a minority. This rule does come with its own exception, as expected. For it is only when and if they are partial to the shenanigans of Social Justice, as well as being faithful adherents to the cult of woke, that it is to be considered harassment.

Of course.

One could always choose not to get engaged in online feuds, arguments, petty squabbles and such silly bickering. No matter where one is, no matter what one does, somewhere on the internet, someone is wrong. This is just a fact of life. To engage each and every person who holds different opinions, no matter how factual (because there is a vast difference between having an opinion and having a fact) seems to me to be a waste of time and energy best spent elsewhere.

Particularly so when someone argues in very bad faith, using all the mental gymnastics, all the lies and slander and smears and jet-black oily manipulation a Russian bot could ever hope to eat.

A lot of the opinions on the internet are presented as nothing but shitty reposts… strange pictures with some manner of text on them meant to elicit an immediate emotional response, either that way or this way. Seeing as every repost is always a repost of a repost, one has to get fairly tired of trying to refute them and challenge them again and again. It just ain’t worth the hassle.

Granted, this line of thinking comes from a bearded bard who is turning more introverted and reserved with every passing day. It often takes me days – or even weeks – to respond to a single private message or email. So there’s that, of course. I am not the most social of creatures, to say the least.

This is not to say that I don’t believe there are merits to online discussion. I spend far too much time reading and observing debates online to have no faith in it. However: there is precious little point in arguing with someone who has no interest in listening. And that is so often the case when encountering someone who is – as Jordan Peterson puts it – ideologically possessed. They do not talk with someone. They do not engage in discussion or debate as such.

No, no, no.

They talk at someone. Not with someone. Ears close and reason leaves the moment someone disagrees, no matter how well sourced, how well put together, how well informed. Facts and numbers do not matter. Pointing out errors in statistics, or in methodology (something I am not skilled at, but I have observed others that are extraordinarily skilled at it), for example, is inconsequential to someone who has decided that they are in the right, no matter what, and where, and when, and how.

The so-called gender wage-gap is a prime example of this. Debunked time and again, and still living on. Because these people really and truly want to be oppressed. The same can be said for the nonsensical “Pink Tax”, and most everything else they can manufacture. It is either a dirty, rotten lie, or it is half-facts that conveniently neglect to mention the other part of the equation. It gets droll and dull and boring and tiring after a while. Yet, as long as there is social currency in victimhood, it will carry on.

There is no purpose to feminism if feminism has no purpose. And the purpose of feminism – as I believe is the case with all the social justice warrior stuff, steeped in childish identity politics as it is – is to perpetuate itself. It is to keep itself going, marching forward toward an uncertain future.

In order to do so, they have to be able to present themselves as being oppressed. The cause, in itself, is the cause. It is the beginning and the end. And the middle.

What are we fighting for, fellow peoplekind-comrades of non-gender specifics?”

The Fight, comrade, the fight!”

And so it goes, on and bloody on.

If shown – if proven beyond doubt – to not be oppressed, they lose their purpose. They have no big bad daddy to fight if the big bad daddy is proven to not exist as they have presented it. So it is better to double down, ignore the truth, and carry on as though nothing happened.

It is a vile sickness, a terrible blight on society, this celebration of victimhood, this willingness to be seen as a victim, this eagerness to be counted among the downtrodden, the gleeful acceptance, this tragic ambivalence, to being “oppressed”. It is fucked up social currency in a nonsensical social game; its slap-happy followers speeding drunk down the information highway, posting one stupid so-called empowering pictogram of overcoming perceived oppression after the other, where relation to the original topic decreases with every single post. Best to not engage.

It is an obscene celebration of character-flaws masquerading as strength, where overcoming obstacles and hurdles no longer matters or are of any importance for one chooses to petition the government to ban the obstacles and criminalise the hurdles instead. And if said hurdles and obstacles are a few individuals who dislike this or do not agree with that, then that dislike, that disagreement, must be considered hate and swift action be taken promptly by the strong whip-lash hand of the law. This is prime egotism.

Particularly so when the laws and regulations that spawn from such petitioning wind up being very much discriminatory in-and-off themselves.

How can one look to a government that states that there are too many of this demographic working here, so you have to even it out by hiring quite a few of that demographic, otherwise there will be hell to pay, and claim this to be non-discriminatory?

Sorry you didn’t get the job, boy, but the government has decided that your outie is wrong for this job, we need an innie. Your credentials look great, by the way. Better luck somewhere else, buddy.

It truly is a sad state of affairs, when people are so devoid of any personality or character trait that they would resort to wallowing in wallopped victimhood instead of working on bettering themselves… instead of cultivating a personality, people cultivate victimhood. Instead of learning a new skill, instead of pouring time and energy into a hobby, people sit flat on their haemorrhoids and wallow in victimhood, going neither here nor there, but staying exactly where they are because they can not do anything but that because they are only ever a victim of this or of that.

Yet, I do get where it comes from, to an extent.

Hurdles and obstacles are incredibly difficult to overcome. I have overcome quite a few myself, and still have a whole hell of a lot to overcome. This despite being a severely privileged white, cis-gendered, heterosexual male, basking in the glow of my eternal privilege and bathing in the rich waters of whatever it is the patriarchy is supposed to give me for free. I assume free handjobs and a harem of scantily clad lesbians or bi-curious women feeding me grapes. Unfortunately, the patriarchy has been slow in paying me my dues. Ah, well, all good things come to those who wait.

I have overcome severely disabling anxiety, shut-in tendencies and a particularly rough encounter with psychosis. None of these were easy to overcome. I have also struggled with a chronic depression for close-to two decades. For living with the constant tension from this anxiety (amongst other things) for almost fifteen years, I now live with chronic pain and fatigue which, at times, are close to unbearable. Yet: the dogs must be taken for walks, the apartment must be cleaned, food must be cooked, my rambles must be written, then ranted, raved and uploaded, etc etc. All these things help in overcoming whatever it is that needs to be overcome. A wise course of action.

