On unfiltered thought-loops and “Read A Book”; A rant:

Awakening A3 lowres

Illustration: «Awakening», A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere

 

Through unfiltered thought-loops, we are sullied. Immature minds bent in on themselves; noticing nothing outside the cataclysmic echo-chamber of their preconceived virtue-jerk-off. A blast-off hyper-speed ejaculate aimed squarely at the begging eyes of twitter-raiders, wide-and-wild-eyed, part chaotic, part vivid, part vicious, completely melting down.

Pride, the saying goes, goes before the fall. Too bad we lost the fall in our quest to alleviate the slightest imagined or straight-up manufactured ill. All that is left is vague varieties of pride going before the pride. Never falling, never falling, merely floating in the forefront of our collective hallucination where pride perceived as a thousand trembling gazes from a thousand trembling followers is of more importance than truth, than reason, than facts, than compassion, than intelligence.

Much too bad and much too sad that we – societally – are all so lost within our own safe-space virtue-rambling parody of conduct and humanity that we forgot humility and bravery, that we forgot compassion and duality, nuance and complexity. We traded it for pride, for vacuum and immediacy, gave it all away for virtue, vanity and superficiality, never thinking that we ourselves may be in the wrong. Such a complex organism is society, that our brilliance is being passed off as bigoted supremacy, that mere wishes to remain unsullied, thoughtful, contemplative and true is viewed through a light-bending prism of academic, over-complicated, over-thought and, essentially nonsensical gobble-de-gook, through guilt-laden late night drunken ramblings on social media hastily gobbled up by followers unerringly attempting not to stay out of the loop, and in so doing agreeing with everything as long as the possibility not to be perceived as bigoted and hateful is there; that is to say: not being perceived as bigoted or hateful towards the wrong kind of people.

Yes; we must hate, we must scream and rage and roar at the dying of the light at the coming of the night! We must fix the hollow burnt-out shelter that is our empty lives through mass-release of anger and hopeless frustration by pointing fingers squarely at what we perceive to be the grand enemy of our time, of our day, of our age and of our society, stagnant, dull and boring as it is, was, and always will be, consistently consistent, stable, safe and eternally boring as only a long and drawn-out dinner at grandmas house may be! Revolution. For the hell of it!

Yes we must hate! Yes we must scream and roar and rage and demand to be heard, hard and definitive! Frightened by our own shadows, maybe, yet that may be nothing but proof positive of our terrible oppression, maybe? And when we hate, we do not hate as others hate. We do not bring our passions from a common spring, but from a well of neuroticism boiling underneath our skin and in our sullen swollen hearts and tongues and eyelids plastered to our face with cheap reality-distorting reality-television and daytime television talk-shows telling us how pitiful we are, is, always will be, maybe baby!

They do not hate as others do; they hate immediately and with the unbridled passion of a one-night-stand, unhinged, unfeeling, un-calculated and freaky-deaky beneath the sweat-stained sheets and cobwebbed walls of their safe and comfortable gated communities where nothing ever touches them but the fractured fragments of their belated, sheltered, severed upbringing and the fantasies and phantasms this brings with it in lonely midnight-wanderings beneath the bloodstained moon of their narcissistic tendencies!

And there’s pride and there’s virtue and there’s prideful virtue and virtuous pride born from boredom and a swollen, septic need for validation gone mad, gone feverish, gone blind in an artificial reality concocted by ideologues with an axe to grind and a chip on their shoulders, sheltered from the real world and absolutely incapable of inhabiting a social space not made for them and them alone, and so demanding change so they shall feel safe and feel included in a world they do not care to understand through anything but tall tales read from books and dusty tomes written by the same sheltered arrogant bastards that read them.

A self-fuelling perpetual cycle of hate and mistrust trickling down from those who deem themselves to be our moral and intellectual superiors, hidden as equality, masked as altruism, painted as a virtuous, true and noble quest for good and decent goodness and decency so that all that see it shall be blinded by its light, and so be unable to read what the scriptures say, the dusty tomes, the fractured minds, the sheltered and the hateful ones.

And those that are blinded by this light take to social media to spread the light of the malaise, to show how dignified, justified, compassionate and virtuous they are, and do not for one moment stop to think or stop to look or stop to ponder and consider, as that would take away from the immediacy of the event, the knee-jerk emotional goodie-goodie sensation of being right, of being moral, just and justified in moral, righteous hate and anger.

Loaded to the brim with grim sensations of something vaguely unjust, they charge full-frontally and unblinkingly, unthinkingly, unknowingly into the fray, battle-ready and grim-faced, proud and perceivably strong and brave and courageous in speaking truth to power. And then, meeting resistance where they do not expect resistance, they falter, they fall, they shake and tremble vividly and tremendously as no-one has ever called them on their bullshit before, and they are loaded with nothing but emotive garbage and the feeding-force of their echo-chambers, their pre-conceived notions and expectations falling to rot when presented with facts and figures telling truth unspoken by mass-media which would rather mass-manufacture mass outrage than accurately report anything at all, as mass-manufactured mass outrage sells and money talks, even for hardened anti-capitalists selling branded merchandise to fight the power fantastic!

