Extreme couponing and the loss of balance: a ramble on relationships:

Mechanics of Utopia A3 Lowres

Illustration: «Mechanics of Utopia», A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere



I remember, back in the day when people actually watched television instead of either laughing at it in perplexed ridicule or throwing it out the window in astonished horror, watching the show “Extreme couponing” with a female acquaintance of mine. Now, for those of you who have not had the pure unhinged bliss of watching this shit-show, allow me to explain: mainly, it focuses on bored housewives extremely couponing to the max, filling their homes with various goods bought in severe quantities through the magic of couponing. The coupons were painstakingly cut from a wide array of newspapers and the like, often with begrudgingly given help from the rest of the family. Of course, I have to admit that the amount of work and pure mental focus that went into these couponers and their extreme couponing was impressive; the calculations and the ability they showed in keeping track of all the different coupons and so forth and so on was no small feat. That is, of course, if it was all real. Which, given that this was (or is – I have no idea whether or not it is still running) reality television, is certainly not a certainty.

The pretence was of course that it was economically advantageous – not wasteful in the least, but very smart financing. Considering, however, that quite a few of the homes we were presented in this show more likely than not would have been featured in the show “Hoarders: Buried Alive” if the winds had blown differently, I would dare make the claim that it was wasteful. When presented with people buying dogfood in massive quantities when they did not even have dogs for the simple reason that it was cheap, I think that is pretty god-damned wasteful. Other people with dogs would probably like to buy that cheap dogfood, you know.

Now, to be fair, quite a few of the participants in this show donated a lot of what they bought to charities and the like. It’s not all bad. Well, it is reality television, so one could argue that it is all bad.

In this episode I watched with this female acquaintance of mine, the wife in the household had completely taken over the entire house with various and sundry, cheaply bought or gotten for free with coupons. The husband in this episode was – understandably so – getting a bit fed up with it. Maybe even feeling that he was being buried beneath the severe weight of consumable items which may or may not be consumed in the future. They had a deal that he would get one room to himself, free from all the hoarded goods of his wife. That is one room, in the entire house, that was not overflowing with cheap consumer goodies of variable and speculative quality. As one would expect, it did not take long before the hoard started creeping into his one room; into his sanctuary, if you will. He was not pleased with this, as one would expect. And so he confronted his wife about this, stating that the deal was that he would get this one room to himself. To which my female friend said, and I quote: “Wait, what does she get then?” And I was gobsmacked and astonished. “She gets the entire god-damned house”, I said. To which my friend did not reply, but gave a sort of grumbled grunt of disapproval. She had no retort, of course, but it was clear that she did not approve of him having room for himself in his own home. That, I assume, would be too much to ask. There was no room for the husband and his wishes in this relationship. The home is the domain of his wife, and he had damned well better be aware of it. The level of entitlement in this is absurd. Cooperation be damned; both parties agreeing and both parties compromising, sacrificing some of theirs for the other and thusly for both – or all – be doubly damned – it was all about the wife.

And that is the level we are at. Respect is a one-way street. And the street points solely towards the woman, with the man expected to sacrifice and to give up his all for her wishes and well-being and her wishes and well-being alone.

Which brings me to the complex question from the chronically cerebrally constipated: “Have you no respect for women?” What a stupid fucking question that is.

Have you no respect for men?

I don’t think I have ever heard anyone ask that question. Respect is not something one should receive by virtue of the random genetic mish-mash of ones birth. Respect is earned. This is not to say that I treat people I do not know disrespectfully. Of course not; I treat people I do not know properly and with respect, no matter their gender. The respect I have for them may grow or may diminish. This depends very much on how much respect they show me, how they behave, and various other factors. What it does not depend upon, however, is gender. This, I would think, is treating the genders equally. Which, I believe, is what we are supposed to do. Of course, and as all those who have woken up one morning to find a bitter red pill caught in their throat know, this is not the case.

A study found that women and men alike perceived men treating women as they would other men to be misogynistic. Which would be interesting knowledge, were it not for the fact that it is blatantly obvious to anyone not currently having their head stuck up the ass of ancient chivalry: “ https://uwspace.uwaterloo.ca/bitstream/handle/10012/6958/Yeung_Amy.pdf?sequence=1 ”.