The easy path to take, when faced with these hurdles, is to lie down and give up. On everything. It is the easiest path, and it is the least fulfilling path. Sure; I may complain about it. I may bitch and moan about my insomnia and my pain. Particularly when writing. This is very cathartic. I have no interest in using it as a tool to get my will, or to get cheap sympathy-points. Which, for all intents and purposes, are rare currency where men are concerned any way, so why bother? Get over it and do carry on, pretty please with sugar on top.

Yet, to some people, this so-called weakness, this so-called oppression, this victim-identity gives a reason for existing. It gives a perverse sense of purpose.

Which is why, I believe, you see feminism complain that the latest overpriced god-damned luxury-item Iphone is too big for the tiny and inferior female hands, and so this is supreme sexism. I can hardly think of anything more of a bloody god-damned fucking privileged upper-class-twat first-world non-issue than that. Bloody petty whining from insecure victims with a degree in supreme victimology from the university of woe-is-me! I can’t even bloody afford an Iphone. Where’s my victim-credentials, you absolute turd-maggots? I’m too privileged. That’s my problem.

Of course.

Oh boy.

They may not be able to overcome the terrible burden of having tiny, childlike hands… but, ye gods, are they adept at objecting to the so-called oppression from the luxury brands which they are privileged enough to afford. It is topsy-turvy with gravy on top.

They may, at the very least, post about this terrible oppression on the internet in the most glorious slacktivist way. Why should we care about the disturbing amount of male suicides or work-related injuries and death? Why should we make it illegal to genitally mutilate baby boys, subjecting them to torture and possible death? There are more important matters at hand: the tiny ferret-like hands of the female and its relation to the phallocentric Iphone, mirroring, as it does, all of patriarchy through all our ovary-acting herstory of hysteria. Feminism is quite adept at turning everything into a zero-sum game. They believe that talking about men’s issues will detract from feminist issues – which are not the same as female issues – for the very simple reason that they wish to detract from male issues. It is projection. Feminism plays the zero-sum game, then pretends everyone else does as well.

And so there is a purpose to life for these baby-handed ferrets, and that purpose is to force the entirety of the world to fall to their knees and praise the cult of woke, the church of social justice, the grand majesty of feminist up-fuckery with all their victim-hierarchies and weird penis envy.

Enter censorship.

Enter the cold and uncaring ban-hammer fantastic.

Enter tiny Iphones for the small-handed females with their inferiority-complex.

Enter highly subjective hate-speech laws and hate-crime and whatever and whatnot.

Enter a slow and steady slip-slide into censorious totalitarianism, into thought-controlling authoritarianism, into elitist victimhood circles and their laws on compelled speech, compelled thought, manipulated language from lascivious language manipulators of a herd-like victim-mentality… who believe they are doing good, who believe they are working from liberal principles… yet do nothing but push the walls ever closer… who do nothing but tighten the screws and limit liberty as much as can be.

Or am I being too harsh, too snarky, too sarcastic, even?

I don’t know man… I more or less gave up any discussion on the internet aeons ago. I mean – one could probably make the case that me writing and posting what I write and post is discussing on the internet. But when I flat out refuse to engage in debates and things of that nature, am I really adding to a discussion, or am I just sitting in a fortified compound I refer to as my apartment, screaming at the walls and clawing at my own eyes so that I shall not have to see any more of those god-damned, god-awful, god-forsaken reposts? That is, if I am able to keep my mind on track long enough to not get distracted by random passer-by thoughts that somehow allow themselves to be weaved into an already way-too-long rambling rant… Ye Gods, But I do Blabber on when I write. Probably for reasons of not being a good speaker.

I used to take part in discussions. With fondness. Not too long ago, in all actuality. Yet, when I realised that any topic could easily be turned into something completely unrelated, I kinda lost interest, lost faith and lost touch with the whole universal kerfluffle. No matter which discussion, someone had to come along and make it about the plight of women and how feminism will save us all. I wish I were joking. I am not.

I once joked on Facebook that “There is nothing wrong with society, when taken in moderation”. I got so much god-damned flak for that simple and silly little joke that I lost faith in humanity for a few weeks. For those who are uninitiated: there is quite a lot wrong with society. Also: all faults of society are to be blamed on white men. I was given a few lectures after that very obvious joke. The internet sure as hell brings out the best in people.

To get back to the hurdles and obstacles thing a bit: The anxiety I used to struggle with was the kind of anxiety that made me not leave my apartment, that made me lock myself away and throw away the key. I fixed this by picking myself up by the scruff of my scrawny neck and kicking myself in the ass enough times to make a difference. It was not an easy journey. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

But I managed it, and though I still feel that old anxiety creeping up from time to time – particularly in times of high stress, or at times when my insomnia is very bothersome – I no longer struggle with anxiety.

Thus, I found myself joking around with a good friend of mine who had experienced similar struggles with anxiety in the past. This joking around was done on Facebook. (And so comes another Facebook-anecdote from the fabled days of yore.)

Eventually, we got around to the terrible anxiety experienced when buying toilet paper. Stupid as fuck, of course, but that is anxiety for you – completely irrational and absolutely absurd. And, as expected, hilarious in hindsight. If you, as a grown man, can not laugh at yourself for experiencing anxiety when buying toilet paper, you have lost all humour and might as well dig a hole in the bottom of your bed, from which to never re-emerge.

Well, who should pop up from the ferns and grasses of the luscious lands of Facebook, but a wild feminist? Now, clearly, seeing two guys talking in a joking manner about some irrational yet severe discomfort they had experienced… experiencing two guys talking lightly about having experienced tough times due to pathological anxiety was too much for her delicate sensibilities to handle!