Fucking fantastic!

But it feels so good to be right, and so they must be right, right? Right. Double-right, triple-and-quadruple-right, comrade, don’t let these misogynists, these white supremacists, these homophobic neo-nazi troglodytes take you down.

Just tell them to read a book.

A nice retort.

That’ll show them.

That’ll give them what for.

It does not matter what book. It does not matter. Just say “read a book”, as if that sentence in itself brings with it shame and ridicule for the unwashed masses who can not read, who can barely walk and breathe at the same time.

Read a book.

How fucking arrogant, how god-damned stupid, how inconceivably rude.

Well, then, allow me to immediately bring to the forefront of your empty-headed cerebral cortex one iota of truth, as I have seen this “argument” from the synthetic tribes of the social justice warrior armada more than once, more than twice, more times than I care to count: this is not an argument. This means absolutely nothing. This is nonsensical.

Fucking “read a book”. As if this washes away anything said in contradiction to your claims, you filth-monger, you dong-merchant, you snake-oil salesperson of ill repute!

To enter the land of rants for a short segment of my rambling diatribe; we would read books if you and your ilk did not constantly attempt to get them banned, you fearful mongrel bastards of a honey-dripping life of luxury and overabundance. What; should I not make assumptions on your lives? Well, fuck off – don’t make assumptions of me based on my genitalia and the colour of my skin then. You judgemental, bigoted racist extra-terrestrial busybody snowflakes of vacuous virtue and unharnessed cancerous insanity clothed as muh equal something-or-other.

Through the wondrous magic of mass-manipulated propaganda, it is considered provocative and controversial to even mention that boys and men struggle in this fragmented dribble-and-drool society of ours, if not seen through the lens of feminism where boys and men are painted, not as a problem, not as having problems, but as the problem inherent in the system. No wonder boys and men are pissed off when they see, time and again, the same faulty statistics, the same lies and the same peddlers of lies peddling said lies about who has it worse and who suffers and how evil and vile men and masculinity are. And when objecting to this with clear facts instead of frail flights of fancy, it does not matter and they are not heard nor replied to with anything but arrogant holier-than-thou rudeness from people claiming they are the ones being attacked when attacking an entire gender!

No wonder boys and men get pissed off when they are constantly told either that their problems don’t matter at all, or that they are the problem by virtue of being themselves. Telling an entire segment of the population, for decades, that they are not themselves, that their sensations of being manly – of being masculine – is wrong, is not them, is but an act; that they are the cause of their problems as well as all other problems, that they have to change in order to save the world… ridiculing an entire segment of the population when they attempt to bring up their very real problems, shaming them into quite quiet submission… laughing at them when they are victimized or when they attempt to bring attention to the suicide rates or to the injustices faced by them in a system which, purportedly, are set up so only they shall succeed, even when they fall off the grid and drift away eternally and see no help coming their way from the might of the powers-that-be that be supposedly there for their benefit and their benefit only…

No wonder, the state of it all.

And then the forces claiming to work towards equality mock and ridicule when attempts to bring up problems faced by other human beings seeking equal treatment as human beings; not accepting facts and figures contrary to their claims, but refusing to listen and refusing to understand based on nothing but the gender and the colour of the skin of the people responding to their ridiculous and disproven claims of unequal treatment, washing it all away with incredible contempt and fantastic rudeness, painted as fighting the power and as being the kind warriors for justice for all! All, of course, meaning everyone but boys and men. One can only assume that, since boys and men don’t deserve human rights, these forces for good do not consider boys and men to be human beings. Why else would they be so pissed off and so torn apart by a loose-knit movement seeking human rights for human beings?

Boys and men, according to the feminist hive-mind, according to society, according to our politicians and our teachers and our everything, do not have feelings, and are not human beings, and as such are not deserving of basic human compassion and understanding.

Merely shame, blame, neglect and an incalculable amount of vile rudeness, time and again being told that our problems do not matter, that shining a spotlight on our issues detracts from the issues of women which are – clearly – more important than the issues facing boys and men. And, obviously, stating that boys and men are human beings and so also deserving of human compassion and consideration is hating women.

Because the feminist movement hate men, so it is only natural for them to project this hatred onto the broader men’s movement, telling us in no uncertain terms that a movement for women think like this about men, therefore a movement for men must necessarily think like this about women. Minds bent in on themselves, undoubtedly incapable of viewing anything from a point of view not immediately in front of their eyes or in the midst of their bellybutton!

For a movement claiming equality, they sure as hell do all they can so that equal treatment shall not come around, so that the issues affecting boys and men shall not be taken seriously.

I’ve spent the entirety of my life reading books. I grew up in books. I spent so much time at the library, I might as well have set up camp there. I had friends come visit me at the library. I still read books whenever I can, and always bring books with me, no matter where I’m going. So which book would that be, that I should read?