If one is to dole out respect solely based on genetics, I think the aristocracy is not as far behind us as we would like to believe. The lords and ladies of high birth and good genetic stock deserve more respect than us common pleebs, us peasants, us unremarkable serfs of the mud and the fields. That is to say: the ladies of high and noble birth, by the vague virtue of vulva, deserve respect granted them upon birth whereas the lowly men of low birth and bad genetic stock need to earn respect through deeds done to bypass the totalitarian terror of testicles. No respect granted here by birth. Nothing but shame and humiliation for the crimes of the swinging cock and pendulous balls, lest he proves himself worthy of respect. Mutual respect ought to be the buzzword of the day. We get “Respect whamen!” instead. And to hell with the men, they don’t deserve respect, they must earn respect. And that respect must always be earned and re-earned through toil and sacrifice. Toil and sacrifice, I might as well add, which is never good enough.

Respect by noble birth for one.

Respect by noble deeds for the other.

And the noble deeds are never good enough, it must be done and done again and done to death until he dies, constantly proving himself worthy so that he may bask in the light of her countenance.

To be perfectly honest, I would not have much of a problem with men earning respect were it not for the one-sidedness of the thing. I tend to take a lot of pride in what I do, no matter how little impact that has or how little it amounts to in the grand scheme and schism of things. And I see very little reason to take pride in being born male. Random chance is such a weird thing to take pride in. By the same metric, I of course see no reason to be ashamed of it. Random chance is just as weird a thing to be ashamed of as it is to be proud of. It is just something that happened, and that is all there is to it. It is what one does with what is handed to one which deserves recognition or ridicule. And a woman screaming in my face that I have to respect her does little to make me respect her. Quite the contrary. This behaviour very much lends itself to ridicule. But then, that would clearly be misogyny for the lack of respecting whamen for the sake of being whamen, never-minding the fact that a man doing the same would not make me respect him either. Well, frankly, a man doing the same to another man – or woman – would probably soon find himself on the receiving end of a good old fashioned ass-whooping. Must be that male privilege the feminist hive-mind of virtue and vulva and virtuous vulva go on about.

Treating the genders differently is A-OK, you see. As long as you do it proper. And what is proper unequal treatment of the genders? Well, treat her good and treat him bad. Grant her respect for being born a woman, grant him disrespect for being born a man. That is how you go about doing that. As in the extreme coupon-hoarder example above. He respected her wishes and her happiness enough to grant her the entire house for her, excepting one room. And she respected herself enough to infringe upon his room, disregarding his wishes and his happiness in the process. Apparently, this behaviour is quite alright, as my female acquaintance did not even consider her having the entire god-damned house dedicated to her interest, passion, hobby, hoarding, whatever, as her having something whereas his desire to have one room free of the accumulated hoard of this barbarian queen-conqueror was a manifestation of his inherent selfishness and entitlement for being male. This, I would dare claim, is what one could easily refer to as female entitlement; a relationship where he sacrifices so she shall be happy. A relationship where he must sacrifice because she must be happy. And where she need not even grant him room for himself and his interests and hobbies in a home which is supposed to be a shared space where both shall live together and be fulfilled together, each one giving and receiving in equal measure…

Alas, no – he must give, and she must receive, otherwise he is the selfish and entitled one.

It is absolutely astonishing.

And yet, that is the level we are at. That is the world which we inhabit, where notions of mutual respect and mutual adoration, of cooperation and compromise go swirling down the drain along with his receding hairline; a hairline probably receding from the stress of having to sacrifice all the time, showing respect and sacrifice solely for the chance of being granted, from time to time, the boon of fornication. Heterosexual fornication, I must add, which is of course rape by definition according to the thought-leaders of the feminist idiocracy, most of whom have made it abundantly clear that any act of penile penetration of the vagina is rape, no matter the consent of the woman. Because, as the holy feminist orthodoxy teaches us: women are just too damned stupid to think for themselves and must therefore follow the laws as laid down by their supreme Queen Bee Superiors of the elucidated hive. Being a woman, the feminist hive-mind concedes, you have no choice in the matter no matter your choice in the matter.