Here, one assumes that she thought, were two guys who had forgotten what is important in life. In fact: they had forgotten who it is that really struggles, and so they need a gentle reminder.

Try buying sanitary napkins, boys.”, she wrote. For women are the only ones who need to buy sanitary napkins, and so that trumps buying toilet paper. One presumes, obviously, that toilet paper is bought and used by both sexes.

Take that, patriarchy.

Women-worsting 101, and oh the humanity, oh the insanity, oh the double-edged dildo of narcissistic vapidity!

To this I replied that I had often, and with absolutely no anxiety whatsoever, bought sanitary napkins (and chocolate) for my wife when need arose. Which is the truth. Particularly the chocolate-thing. There is one thing – and only one thing – to do when your significant other is on her period, and that is to retreat into a safe corner and throw chocolate at her until better times come around! Granted, I put that thing about buying chocolate in there to rile the feminist in question up a bit. But I was civil about it.

The wild feminist replied with “Maybe it will be easier if you pretend that you are buying her toilet paper”. This reply made absolutely no sense, given the context of anything. I had just stated that I had no issues with buying sanitary napkins. Or toilet paper. Not any more. I understood not a damned thing about that sentence, and I said as much. What in the hell was there to pretend?

I never got a clear reply to that.

Though, it transpired that she had never had any problems with buying sanitary napkins either. So, then, what was the bloody point of the exercise, except to come swooping in and state that women have it worse than us guys, despite her not experiencing any difficulties with buying sanitary napkins and us experiencing anxiety when buying bloody toilet paper?

Men can not experience any problems whatsoever – however stupid those damned problems may very well be – without being reminded by feral foaming-at-the-mouth feminists that women experience worse problems, so men should just shut up until women get over their collective neurosis. Which they will never do as long as they can use it as a bloody bludgeoning tool.

In fact, I am very surprised that she did not infer that I might be gay, since I was anxious about buying toilet paper yet had no problems buying sanitary napkins… Because why not? One must, after all, always question a person’s sexual preferences without any real reason. And these social justice warrior types… these feminist types… they trade in stereotypes all the bloody time, despite claiming to oppose stereotypes.

It is such a strange self-contradiction on their part that there is no wonder they do not see it. After all; they keep telling people to check their privilege, seeing nothing of their own. Or their own hubris and absolutely god-awful crap-shit-fuck behaviour, for that matter.

But, ah well, the internet does bring out the worst in people. And so too does the cult of woke, the church of social justice and all the various -isms and isn’ts and aint’s that flow from its drooling mouth. (Of interest: I also got flak for posting a picture of myself with a beer and the caption “cheers guys!” I did not include girls, and so this was a trespass most foul. Herpidityderpidoo, they have precious little to worry about when they feel entitled to police what people say.)

There is precious little that is as terrifying, as gut-wrenchingly nauseating, as someone who considers themselves to be morally superior to everyone around them. These people use their so-called moral superiority as a supreme stick of justice, beating people with it until they either submit or the guardian of supreme morality labels them a racist fascist misogynistic white supremacist Russian bot and blocks them.

Or, as is the case when any one of the Twats on Twitter who have bowed their neck and pledged allegiance to the holy spectre of feminism confront a –ghasp – female MRA, they will misgender them (despite the church of woke considering misgendering as hate-crime most foul).

For, ya know, women can not possibly think about anyone but women. If they do, they are gender traitors and, as such, not to be trusted. It is absolutely impossible for a woman to actually care about men, according to these venomous intellectual vagabonds. These twitter-twats will always question a person’s gender, just in case it’s really a man. Or, well, that is to say: they will always assume it is a man. For men can be dismissed easily and shamed into obedience and compliance, whereas women can not.

Women are not to be touched.

Men, on the other hand, are dehumanized in no small way through the wondrous whimsy of the frail and frantic feminist few, alongside the social justice warrior hive-mind and all their hastily assembled damaged-goods-from-IKEA identity politics nincompoops. This is made evident by taking a quick peek at just about every media there is, be that news media, social media, mass-media mediocrity and so forth and so on. Never has it been more trendy to hate on guys for nothing but being guys. Nor has it ever been so commonplace as to be completely and utterly invisible to those who have not had their eyes and minds forced open by the grim spectre of self-annihilating reality.

Reality is as reality is, but reality can be bent and twisted and turned on its head by rabid ideologues and religious nutcases with more opined convictions than rationality… just package the message in neat language with pretty bows of select statistics; the finely tuned instruments of id-pol and the hive-mind both, and you are on easy street.

Then you will be allowed to sit back and watch as reality burns in front of your eyes… As those who claim to despise and hate stereotypes and stereotyping, who lecture others about their wickedness, their unconscious bias, their conformity-phobia do nothing but spout stupid stereotypes, engage in severely biased and bigoted behaviour, and fear everything and everyone who goes against their grain and mass-media induced psychosis.

In the reality as seen through the eyes of rabid ideologues, women can not possibly oppose feminism. Nor can women oppose social justice, seeing as women are sugar and spice and everything nice. For social justice in all its forms is naught but sugar and spice and everything nice. Despite being tyranny disguised as liberty.

And so, any woman who oppose, any “marginalized” group who oppose the double-stink group-think of the social justice/feminist swarm must be a white straight guy in disguise. And there is nothing more heinous, more depraved, more dangerous, more privileged and entitled than a straight white guy.

On the internet, all girls are men and all kids are undercover FBI agents. This seems to be their line of thinking, made evident by their high-strung joy whenever they commit the horribly trans-phobic hate-crime of misgendering a female MRA or just a woman who oppose the social justice warrior hive-mind. No living by their own rules for these people, of course. Rules of censorship, conduct and behaviour only ever apply to the bad people. And they are not bad people. Even when doing the exact same thing they say that others should not do. Herp goes the derp.