Would you vile cretins of phoney virtue and solipsist systems accept this as an argument from me? Would you accept me proposing that you read a book as a perfect and permanent solution to our argument, or would you consider this as nothing but the vague “I am smarter than you, you peasant” put-down and cop-out that it is?

Read a book, indeed.

How about viewing boys and men as human beings, and treating men and women equally?

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 10.04.2019

____________________________________________________________________________________________

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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

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Links:

Visit my blog:

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Gillette; the best a company can do?

transcendence 1 lowres

Ill: «Transcendence #1», A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere

 

AN: This is a email I sent to Gillette following the travesty which is their new advertisement. I originally intended not to publish it here, but I was convinced to do otherwise. It is a spur-of-the-moment thing, and as such do not represent my usual output. For good, or bad.

 

Considering your advertisement: «We believe».

I will have to applaud you in this. What a brilliant piece of marketing genius this was – to, quite literally, piss in the faces of your main customerbase.

Way to go in painting all men as toxic and, in so doing, going with the flow of the newfound social justice hivemind. You are quite brave in flashing your virtue for all the world to see; going with the simplest and most popular opinion of the zeitgeist. All in an attempt to appeal to delicate feminist senisibilities whilst proclaiming loudly for all the world to see: Look at us; we are good men – we are progressive, we are modern, we are tolerant.

So tolerant, in fact, that you will consider half of the worlds population to be toxic; that you will consider the biggest part of your customer base to be fundamentally flawed, born with some inherent fault that can only be solved by telling them, over and over again, that there is something wrong with them. Really hammering the point home there, Gillette. Really good. Just like everyone else, in an attempt to keep face and maintain popularity.

Well done.

I am not buying any more of your products. And, I suspect, this applies to a hell of a lot more than me, both men and women. That is to say: the ones among us who believe both men and women to be capable of both good and evil.

Something you seem to have forgotten, in your attempt to flash your virtue: men are not the devil, women are not god. Women are not the devil, men are not god. This is just a fancy way to tell you, since you have forgotten, that women are human beings, and so are men. Not one is above the other. Yet you seem to firmly believe that is the case, and I will believe that that is what you believe until such time as a separate commercial painting women as toxic appears; telling them to shave of their toxic femininity and respect their men for once, just as the men respect them.

If you have any dignity and grace left, you will promptly apologize for labelling fifty percent of the worlds population as toxic. But leave the commercial online; lest we forget.

Moiret Allegiere, 16.01.2019

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

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Is this really what you want to do with your life?

Lost at sea lowres A3

Ill: «Lost at sea», A3, 2018, Moiret Allegiere

 

Is this really what you want to do with your life?

To live in a constant state of inner turmoil brought on by opinions whose very existence you deem inappropriate to the maximum and offensive to the extreme? To seek out ever new and ever fresh occassions of offense so that you are free to flaunt your virtue and to stand atop your hill of moral superiority in order for everyone within the immediate zone of your selfimposed social-media-madness to judge and consider you to be of the highest moral standing and highest moral standard; to wave the elusive banner of justice immaculate and immediate in front of marching brigades of hysterically screeching butthurt tater-tots? To be caught in a crossfire of ever increasing infringements on what people may say or do so as not to hurt anyones vapourcloud-feelings; to pour ever more gasoline on the evergrowing fires of discontent and then fan the flames with religious fervour, all in an attempt to be seen as the most upstanding, most moral, most chaste cloud of the collective?

Is this really what you want to do with your life?

To live in a selfinduced bubble of stress and maniac madness gathered from the cloudshare storage of your fellow moral crusaders for part-time truths and post-justice justice; to look over your shoulder constantly lest the mad brigades come for you as well in the trenches of this war of fragility which you fight?

You may believe that they won`t.

But they will.

Come time, they will.

They will seek you out like sharks smelling blood in the water the moment you say anything that goes contrary to one tenet or other of the holy church of offense-seekers and victim-warriors; always looking to get atop the highest vantagepoint of victim-mountain, to become – essentially – king or queen of the hill and don the papal hat of victim superior. Ave, Ave, Victimas. This selfinflicted paranoia-induced stress ain`t good for you, you know! Don`t you ever get tired of selfcensoring so as not to upset the anthill, so as not to paint a target on your back for the predatory beasts to sniff out in dramatic re-enactments of past lynch-mob seekers of post-truth mob justice? Are you not tired of these cult-like patterns of thought?

Is this really what you want to do with your life?

To never delve deeply into the depths of your convictions and think things through properly? To never measure the foundations of your beliefs against something other than what you have already decided is good and pure and proper and true? Don`t you ever feel like plunging deeply into the murky waters of ideas; the darkest, deepest depths of intellectual curiousity and challenge yourself through internal monologues turned internal dialogues with some other part of your soul, chained away in the basement begging to come to the forefront and ask you a few questions?