Were I cynical, I would have to admit that these feminist thought-leaders were hurt at some point or other in their lives, and as such use their preposterous positions of academic privilege and power to reap bloody vengeance upon the world by projecting their own personal insecurities onto every woman and man there is, howling at the moon-goddess Luna that “I was hurt, so everyone else must be hurt as well!”.

Of course, I am not a cynic. I am more of a realist. And being a realist, I will have to admit that these feminist thought-leaders were hurt at some point or other in their lives, and as such use their preposterous positions of academic privilege and power to reap bloody vengeance upon the world by projecting their own personal insecurities onto every woman and man there is, howling at the moon-goddess Luna that “I was hurt, so everyone else must be hurt as well!”.

One-upping the patriarchy one unresolved childhood-trauma at a time!

Oh, man, is that rude of me?

Is that not proper etiquette and conduct of a gentleman in the presence of a lady?

One would assume that claiming every husband rapes their wife every time they fuck is also rude. A gentleman might be led to believe that labelling every man who enjoys conjuring forth the beast with two backs with the enthusiastic and appreciative cooperation of his lady a vile rapist, as well as his lady a victim of rape too stupid to realize her victimization, is an act of incredible rudeness and character assassination.

Forsooth, vile lady of the night! Thou hast insulted mine honour as well as mine ladies honour! I challenge thee to a duel. I chose rapiers at dawn!

For some strange and inexplicable reason, I can hardly imagine that these vile cretins will ever be successful in having people stop fucking. Might as well tell us not to breathe, for all the good it will do. The quest goes on, of course – the eternal quest to make people stop enjoying the very simple, yet profound, pleasures of sex.

Instead of it being rape by definition, it is now men being too selfish in bed. Men doing this wrong or doing that wrong, never once acknowledging that perhaps and perchance the woman should do more than just lie there and expect the man to do all the work, as well as reading her mind because she can’t bring herself to tell him what she does or does not enjoy. It is always and ever his fault and only his fault.

And the fairer sex is just so much more complex and complicated than the primal beast which just so happen to share her bed, and as such he must learn how to please her, and she need not learn how to please him. Because that would be an act of uncivil barbarism – that would be subjugation to the patriarchy, and we can’t have that, can we?

Of course, he must not find pleasure in pleasing her as this article from Cosmopolitan so eloquently lays forth for us: “ https://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a9169991/why-guys-love-female-orgasms/ ” .

The article also states that there is nothing wrong with finding enjoyment in making your partner enjoy herself/himself. But it is wrong because the article has deemed it so. More of that doublespeak, please. I have not reached my double-plus-good limit yet today! It is phenomenal in its ability to blame and shame men, no matter what.

Clinical insanity would be my term of choice, were it not for the fact that we already have the proper term “feminism” to describe this level of delusion, entitlement and wretchedness. She is entitled to an orgasm. He is not entitled to enjoy her having an orgasm. Because reasons. And here I sat, thinking that sex was supposed to be just as much a give-and-take as relationships are supposed to be, a little tit for tat – heh – a little game where both parties win some and lose some in a perpetual cycle of cooperation and communication. But, nope, of course not. The feminist hive-mind of decrepit ineptitude have decided that fucking has to become a competition just as much as any other relationship has to be a competition. Men and women are not supposed to cooperate. They are supposed to compete, in every facet of their lives. The personal is, after all, supposed to be political. And the political is supposed to be personal. And therefore the feminist gobble-de-gook see no issues with bringing their politics into the love-and-sex life of other people.

There is no need to cooperate, no need to contemplate, no need to talk and to come to terms with one another in the relationship. She must have all, and he must have none… And even if she should get all, he must still give more because what he does is wrong, no matter what he does or how he does it. And she must not be expected to tell him clearly and concisely what bothers her. He must be expected to read her mind and know, without fault, what is wrong. Because that is how communication works, is it not? One way street, one way town, one way shit-show staining the entirety of human civilization and tearing away at the foundations of relationships which ought to be mutual cooperation, mutual respect, mutual consideration, mutual love, mutual adoration and mutual god-damned fucking compromise. And that is mutual god-damned fucking compromise, even if it refers to fucking.