Truly, there are no girls on the internet. Except those who subscribe to the one true faith. They are not to be questioned. They should be allowed to shit all over the carpet with no repercussions.

Well, excepting those-who-shall-not-be-questioned and the THOTS, who appear to have been able to turn Tits or GTFO into a valid and lucrative career-option, there are no girls on the internet.

Mind you: I’m not judging. To each their own. The choice is theirs, after all. I don’t much care how people make their money on the internet.

However: one can not flash exorbitant amounts of flesh and skin in one beat of the lions mane, then turn around and complain about sexual objectification of women online in the flap of a lions cock.

That would be hypocritical at worst and completely and utterly stupid at best. Sexual “objectification” of women will only stop when women stop objectifying themselves sexually for fun and profit. Which I sincerely doubt will ever happen, as long as there are thirsty dudes out there willing to pay ridiculous amounts of money for the slight chance of seeing a nipple. Or even cleavage.

Jesus naked monkey-ball wanking on a chain-link fence – guys would do well to heighten their standards a bit, if I am to be perfectly honest. Seeing a pair of tits on cam ain’t worth the bother or the money, brother.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 22.02.2020

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What the Fuck Are You Dancing For?

The busy steel-mill explosions; the coal-mine exoskeletons,
the streets with their stench of piss and spinal-taps,
the harlots, the hangmen, the hurriers?

The busty lock-jawed barmaid, fine fermented sugar-drinks,
the banshee howls of academic arsonists,
the doom-platoons that preach of death?

Rare silverware-collectors, trick-hopped debt-enforced enslavers,
tolerance-flailers with pin-striped politics-wedgies,
Morality-policing puritans with their fifty shades of fuck?

Who are they – the ones you are dancing for?

Lopsided loot-crate exclusives, corporate overlord executives,
multi-level global corporate-sanctioned rebellion,
kindergarten-level ethics of offence?

The obscenity-trials of the year, flaccid eye-rape and despair,
the silly silencers promoting postnatal abortion rights,
automatons choking on their fragrant morality-void?

Globalist safe-haven abandonment nations, cultural explosions,
new-age segregationists mumbling Jim Crow sentiments,
emancipation of dry-heaved emotional flatulence?

Who are the ones you are dancing for?

Mediocre musical wastelands, death of beauty and of truth,
a lonely G-string tuned to burlesque slut-walk symphonies,
flip-flopped, docile post-fornication hangover blues?

Hypocrites demanding obedience and lectures in radical redemption,
absolution of past sins through tongue-twisting trials by fire,
proof of vapour-wave virtue in the courts of social media?

Shit-eating free-form post-colonial fart-art, dry-lipped buttocks-kiss,
free-bleeding vaginal artists spewing period-blood on pavement-cracks,
the fall of Rome, her succulent tits deflated and devalued?

Who the hell are you dancing for?

Vaguely worded collective guilt, communal crime and punishment,
spit-shined, dry-humped, dry-heaved cultural contempt,
letters of the law that enforce a law of the letters?

Slip-shoed gender warriors, supremacist venom clothed in silk,
perfumed censors picking objectionable words from our throats,
an absurdist monkey-dance, a free-form enabler-trance?

Miserable pot-roasted goons educated on crumbs and ruin,
devoid of values, purpose, self, soul, home and honour,
low-rent memory worshipping made-up imagery?

What the hell are you dancing for?

Self-congratulatory, self-back-patting aristocratic mulch,
out of touch clown-world sycophantic AI robotics,
daft elitist sentiments from syphilitic celebrities?

Self-elected moral guardians, self-appointed ethics-deciders,
prey-less hunters in the wild, free speech defilers,
PC-policing cry-bully authoritarian tyrants?

Mass-manufactured media-outrage, machines of global stupidity,
propaganda-outlets promoting thinly veiled violent insanity,
revolutions that will ensnare and later on enslave us?

Who paid the piper and the pipes you’re dancing to?

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 22.01.2020

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A Good Roll, a Decent Wobble and a Lengthy Tumble

«Bareback Insomnia»

Myths and superstitious legends take their toll. We had a good run… and a greater roll… and the lengthiest tumble… past glories are duplicated in a faulty paper-copier… to come out broken, ripped and torn in a weird copycat display… a shattered mirror reflecting freedom and liberty… where freedom is drawn hastily, outlined in strange dystopian prose, painted with the ink and trembling ire of surveillance through social and governmental power… Of course you are free and have your freedom, sir and saintly madam, as long as you don’t act free and act out your freedom.

The hard and the soft power combined, standing in harms way to harm the way and shatter sheltered minds a-plenty… To then permanently save them from shattering through rules and regulations designed so that no-one of the sheltered and the sacred shall ever have to hear anything they dislike… which, according to the whim of the double-speak fairy Godmother of supreme morality, may or may not include someone merely disagreeing. It all depends on the pre-designed political correctness of stated opinion or fact or truth. It is, after all, far more important to be morally and emotionally correct than it is to be factually correct. So spake the fleeting fairy of flimsy morality and flimsier virtue. Of course you are free to speak and express yourself through freedom of speech and expression… as long as you accept all these limitations on your freedom to speak and to express yourself… as well as the governmental penalties should you transgress and act out that freedom…

Hate-speech laws ain’t nothing but a slow, dark cloud of tyranny… it is a storm beating down on us from afar… an inevitable decline into compelled speech… of forced conformity of thought and of opinion. Making it illegal to say something must simultaneously mean it is illegal to hold that opinion. If you can not speak your mind, how can you possibly have a free mind? Of course I believe in freedom of speech, but freedom of speech should not extend to ideas which I object too….