You know – some questions just to shine a light on some things. See where you really stand. What really matters. Is the prospect of the depths of your own intellectual capacity frightening to you? It must be simpler, plainer, easier to take the quick-and-easy route towards social acceptance by riding the wave and saying what others say, repeating chants and drones and mantras, superficially sounding reasonable and just and moral. It is all for the greater good. The superficial greater good. And that is just it: superficial. Callous. Immediate. A product of attentionspans left out in the woods to be ripped apart by wolves and bears. The quick one-upping brought on by immediate gratification. The instantaneous dopamineburst of instantaneous action; jumping on the bandwagon of whichever moral outrage is popular at the present moment, never for one single moment stopping to think if this is really worth it, if this is really something that warrants this level of moral outrage. Because thinking things through takes time, and time is of the essence lest the case-in-point disappear into the misty waters surrounding the island of immediacy and noone acted, noone got their dopamine-burst and thus their fix for the evening. Them withdrawals are such a bitch. Gotta keep on your toes. Gotta keep them shots coming; perpetual gratification-junkies – exceptionally addicted to feeling righteous flames fanned in the superficial rewardcenters of the reptilian mind.

Is this really what you want to do with your life?

To scream obscenities at those who did nothing but disagree with you? To attack their characters and their personhood, never once attacking their arguments? To never listen when someone is attempting to share their opinions and their views, instead waiting for them to stop talking – or yelling in their faces until they do – so that you can spew whatever ready-made and pre-assembled grunts of arguments you gathered from someone else, somewhere else in the undying cloudstorage of your fellow outrage-afficianados?

Riding the wave is a thrill and a bliss; all that woozy and wollen social approval gathered through likes and shares and comments galavanting your way, to tell you that you are such a good and decent person; so clean and uncorrupted and untouched by the foul fascists hiding behind every single deluminated keyboard, seeking to oppress and destroy your hivemind-virtue by asking a simple question or stating a simple fact which you have deemed, through no thought of your own, a non-fact.

It is so easy, so simple and so outstandingly powerful to dismiss someone immediately as a fascist, a nazi, a misogynist, a racist, a sexist, a transphobe, a whatever. To make them defend themselves instead of the argument. Such a cheap trick, and so effective if one is not expecting it.

Yet, you never stopped to think that these words have lost all meaning through their overuse. And you never stopped to think that these are the tactics of people with no depth behind their arguments and opinions; to attack the person making the argument instead of the argument itself. It proves nothing but your own inability to consider a different point of view; to question yourself and to ponder – deeply – what you consider absolute truth. Don`t you ever think that this madness will stop at one point or other; that the foundation of your movement – such as it is – is built on sand and mud, and that it will all slip away and come tumbling down in a incredible earshattering implosion of blood and hysteria?

Where there is only superficiality, there is no depth. And where there is no depth, there are no roots to seek nourishment to keep the goddamned thing alive. Your castles are crumbling. We can see it. We can see it through the constant infighting amongst your groups. We can see it through the everexpanding nonsense of your outrage. We can see it through your ever more blatant hypocrisy and doublestandards. We can see it through the steadily approaching turning of the tide. Some beliefs have depth. Some beliefs have roots that seek nourishment and find it. Others do not. Anything built on the immediacy of the event will not stand up to scrutiny. Your grapes are dying on the vines. The times, as they say, are a-changin`.

And why are you allergic to simple facts of life merely because they run counter to your beliefs and your feelings? That you feel something is untrue does not make it so. That you feel something is true does not make it so. Some facts are facts. And denying these facts because they make you feel bad is ignorance at best and absolute selfishness at worst. Reality does not have to bend and twist to conform to your personal feelings and beliefs. It is hard to imagine anything more vacuous and selfish than demanding reality itself change to suit your needs. Goddamnit, get a grip! Children think like this. Not grown-ass adults.

Is this really what you want to do with your life?

To fight a battle you will lose because you are constantly changing the goalposts so that noone will ever have the time or the ability to follow through with anything? To levvy ever more demands for protection and pampering in ways which I can best describe by refering to Helen Lovejoy of simpsons fame and her own moral outrage; manifested in seven simple yet effective words: «Won`t somebody please think of the children?!?»; screeched hysterical with no thought, no rhyme, no reason. Merely appealing to affect. Blind to anything else. This is exactly what you and your brigade of rampaging thugs are doing. Think of the children; think of these poor people with no voice of their own whom I, in my grandiosity and grandstanding, care and compassion have decided to speak on behalf of!

Of course, without considering that these poor oppressed people whom you dare speak on behalf of may not be in agreement with you, and may not even want you to speak on their behalf. Do you really believe yourself to be the voice of entire groups of people? Or do you perhaps consider these people so stupid, weak and feeble as to be unable to speak on their own behalf? Well – that speaks more about you than it does the ones you claim to protect.

Do you really want to be lost in a hodge-podge vacuumchamber, insulated against the outside world so that you never have to ask yourself simple questions such as: «Maybe I am wrong about this»?

Is this really what you want to do with your life?

Never consider, and always assume? To paint the ones who disagree with you with the broadest brushstrokes imaginable; painting them as haters of women, or racists, or nazis or whatever suits your needs at that particular moment. Dismiss as hatred that which you do not even care to consider. Simple and easy. Dehumanize and carry on. Disregarding what genuine concerns may be there in order to caress and rub the clitoris of your own sense of affective and superb morality. There is no easier way to win than to consider your opponent as less-than; as not worth consideration.