And I find myself wondering; for all this talk that women and their sexuality is so complex as opposed to the supposed simplicity of male sexuality… for all this talk that men need to learn how a woman’s body functions, what all the different levers and buttons and switches do, and how they do it… How many of these women have bothered to learn how a man’s body operates? How many have bothered to ask their man what he enjoys, what he would like, what he would want to try, what makes him tick? Or are they simply lost in the clogged up drain of nonsensical propaganda promoting, simply, that men and the sexuality of men is so simple, primal and – at heart – violent that there is no need to learn or understand it? One does not need to understand primal violence. One needs to fear it. And that is the picture feminism have painted of men and of male sexuality; a primal, simplistic, reptilian force to be feared and shunned. In so doing, they have elevated feminine sexuality and debased masculine sexuality in a way that sounds remarkably traditional in its view of both men and of women. Who would have thunk it? Feminism being traditionally gynocentric, reaching back into our shared history of the sanctified woman whose honour must not be despoiled by the undignified male! It is almost as though feminism is manipulating the very nature of humanity, our very biology, which they of course claim is not real. Who would have thunk it, indeed!

See, I had absolutely no issues with learning what made my wife tick. Quite the contrary – I found it a very pleasant exploratory experience. Granted, we have been together for twelve years so there have been plenty of opportunities to learn. The thing is that I expected of her to learn what made me tick as well. Which, of course, was an equally pleasant exploratory experience. Because that is what a relationship is supposed to be; communication, exploration, and loads of fucking fun while doing so. As well as, hopefully, loads of opportunities to do so.

As the thing is at the moment, in our current cultural fever-dream, the focus is solely on her wants and her needs, and his wants and his needs being disregarded completely due to the demand for supposed equality. Forget his needs, ladies – but demand your needs be met. And then complain that he is a sexist piece of shit for enjoying himself while meeting your needs. Making sex less enjoyable, one confusing and jumbled mess of an article contradicting itself constantly at a time. What a way to stick it to the man! The most eloquent case of confused nonsense I have ever seen this side of a European Union debate.

So, boys, next time you are with your lady – just don’t bother giving her an orgasm. Because that act is in itself wrong. Or, well, you may give her an orgasm. Just don’t enjoy yourself while you’re at it. But, of course, make sure she enjoys herself. Even if she’s not supposed to, really, enjoy it, despite sex being liberating. And don’t expect her to do anything to please you and you only, of course, because that would be rape. Which consensual heterosexual sex is anyway. So why bother with the thing at all? Just check out completely, and await the inevitable articles of “where have all the good men gone?” Which, of course, already exist in plentiful supply.

Legion. For we are many.”

One could almost be inclined to believe that the sole purpose is to complain about men, and in so doing making men feel bad about themselves no matter what men do, urging them to constantly be and do better and in so doing driving themselves into the ground and into an early grave for never meeting the never-ending demands placed upon them, whilst being considered a vile and misogynistic cretin for daring to place the slightest of demand upon her.

Realization dawns, of course, that living in a culture in which complaining about and demonizing and ridiculing and belittling men as a group is not only tolerated, but expected and celebrated will cause crazy bitches to constantly complain about, demonize, ridicule and belittle men as a group while crying foul “sexism” at any objection to their clear and blatant sexism. All the while being cheered on as supposedly strong, brave, courageous and empowered women by society at large and the mass-media en masse for having the solid steel ovaries needed to assault the plague of the patriarchy.

Simultaneous realization dawns as well, of course, that living in this very same culture as a young man does nothing but harm him immensely, making him withdraw into himself and check out of society completely, losing himself in video games and in video porn, in drug-and-substance abuse, thinking that he does not fucking matter anyway, so why bother trying to make himself matter? Why bother, really, doing anything at all? Just waste the days away until death. It’s not as though there is something out there for him anyway.

All the while he is doing so, he keeps feeding the exuberant joy of articles from holier-than-thou journos proclaiming loudly the death of men and of masculinity as a victory for equality. Equality is only equal when she comes out on top, of course.

Because war is not about compromise or cooperation, but about victory. And feminism declared war on men and on masculinity, completely neglecting what normal human beings want and need because feminism is the one true path towards enlightenment and full-scale societal meltdown. All other voices be damned – they do not know what they want, really.

Forgive them. For they know not what they do”, they whisper as the machines of war roll into town; a machine being fed by, and having its wheels greased with the blood and wasted lives of young men.