On a superficial level, we stand free as free could be… to express whatever and whichever… to walk the path less trodden by feet less swollen… complete expression of self is absolutely allowed… though you can not express disagreement with someone else’s complete expression of self, should your values in some way align with the dark side of the force… And what is Light and what is Dark is decided in the dark by drunk hens henpecking social interaction to drunk, drugged and despairing death. Should your values not align, you are free game for the feral forces of the mob and of the pack. And the government, for that maddening matter. Slow death by a thousand pecks.

Hounded, de-personed, un-personed and disappeared loudly, with horns blaring, through the frenzy of the pack; the soft power of sublime social pressure… wild hens hunting the heretic by any means necessary… threats of violence and use of violence is all part of the game; no need to argue or discuss. Attack the person, not the argument. Superficial ad hominem… Reductio Ad Hitlerium, ya dig? All who do not fall into this is fucking Nazi-scum, alt-right pack-rats, fascist collaborators extraordinaire.

After all, the person is not a person any longer. The person is an object, an enemy, a scapegoat upon whose frame all scorn and hatred and ridicule may be placed and laid to rest upon the browbeaten skeletal frame of his simian shoulders.

…Insert Sure, Jan meme, for maximum efficiency in dismissal and put-down… rid yourself of toxic fuckaroos…

External appearance is now marvellously and magically, through smoke and mirrors, through wild and lengthy yarns spun in campfire-tales told frantically by mad-eyed unblinking hens, far more important than internal whatever… content of character matters little when faced with the overwhelming argument of skin-colour, sexuality, sex and gender. Ho-ho-ho, bloody well fuck off.

If you look like this, you’ve got to think like that… it goes without saying… tribal belonging through external appearance first and foremost… a subversive, a remarkably childish superficial take-over manufactured in myriad mind-melt manipulations… to think like this, you ought to look like that. Don that uniform and wear the insignia of the tribe, burnt and branded on your buttocks by your handlers… you’ll wind up without anything resembling true within… without within, within stands without. Shattered and shamed, tattered and torn, broken between a rock and a hard place… or between a cock and a hard face… You are not allowed that hair, buddy-boy, lest you swear allegiance to this tribe… nor that colour of pants… might as well tattoo a swastika on your inner thigh, you lowly, low class something-or-other.

Superficial values is identity-politics wish-wash. It is smoked reams of light masquerading as epiphanies to break the boredom of modernity. Grand words, the grand wazoo and much ado about abso-fucking-lutely nothing…

First world problems presented as profound difficulties… whimsical realms of absolute and acute madness; inflammation of the right and the left brain hemisphere… epileptic fits of tongue-twisting tattle-tales… the new academic lingo is speaking in tongues in histrionic fits of crazy ecstasy… a religious trance to last a hundred years… or two seconds flat, replaced seconds later with some new petty grievance-fuelled annoyance, presented in the same histrionic ecstasy… All hail the high Goddess Annoying Intellectual Ramble and her clouded descent into the babbled afterlife.

Ramble on, my wayward world… there’ll be cheese when you are done. Cheese and whine for maximum madness.

At times, I think we need a good old fashioned war. At the very least, please give us a small crisis… something substantial in this dawn of the insubstantial, in this doom where anything means nothing and nothing means anything, in this age of the great gobble-de-gook, the fantastic swoon, the hallowed swan, the wondrous woo, the gargantuan woozy whimsy of wilful vanity wandering wonderingly within the borders of our manufactured frailty… our remarkable parody of reality.

All who dwell within our borders are set to collapse at a moment’s notice, mind and sanity and inner strength bastardized and sodomized in equal measure… the fall, the oh so timely fall into superficiality and moral beastiality… excuse me, moral inner-species erotica… with not a smidgeon nor a shade of shame and self-reflection to be found or to be had.

We have grown depraved and decadent, bereaved of manual labour and drowning in automation… we have nothing to seek or reach… so few hurdles to overcome that we need to manufacture them for those whom we have considered worthy of having hurdles… and we need to neglect them for those we have considered unworthy of having hurdles… You can tell who is whom by their superficial characteristics, dont’cha know

Big Brother is watching… as is Big Sister; the hard and the soft moral bludgeon… one with a monopoly on violence, the other with a monopoly on social death and shame and decay… stray but a little from the trodden path, the accepted discourse and opinion, and the forces of the weak and of the frail – as they chose to refer to themselves – will beat down on you with all the frail force that can be gathered at the tumbling Touretted tick of an NPC, render you all but dead and imprisoned within the cage of what-is-ok-to-speak-and-to-say…

The age of conformity sprung forth from the grimy loins of political correctness, where facts don’t matter and matter is insubstantial… and something that sorely needs to be said and be spoken may not be said, spoken or discussed despite the importance of the thing… for it would be politically incorrect and so deemed verboten by the frail forces that dominate the discourse… do not say that; it could potentially hurt someone’s feelings, buddy-boy. Even if your brothers are dying, do not say that. For it will hurt the feelings of the frail forces that rule with an iron glove; the soft tyranny of manufactured pettiness and frailty… the sham that is the social game and social rulebook intertwined and conspired to smack you between the eyes, and then to lay eggs within your central nervous system. Spreading, inflaming your tissue and killing you slowly.

We’ve got the hive-mind hierarchy of frailty, also known as the progressive stack… You can be attacked in any manner if you are at the bottom of the progressive stack… or was that the top? It’s all so topsy-turvy, upside down and uncomprehendingly cunt-fusing.

A for effort, fail for execution… dragged outside for a proper execution for failing to follow the flow of the fault-line of the frail and frantic few… the choir offended, my gooey goodness, how loudly they sing and shriek and whine and mutter most incoherently in the grimy greed and darkness of their silent superficiality… their vast calls for ideological superiority…

In the bubble, safe and sheltered, shameless and superficial, pointing to this and only this to state with absolute certainty that you are that and only that; a terrible straight white male – the worst of the bunch, a natural force of pure evil… Antichrist sprung from the loins of a fertile ball-blasted Basilisk Cock-goblin to wreak bloody havoc on the world and all that dwell within.