Do you really want to float adrift on a sea of hatred and bigotry throughout your life because you have decided, within your echochambers, that a certain segment of the population is composed entirely of people so privileged that their concerns and needs need not be met? That it is OK to hate and vilify, seek out and destroy, an entire segment of the population merely because you have deemed them less-than-human through decades of lies and slander, shaming and hate?

Or is it maybe so that you dare not gaze within yourself because you would then be bare to yourself, and all your hatred and all your selfish bigotry and dehumanizing rhetoric would stand naked in front of you and you would see yourself true and through and the incredible shame and the overwhelming sensation of your own abhorrent hatred would flood into you and fill you with regret and paralyzing shame so that you are left in a catatonic state of despair brought on by the ugliness of your soul?

Introspection ain`t pretty when one has blamed the outside world for ones own shortcomings all ones livelong life. It comes highly recommended, though. Try it, and you may soon come to realize the importance of thinking things through at great depth and at great lengths of time. Try it, and you may soon realize that insisting the world change to accomodate your evershifting needs is selfishness and not selflessness; that immediate gratification is a fleeting thing and that the things that last are things that are built across eternal rivers of time, externally as well as internally.

Wrong Timeline. Reboot the universe, please.

Protection A3 Lowres

Ill: «Protector», A3, Moiret Allegiere, 2018.

 

We`ve slipped into the wrong timeline. Took a step too far to the left and left our feet lingering in quicksand, got them sucked down, unable to get the bastards back up again. Atleast not without losing a perfectly good boot in the process. And noone can stand losing a perfectly good boot. So, instead of losing that perfectly good boot, we`ll just stand here and wait for someone to help us out of this mess that we created by breaking the space-time continuum and drifting into a alternate dimension.

Enter now a wide-and-wild-eyed crackhead dimension, where the lunatics run the asylum and nothing is anything anymore. Up is down and down is up, planets and galaxies collide in cranial cavities. They explode and they die. Then they are reborn and reborn in a chronic attack on the calamities of thought, so much so that the sane is left unseen and unheard, bewildered and confused by madness and pampered random accusations, by buzzwords spraypainted on the crumbling walls of civilizations lost in the loadbearing fog of history. The sane have become incompatible, unable to regain the ability to speak. Lost in a hedgemaze of randomly generated mass-extinctions of reasoned debate. Thrown in jail behind a dead and dank door of cosmic scale, blasted into oblivion by staring into the abyss for far too long.

Alone and despairing, reason lost. Or so the unreasonable would tell the tale as they swing from chandeliers flinging shit in the general direction of evidence-based argumentation. Attacking truths unspoken with allegations of bigotry and too much privilege. Timelines slipped, dimensions shifted, we got sucked into the vortex, blasted into the sun of a crumbling society dancing to the beat of the funeral drums with a heart beating madly out of rhytm, out of tune and out of meaning.

Driven to the point of medicinal submission to an empty space of future internal combustions of the mindscape. Fearing repercussions for speaking truth to power. The drone goes on and on, echoing the same old sentiments. Some kind of buzz in the distance, so limitless and free. What a rush; the buzz of fractured conversations droning on and on, highpitched at first, then raging, then throwing tantrums on the kitchenfloor. Screech with us, they demand. Assimilate, concern-troll for a while, then annihilate. Annihilate vague niceties of the individual. Cast yourselves in the image of the hive. Strip the selves of any-and-all, ravage their corpses and defile their cis-het-white-straight-whatever-normative-privilege, so normative it fills the buzz of the hive with disgust.

Quick breakdown: join us. One of us. One of us! Gooba-gaaba, gooba-gaaba, one of us! Diversity is strength. Diversity is nonconforming conformity. Diversity is complex compliance. Diversity is the greatest good. (The greatest good!)

Yes, we are all individuals in this timeline, (I`m not!) part of the hive, part of the crew. So open and so honest individuals that all secrets are shared within the hive, no secrets are spared within the hive. All your secrets are skewered on the tip of the stinger of the Goddess-queen, glistening and shimmering and golden. Golden wax, gorgeous and divine, the hive and the Goddess-queen, all in one and one in all.

Join us, they keep saying, droning on and on through time and space. This timeline has the best sex, they claim: just jerk off straight into the bottle and see your seed whipped into the fruiting chamber, to spawn a flush or two of drones of peculiar tastes, oh so special and oh so precious, so diverse, so classically nonbinary, non-traditional and nonconforming in compliance with the rules of conformity within the hive.

None more victimized than the rest, none less victimized than the rest and none more open and honest and free than the rest; free to float atop the waves of these strict and stringent rules designed to keep us free and safe and sane, sane, so sane that the grid closes down on us and we smile and we wave at the web spun of truths untold for our benefit in dictionaries sold to the highest bidder of varied and diverse purity. And what gobsmackingly, eartwistingly beautiful purity! Purity of the clearest sort, of the cleanest sort! Revel in the divinity of this ideological purity! Such tolerance, such beautiful ideals, such ideological cleanliness and style that I scarce was sure I saw it before it all came tumbling down and filled my innermost being with promises that were never meant to be kept.