Boiled, and boiled and then reduced to the bare essentials of appearance; straight, white, male… or pale, male and stale, as the saying goes.

That is all you shall be judged upon, and to hell with anything going on within… within is out, ya know, ya see, ya dig; without is in – the hip, woke hipster squad deemed it so incredibly appropriate to appropriate stupidity in the guise of woke intellectualism, see. Now take your toxic whiteness, your toxic maleness and your toxic social construct heteronormative heterosexuality and kindly bugger off and die.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 06.11.2019

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Truth in the age of Deceit:

We live in times of universal deceit. We can not tell the truth. Bit by bit, truth is being eroded beneath our feet, as is our ability to speak it. Speaking the truth is an act of insubordination, an act of revolution. The truth is becoming a fragment of the past, a remnant of times that were, that came and went and blew away.

The doors are shut for facts and for balanced discussion of said facts. Truth means nothing lest it comes from the gut-instinct, lest it stems from the high-strung emotional turmoil that shriek and punch the air with tremors that state “I feel like this, and so it must be truth”.

And don’t you dare question my truth, my lived experience as anything but complete and utter fact that everyone of my tribe experience and have experienced and will keep experiencing seven thousand times or more.

And don’t you dare share your truth, your lived experience as fact if it contradicts my lived experience and my truth felt in the cornucopia of emotion in my safe-space sheltered heart.

And don’t you dare provide evidence, the concrete fact, the truth-and-beauty of absolute beauty in truth that speaks truth to power and tumbles the tyrants down from their thrones.

For tyranny flows from the top to the bottom, it flows from the tremors and the trembles and the fake-and-fancy inner turmoil shared by those who have had it far too good for far too long, whose tongue-twisting nursery rhymes are still sung and whispered at their bedside by overbearing parents who have told them all their lives that they can never do anything but good, that they can never do anything wrong. That, no matter what they do, they are in the right and the entire rest of the world is wrong and must burn if it disagrees. If lacking parents, substitute hired government goons.

This frantic world of ours allowed the throne to be usurped by warmongers that peddle propaganda; whose tongues and teeth are brown and stained with coagulated blood drained from the throats of subdivided willing victims of a war that stem from trying to please everyone. That is; pleasing everyone who is considered by those who wield the power of deceit to be underprivileged and oppressed in true Marxist fashion. Carried on and carried forward by champagne socialists who do not know the difference between a shovel and a pickaxe, who never saw their cheap-rent apartments disappear and turn to dust from new governmental regulations that deemed them unfit to live in, yet whose silver-tongues that claimed to do good for those that could not be choosers never did think that this would limit the availability of apartments and never did anything to alleviate this, rendering the market ever worse for those that have always been forced to settle.

There is no mistaking it. This is a war. A war that is the result of a cuntural cultural revolution that has been going on beneath our feet for fifty years or more; that has been fought in classrooms with cheap hits dealt from subversive pedagogues whose dimwitted godly light and siren-song shone and sung its way into the minds and developing personality of impressionable children who caught the words and let them fester and spread within their own nuclear brain cavity. More pawns, more peons and peasants handcrafted in indoctrination-chambers to hunt the Kulaks.

To manufacture dissent. Manufacture chaos. To spread disillusion and disharmony to the hungry masses, presenting feels as reals and wiping away any remnant of objective reality to bring forth the new-found reality, the subjective reality where every instance of emotional turmoil on behalf of one and not the other is an issue that has to be dealt with, that has to be overcome by governmental over-reach to limit what we should say and can say and how to say it, to bring forth the hate-speech laws and make them so convoluted, so confusing that everything and nothing at all may be considered hate-speech on the whim and will of whomsoever feel offended by the voice and uttered utterance of those who are considered privileged by the privileged powers-that-be that dominate the discourse, never allowing dissenting voices to be heard. And that is dissenting voices not being allowed under pain of governmental punishment, under the majestic banner of the stately ban-hammer fantastic; the tyranny of governed speech deciding what speech is the correct speech, what opinions are the correct opinions, which -ism is the only -ism one should be allowed to follow in the gloomy grim funeral rite of our liberty.

We are being ruled, governed and drugged by television and media-conglomerates that spin their so-called truths in new-speak news that starve our brains of oxygen until we are close to passing out; that blast us with new information every five seconds so that we can not process the information properly, or never read beyond the click-bait headlines calling for our permanent offence and anger at the unjust nature of the beastly world we live in. That just so happen to only be unjust for the one and not the other, in the eyes of new-speak news and their cohorts that manufacture the perpetual war. Because war is peace. Freedom is slavery. And so forth. And so on.

It will keep us distracted, wilfully sheltered from what is going on behind the canvas and the cloth of looming tyranny that aims at uniformity of speech, of voice and of opinion. We are being ruled by fear and governed by terror to make us accept limitations imposed on our speech and our expression. To label it hate-speech laws is blatantly obvious manipulation of language, telling all that do not think beyond the headlines that any who oppose this set of rules is guilty of hating something or other, and are as such not a decent person, not a good person, not a proper person but someone improper, someone to be shunned and punished for daring to defy the whatever and what-not. Anyone who hates anything is not a good person. Excepting those who hate the ones who supposedly are the haters. They are good people. When they hate what the sheltered stately state have decided is OK to hate.

For a governmental body to decide what is or is not accepted speech is tyranny clothed as compassion. It is a government telling us, in so many words, that this and only this is accepted opinion. And any-and-all that disagree hate the oppressed and are, as such, an oppressor, a bigot, a beastly bastard for whom violence is but a censored Tweet away. And so, they deserve anything that may come their way and the government will not only look the other way, but take part in the punishment. The Kulaks must be dealt with.

And this by any means.

And that is the truth.

For that is the nature of deceit.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 14.09.2019

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Rebellion? We can get it for you wholesale!

When I was twelve years old, I received my first ever punk-rock record as a gift from my father. The record in question was “Nevermind the Bollocks – Here’s the Sex Pistols”; a record that is now legendary in both reverence and ridicule, loved and honoured by punk puritan snobs and self-important music historians of the same snobbishness just about as much as it is loathed and lambasted by punk puritan snobs and self-important music historians of the same snobbishness.

I think it would be safe to say, with no exaggerations, that this record completely changed my life. It was that raw energy and anger, the blaring guitars and pure piss and vinegar speaking directly to my dormant, yet slowly awakening teenage rebellion from thirty-something years before my time. It was an absolutely amazing epiphany for me at the time; pure rebellion roaring, screaming and snarling at me, forced out of my very poor and tinny speakers that did nothing but add one more layer of anti-musician musicianship to the severe lack of musical talent on display within their Rotten ranks and Vicious vulgarity. It was pure bliss. I had never heard anything like that before.

To this day, I still own that CD. And a first pressing on LP. And on Cassette. Would have gotten the eight-track as well, were it not ridiculously expensive last time I checked. Probably sounds odd that I had never heard anything like that before, considering that I was born in the eighties and grew up in the nineties; the decade of heroin, cynicism and grunge, that saw punk-rock become a mainstream pop-phenomenon, with all the corporate-sponsored pseudo-rebellion a boy could eat, telling kids that it is quite alright to rebel, as long as you do it within the hours of five pm and ten pm and then only in a manner acceptable to your parents and your corporate overlords.

And only if you wear the clothes associated with this particular brand of rebellion; bought from these selected stores (trademarked) that are the only accepted purveyors of edgy teen angst and melodramatic middle-finger t-shirts aimed squarely at the establishment. That is – the very same establishment whose clothes of overpriced wholesale edginess generates a vast amount of money for them. And only them.

Now, there is a very simple reason for me not hearing anything like it prior to this record falling into my pimpled pubescent lap and waxy, sweaty ears. No satellite TV, no cable TV, no MTV and no internet. And a distaste bordering on the manic for radio-transmission. For some strange reason.

As a matter of fact, I did not get a stable internet connection until I was about 25 years of age, for reasons of me moving from one cheap and shitty bedsit or apartment to the next in my wandering and rambling student-years where I did my best to get myself an edu-ma-cation, only to drop out and become the splendidly bearded pseudo-hermit you now hear or read before you, muttering something into your ears or eyes about these god-damned kids of today and their fancy new genders, music and interwebs, whilst I’m still clinging to all the artistic ambition and illusions of literary talent I had back when I got that record in the first place.

Ah, memories, nostalgia and grumpiness.

The DIY aspect of punk-rock was promptly forgotten in this era of heroin-infused cynicism or bubblegum-pop naivety, leading us down the path upon which we now tread I suspect, where the concept of rebellion is bottled and sold wholesale and in bulk to young men and women with more disposable money than sense, and more wretched solipsist self-aggrandizement than the ability for introspection and self-awareness. Or doing anything themselves, for that matter.

Selling, buying and shouting slogans is all well and good, I suppose. If one have no arguments beyond the slogans shouted as supposed shut-downs of severe and sanctimonious magnitude. It looks good on camera and on social media to oppose this and oppose that, to oppose the high-and-mighty establishment from deep within the claws and clammy hands of the establishment; saying in a voice that is echoed by one and all – including the political and corporate establishment, which is more or less the same thing in this honky-tonk timeline of ours – that I oppose the establishment, brave rebel without a cause that I am.

The establishment of course being the patriarchy, the kyriarchy, that foul and terrible nest of pale, male and stale cigar-chomping, manspreading and mansplaining oppressors these bought-and-sold-by-the-pound rebels against other peoples god-given right to have opinions imagine in their minds eye. These foul oppressors that have made the western world so wretched to live in that they not only have the freedom to protest an invisible and made-up enemy, but also have the disposable income to buy all manner of edgy clothes and hair-dyes to really showcase their rebellious nature, and of course being able to pay for the internet as well as the overpriced Apple-products they use to bitch and complain in their witch-hunt-ways on well established social media like the pawns of the establishment that they are, bought in bulk from corporations and celebrated by established flingers of shit-laws and piss-pot-hate-speech-introductions, feeding the beast that sees fit to limit our ability to express ourselves and thusly our ability to rebel.

Now, ain’t that something to consider?

These newly fanged and founded rebels of our day and age are rebelling against freedom and liberty. Against the right of other people to speak their mind and state their opinions.

Whichever hate these rebellious rodents of corporate glee and establishment splendour wish to spew, they should be free to do so. Hatespeech is only ever something that comes from other people, and social justice is something that only happen to other people. There is no hatespeech in their throats and periodontitis mouths. For some groups must be protected above other groups, for equality and equity, dont’cha know? And the groups that are not protected from speech which they may find offensive are the privileged groups, by popular decree and governmentally sanctioned fear and loathing. Whereas those groups that have special laws in place to protect them from speech which they may not like are not privileged, despite having private laws being more or less the definition of privilege.

But lets not get into that, shall we? This is the current year, and my sources tell me that reason and objectivity has no place here. Nor, it would seem, is there place in this current timeline for people being treated equally under the law. That would be oppressive, ya know, ya see, ya ought well to have learned by now. Now check your privilege and fuck off.