Powerful urges sweep me towards the vortex, into the tide, into the hive, into the wish to become something more than myself and then to pour my soul into the fight for identity nonconforming in conformity, for status in the victimhierarchy of peculiar and eccentric needs homegrown through mycelium spreading underneath our feet, to guide my hands and eyes alike into the cosmic singularity of taller tales and harsh demands for government to overreach straight into our brains and wipe them clean with cheapass bleach.

Wiped clean, blank slate. Now the Goddess-queen enters our room. Oh, instill into me thy wish, Goddess-queen Grandiose and Fabulous. Pour it into me, pound by pound and slab by slab. Send me back to the grinding floor to make amends for distant sins or sins of birth or both. There is no backwards compatibility in this paradise paved with honey, no need for different views and unattainable ideals from ages past, designed to make us screech and wreak mad rage at trashcans and small businesses alike, no need to seek any understanding of the self. First commandment: do not seek to know thyself. There is no self to be understood anymore, no self left to defile the hive with independent thoughts and words, viscious and hateful and fierce, fiercer than the blackness of your whitewashed soul, uglier than the clinking clang of your privileged position of unflinching power granted at birth, by random chance and not enginereed spectacularly by docile social constructs. There is no privilege in the single point behind the fact; the unspoken truths of our Goddess-queen divine. There is no truths left to be spoken. All truths are known and held dear by one and all. And all is honey, milk, shimmering gold and jewels. So virtuous, you guys, more virtuous than you and yours. Seriously, you guys, I`m super-serious.

Through the dimensional shift.

Back into the hubbub.

Which timeline are we in?

Reboot the universe, please.

Seeing eerie premonitions, hanging on for dear life to the memory of the vacuum of her bulbous eyes and massive form, a giant in the playground, the goddess of everlasting victimhood, toppling the sandcastles of the other kids out of nothing but jealousy.

Inabilities to do and to be turn into demands for others to do and to be or be unable to do and to be, so that her bulbous eyes and trembling lips don`t have to experience the hardships of dealing with something of which she does not approve or does not comprehend. So that her flailing words and flailing arms and quivering mass does not have to go through with bettering herself and trying something again, time and time again, until she at last succeeds. Or having to deal with the simple and universal facts that people don`t agree with one all the time, that people do things of which one does not approve and that is quite allright. If someone does or says something contrary to ones personal beliefs, and noone is hurt, let them do it. Why do you mind? Moral busybodies, puritans in hiding, authoritarian crybullies and totalitarian fingerpointers; always looking to change everyone and everything else to suit their own needs and wants, their own warped sense of morality. Because the notion that people disagree is scary. And that notion in itself is a fucking, goddamned, fuckety-fuck-fuck-fuck scary-ass… fuck it, I can`t swear properly… notion in-and-off itself.

Disagreement is not harassment. Complaining that people are enjoying something you don`t is not evidence of anything but your own inability to cope with people enjoying something you don`t. Forcing someone to not enjoy something because you do not enjoy it is frightening to the extreme.

Raised to believe in the perfection of the projection of her limited personality, the Goddess-queen does not gaze within. She gazes without instead, miles upon miles outside, with hawkeyed determination and bloodied beak and some other fucking pretentious poetic metaphor, eluding my inhibited grasp at the present moment. She claims all under one, and one under her, to pave the roads in front of her with silk and to level the mountains for her instead of her climbing the mountains herself. Others must change for her and her demands, grand voluptuos madness of genocide en mass, conquerer of the reasoned and the sane, Goddess-queen of the victim-hierarchy and flagbearer of the inevitable tide of the hive.

We stream from real-life still, fighting the good fight. Everyone should be free to think and to speak and to express themselves. Yet, here we are: lost in a blind kids nightmare. Transcending the boundaries of human reasonability and sensibility into the other side; the side governed by people who have never once in their entire googleridden lives had anyone tell them a clear and concise «No!», so that no character and no ability to withstand storms or difficulties get to grow inside the twisted hive of minds turned in on themselves, within eyes and mouths and fingers pointing eternally externally, shivering and quivering and trembling from within due to the horror and the fear of someone daring to disagree with her divine will and saving grace.

And if only everyone knew, saw her point of view and saw it from her malignant tumour-warped mind, they would understand. And since they will not do so willingly, they are forced by rule of law to understand, even as the tide turns and the points-in-fact change from whim to whim and wish to wish and desire to desire, they will be forced to understand and throw themselves at her stinger and her point of view, face first. Laws are altered and rewritten and changed to match the Goddess-queen and her perceptions of what constitutes a morally righteous and upstanding set of thoughts and beliefs.

If there is no foundation onto which to establish values, there are no values, only desires. Sudden desires and hungers to be quenched immediately. Sudden changes of heart and rewriting of previously stated goals and beliefs. Look to the gridgirls. Or look to striptease.