Social justice and the oppression-olympics have come to mean that a feminist stating that all men are rapist scum that should be killed as a preventative measure, reduced to and maintained at about ten percent of the population is not hatespeech. Should one, however, add the word “black” in front of “men” in the sentence above, one has a problem on ones hands. For that, dear misogynist mansplaining friends, is hatespeech.

Or a social justice warrior urchin of pompous arrogance and aristocratic allegiance may state, quite blatantly, that white men is the greatest problem this world has ever seen; the cause of all the terror and the trembles and the nausea he or she or xe or xim may feel whenever their bigoted eyes fall upon the lack of pigmentation on his foul rapist-face, labelling them all bigots and racists and sexist scum, seeing no hypocrisy in xers xrandiose xatement. And this is not considered hatespeech by this den of thieves and liars.

Worrying about Islamic terrorism, however, is deemed hatespeech by the terrible forces that be trembling at their knees at anything opposing their chosen narrative and chosen hero of the hour; that hero being whomsoever these establishment-financed-and-sanctioned rebels against the state and the establishment and the state of the establishment have decided is the most major of minorities currently crawling through the sludge of our sewer-system societies.

The oppression-olympics is in full fucking swing. There is currency in perceived oppression, and those who dabble in the black-magic-arts of the oppression-olympics are fully aware of this, using this currency for all they can in order to gain power over both society and those whom they consider their enemies, winning the war and gaining ground by shame and ridicule instead of reasoned arguments. For opposing hatespeech-laws and the infantile reasoning behind it on grounds of liberty and freedom and justice for all must necessarily mean hating those who currently reside at the top of the oppression-totempole. Otherwise, one would not object to rules and laws and regulations regulating what people may say and – by extension – what opinions people are allowed to hold.

Any society under whose rule one is not allowed to utter certain opinions… any society under whose rule speech is dictated by governmental rule is not a free and open society. Opposing governmental limitations on speech on general principles of freedom and liberty for all does not mean anything but wanting people to be free to speak their mind, whomsoever these people may be and whatsoever they may hold as their opinion. And this wish for absolute freedom of speech is one I hold as one of my core values; that each and everyone should be free to say and to speak and express whatever they so wish and desire. No matter if I myself agree completely or disagree vehemently with what is said and expressed. For that, my dear children of the post-2012 apocalypse, would be treating everyone equally.

Extending everyone the right to speak, the possibility to have their speech challenged and to hold whatever fucking opinion they hold regardless of skin-colour, political belief, religious belief or lack thereof, regardless of sex and gender and other arbitrary factors that have become the go-to defining aspect of ones life in this preposterous auto-cannibalistic holographic image of reality we inhabit, is treating people equally.

Generating laws and regulations designed to protect certain groups of people does nothing but elevate these certain groups of people above the plebs and peasants; to treat them as some manner of unerring aristocracy which one must never contradict or ridicule, whose statements, however faulty, may never be challenged for fear of punishment by the state. This can not, under any circumstance, be regarded as people being treated equally under the law. For people to be treated equally under the law would mean no special protection under the law for those groups of people whom we have decided in our imagined kindness-and-inclusivity are deserving of some manner of privilege and pampered protection under the grand and majestically swaying tits, inflamed ovaries, neutered balls and flaccid cocks of the governmental ban-hammer fantastic.

In upside-down-land, “equality” have come to mean treating some groups with special privilege and others without. For we have been lulled into sleep and hypnotized by ideologues who tricked us into believing that certain groups have always been privileged and so, to balance the scales, other groups must receive the same amount of privilege they imagine these other groups have. And this must be written into law. If no law exist to protect your group, you are by definition privileged. As opposed to those who are privileged enough to have private laws guaranteeing their special protection for being a precious and more worthy segment of the human population than you and your group is.

These are strange and mysterious times, dangerous and damaging. If our societies carry on with this downward spiral into censorship of speech and thusly of opinion, what once was beautiful will be completely lost. More so than we are at this point in time. When we are stuck with an entire generation that see no problems arising from limiting the rights of people to speak their mind; an entire generation that have been spoon-fed a certain kind of pseudo-rebellion that aims to imprison the mind instead of liberating it – for make no mistake, limiting what people are allowed to speak will also impact what and how people think – we will end up with a mono-culture. That is: a culture in which all thought, behaviour and speech is uniform, synthetic and mechanical. Where each and every response to anything is pre-manufactured and doctored to be the correct response, lest one should fall foul of some nefarious wrong-think and be cast out and imprisoned. One would, if one was so inclined, not be completely amiss in thinking that the political establishment have no second thoughts in governing peoples individual lives in minute detail. For they have willingly sought power, have they not? And anyone who willingly seeks power is, in the opinion of this majestically handsome juggler of words, one to be looked at with some severe suspicion.

Where once rebellion sought freedom of expression, sought the liberation of the individual, to cast off the restraints of society such as they were… rebellion now seek to curtail expression, imprison the individual and force new and fresh restraints in place to chain the individual to the collective so that the individual is indistinguishable from the collective… taking part in a certain subsection of society – that is, a community of like-minded people with the same interests aiming for a common goal – will be forgotten in place of identity-politics that force one to take part in a collective based upon superficial traits instead of similarities of interests or of thoughts or of opinions. The cerebral have been replaced with the visceral; the psychological replaced with the physical. The freedom of the individual being forgotten and neglected for the safety of the collective. And that is safety only for some collectives, leaving only enmity and rage left for other collectives.

Against this, one should and one must rebel. As long as one is able.

…Don’t be told what you want, you want/and don’t be told what you need/there’s no future, no future/no future for you/God save the Queen…

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 21.08.2019


My book – Howling at a Slutwalk Moon:

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

Portrait artist smallish dogs A4 Lowres

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shut it down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That, my friends, is supremacy.

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

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

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

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

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

Bah, humbug.

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

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

  • Moiret Allegiere, 09.02.2019



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