«Women are free to do with their bodies as they will. Noone is to tell them what to do with their bodies», out of one corner of the mouth. And then, from the other corner: «Striptease is demeaning to women. Pure objectification. And so are gridgirls. These women should not do this. They contribute to the ongoing objectification of women. Let us deny them their right to do as they please with their bodies.»

And the immediacy of the event, the sudden thrill of getting their way, fades as it always does, with no foundation and no reason to build upon, and the next desire pops into their hydra-heads and other obstacles present themselves, and so the gears shift and the words fade and turn to something else, and demands are levvied and demands are met and everything repeats in a silken sad uncertain circle of each frizzled hairdye, to make the silky road even more bearable, to fluff the pillows under her arms, and to make sure that she does not encounter anything that could be in any way difficult for her to bear. The world must change to suit her needs. Time and time again.

And try as I might, I can`t wrap my head around why people listen to and submit to these ridiculous, everchanging demands. The thirst for power, unquenched, drives these forces. Or so it seems. However: the irrational and emotionally driven reasoning behind these demands from the Goddess-queen of the hive are so easily debunked. As evidenced by the barrage of ad hominem attacks and evershifting goalposts whenever the arguments of feminists are disproven. When counterarguments are met with namecalling and personal attacks instead of counterarguments of their own, one would not be amiss to believe that the cause is lost in the eyes of the public, that the feminists disprove themselves by turning the conversation so that the ones arguing against feminism is forced to defend themselves against accusations of misogyny or whatever -ism are thrown their way instead of arguing the case-in-point. Oddly enough, that is not the case. For some reason, if a feminist attacks the person instead of the argument, the feminist is viewed as strong and courageous instead of dishonest and weak. And when they call for the banishment of speech which they deem offensive and hateful they are cheered on. Not by a majority. By a minority of aristocratic virtuesignallers with more fake virtue than sense, with more power than wisdom and with more ingroup preference than empathy. And yet, they keep getting their nonsense pushed through. The Goddess-queen reigns supreme in the era of delumination.

And yet, they are free to spew whatever hatred and bigotry they like under the guise of fighting against their oppressors. And one has to wonder: in what world and in what universe does the oppressed class not receive punishment and severe backlash from their oppressor by attacking them so blatantly and so often? And in what world is the oppressed class in full command of the discourse? The mind boggles and the rational tremble. None of this makes any sense. No sense. No sense at all.

Reboot the universe, please.

They will not divide us

Sjølvmord lowres

 

«He will not divide us!», say the ones who aim to divide us; a movement stretching further than the grand ol` US of A. A global globular movement of closed minds incapable of asking questions, incapable of thinking inwards. Instead: projecting their insecurities outwards, blaming the rest of the world and demanding others change instead of them. Introspection dying at our feet. No reason to admit to fault within. All fault and every flaw lies with someone else, something else, somewhere else. Push the blame away.

«He will not divide us!», they chant in circles unbroken, solipsistic and so eternally conforming. Breaking the world into the pitter-patter of labels astronomical in their divisiveness. I identify as this and therefore am more or less priviliged than you, who identify as this and that. A fell swoop to break the structure, the very fabric of humanity itself into subcategories so absurdly small that the only conceivable end result is for them to eat themselves from within. The poison feast has begun. Ouroboros lost, Ouroboros reclaimed. Divine divisiveness.

There is a worm growing inside the monorail minds of this monotonous gibbering mass, a worm aiming to drool painted words of disconnect onto the canvas of the world. Words that, at first glance, sound enchanting and profound as all hell. Postmodern lingo to combat radical expressions of ideas. Wordsalads used to mask the nonsensical calamity of the ideas hidden within. Sure, it sounds intelligent, it sounds smart, to use larger-than-life words who`s true meaning is so simple, so translucent, as to be ridiculed were the worms able to convey honesty in the structure of their sentences. Don`t ever expect a clear answer from the worm. The worm will mask the inability to answer honestly as profundity behind a paywall of magnificently painted nonsense-words. Hey—nonny-nonny-hey, hey-nonny-nonny-no. Paint it as religious relevations of grandiose truth, and then use the grandiosity of religiousity to deny others their opinions. Pitter-patter of concern and offense. Feels equals reals, yo. What a humdinger, what a goldslinger, what a mad state-of-the-art-affair. Why are people listening to this nonsense? How come us domesticated primates are so willing to deny expression of ideas based on someones subjective sense of offense? Grow a thicker skin. Learn this: not everyone will agree with you. And that is quite allright. Understand this as well: the rules of speech which you fight to implement will be used against you as well. It is only a matter of the brilliant flow of time. Before we know head or tail of anything, we are confined to concrete cells within our own minds, unable to say anything lest we offend anyone. Good morning Worm, your honour, I have not been thinking wrongly all morning, thank you very much.

«He will not divide us!» Break the world into pieces instead. Divide the undivided, divide and multiply by negatives. Unity in nonsense. Free speech is hatespeech. Nonsense is now sense, new sense. Communication dies as conformity to closedmindedness grows. An open mind is able to entertain and ponder ideas which run contrary to ones preconceived notions and opinions. The mature mind is empathetic and open, able to view the world from different vantagepoints, and in so doing broadening its understanding of the world, with all its madness, hellfire and glory! Ideas meet and blend and grow on the battlefields. Ideas grow from external input. Or die on a hill from their lack of output, input or reason.

An inqusitive mind used to be a badge of honour. Now it has become a mark of deep shame! To question the current cultural zeitgeist requires the testicular fortitude of martyrs past, and brings the rampaging mobs of pitchfork-wielding maniacs all the way to ones doorstep. Tolerance of everything turns around and becomes tolerance of nothing. Except, of course, the ideas spouted by random wordgenerators in dimly lit halls of cranially deficient academia. Conform, submit, or die. It is the age of lackademia. Question nothing, lest you be deemed a heretic, lest you be exiled, lest you be cast from society: blasphemer, blasphemer, blasphemer!

It is these cynical tactics that are the most bothering. The appeals to affect, not to reason. Emotions become truth, and therefore the shaming, the blaming, the fully charged ad hominem arguments are considered righteous arguments. Claims to hold the moral highground is enough to turn the world against a predetermined enemy of predetermined lesser moral standing. Twisting and turning words. Twisting and turning meaning. Objective facts hurts subjective feelings, and are as such deemed untrue. Burn the witch. She turned me into a newt. Everyone is a fascist. And you have to point them all out, drive them away to the fanfare of drums and weird vocal ullulations. Get thee away, scapegoat. Away from me, Satan; tempt me not! Punch a nazi. Easy said, easy done, when everyone is named a nazi.

Here`s the scary part: appeals to emotions work. Claiming ones enemy to be of lesser moral standing is more than enough to justify whatever tactics needed to silence ones enemy. «All white people are racist» justifies racism against white people. «All men are mysogynistic» justifies misandry extreme. And so forth, and so on. Because it feels so fucking good to be in the right, that one does not need to stop and think and consider if one even is in the right. It feels so good, so good that – oh god – oh god – I wish this dopamine surge would never stop, so justified in anger, so justified in violence, so justified in complete and utter mindless fucking hatred. Let it keep coming, let it keep coming, flowing through the nervous system like a current of electricity straight into the brainpan, zap, zap, nervous energy accumulating, all that anger, all that rage, all that hatred, calling out from the bottom of the feet all the way to the top of the head, hairs rising on arms and body shaking, trembling, pulsating with justified glee and weird, peculiar sensations of JUSTICE untainted and profound and deeper than the deepest fucking deep. Oh, it should never stop, oh GOD, it should never stop, onwards to the next fight, the next victim, the next subsection of humanity to label and taint with shame for circumstances beyond their control. For mere random chance. Oh, the dividing, oh the oppressors, oh the poor oppressed. Find a new cause, find something else, find someway else to grab power, to grab the moral highground. Quick now, quick, before the dopaminesurge ends, before this incredible feeling of being holier than thou ends! Is it not wonderful, to have someone to hate? Is it not fantastic to have ones hate justified every step of the way by the strange strange strange notion that they, not you, are the hateful ones? DARVO, motherfuckers, DARVO! Remember: justice is subject to emotion, not justice. Subsections of subsections, labels upon labels, it beckons, it beckons, it is so simple, so pure, so radiant, so good, so good, so goddamned good that it can never stop, never stop, and then, and then, and then we turn it on ourselves, and then we turn on eachother instead. Cells eating cells. Clicks eating clicks. There must always be an enemy, always be something to fight. War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Click-clack, tick-tock, here we go, towards our daily hour of hate.

It is the rhetoric of war: They will hurt our women. They will hurt our children. They will oppress us. They will divide and conquer us. Their men are degenerates, lacking in the moral department. Stand together. Band together. Group together and leave your individual selves at the door. We are a mob now, a rampaging mob, the eternal monstrosity of the collective, the us vs them, the true and the truth alike, all found here in the mob of non-divisive divisiveness. The barbarians are right outside our walls, and they will ravage our daughters and torture our sons and burn our morals to the ground. They will not divide us. We can not let them. They must be stopped, by any means necessary. Our men must take them out. Gear up. Protect your women and your children. You are the good men. They are not. Kill them. Kill them all, before they kill us. Do you not love your women and children?

Shamed into compliance.

We have forgotten how to breathe.

And so, civil discourse dies choking on its own blood in some godforsaken ditch. The notion of debate and discussion and – as a result – cooperation falls prey to the machines of war. Meeting in the middle, both sides reaching a mutually beneficient compromise, becomes a thesis so abstract that the world will soon forget it. There is only one side. And that side is always in the right. Morally justified and pure as the driven snow. Because it feels right. Everyone and everything else is at fault. Feelings trumps facts. Ad hominems trumps reasoned debate. Bursts of anger instead of calm debate. Nonsense spat in our faces as we die. You uncultured swine. Our decay has begun. Paradise lost. Paradise regained. A boot stomping on a human face forever.