And, clearly, I am sexist against women for stating this. I am a horrible misogynist for daring to show empathy for men and for demanding the feminist hive-mind start getting to work on treating the genders equally, as they claim to do. Because one can not demand preferential treatment based on gender and claim this to be equal treatment. One can not treat one gender as shit to such an extent that it is commonplace; commonplace to such an extent that people do not see it because they are so incredibly used to seeing it. One can not label one genetic group as sub-human under the guise of equality and expect people to not catch on to the bigotry and supremacy at show. One can not force someone naked into a blizzard and then complain when they knock at the door, demanding to be let in.

If you want to be treated as a queen, you damned well better treat your man as a king. Mind you, the same goes for men. This should go without saying, but since we are in the midst of a manufactured gender war, it has to be spelled out. Because some of us actually hold true to our heart that men and women should be treated equally and given equal consideration in all aspects of their lives. And those of us who do this, do not label ourselves as feminists.

At the end of the day, I don’t believe that labels should matter. Actions should. That is where the action is. Actions speak louder than words, and for all the talk of the feminist skull-fuckery that they are only seeking equality, their actions show – very clearly – that their intent is the opposite. That is, if one has eyes willing to open instead of ears constantly lapping up the propaganda; if one has a mind willing to analyse the actions and see how the actions clearly contradict the words, instead of just going with the flow of the social zeitgeist under pain of social death.

Since up is down and down is up, since black is white and white is black, as opposed to just being aspects of the whole, in our present moment of confused and jumbled myriad mumbo-jumbo equality-hoaxes brought on by trickster-goddesses of academic craptitude, any empathy shown to boys and to men need be spelled out as not being an attack on girls and women. Equal treatment no longer equals equal treatment. It equals traditional expectations from men times a thousand, and full frivolous freedom for women from any and all expectation and responsibility and consequences of their actions. If one is to treat the genders equally, one would not be amiss to consider that women and men should both be responsible for their actions, and as such also be responsible for keeping the other party happy – as well as keeping themselves happy – in a relationship. A relationship consists of more than one person, and when only one person gets the message that only this person needs need be met and the other person gets the message that only the other persons needs need be met, the relationship can never function. Because one party will always be subject to expectations and demands galore, and the other party will always be subject to their expectations and demands galore be met unquestioning, lest they be considered oppressed.

This is the society which feminism has built, where relationships are considered a battleground, not a diplomatic and peaceful conference, and where one party has the upper hand from perceived oppression which in turn causes severe entitlement that her needs be met and him having needs and expectations at all is painted as him being oppressive and abusive, even if all he wants is room for himself in his own home.

On a side-note: I actually got verbally assaulted once upon a time, by a feminist who had no business what-so-ever saying anything about our relationship, for daring to say that my then-girlfriend was pretty. This was, apparently, a horrible affront. And I wonder, if men were to stop telling their women that they look good, what would happen then? After all – telling them that they look good is, apparently, a bad thing to do. Since that, to their warped mind, means that one does not see any other qualities but aesthetics in ones woman. Because feminism is incapable of nuanced thinking. (Whilst claiming other people lack nuance. Projecting much?) There are layers upon layers upon layers in every person, and complimenting one layer does not mean, to anyone but the feminist hive-mind, that one disregards the other layers.

I’m sure my wife would love it if I stopped paying her compliments on her appearance. From now on, it will only ever be clinical, cold and professional compliments from me. “You are very good at mopping the floor, dear wife whom I consider equal in all things.” Or is that misogyny as well? “You are very good at letting me mop the floor, dear wife whom I consider equal in all things.”

There, that’s better. After all – she must not do housework under any circumstances, as that emotional labour is a tool of the patriarchy. Or could it be that both parties do housework and that how one shares this god-damned thing is up to the people in question to decide, not the feminist busybodies from up high?

Not to mention, of course, the incredible rudeness in trying to control the dynamics of someone else’s relationship. Now, we should all know that feminism consists in large part of moral busybodies; the constantly complaining neighbour always peeking over the garden-fence or through the curtains, following what their neighbours do with severe efficiency and bombastic judgement, ready, willing and able to, at a moments notice, give them a piece of their mind for no other reason than personal disapproval. And this is personal disapproval filtered through nothing but their own tumultuous inner world of personal grievances projected onto other people existing within the world as nothing but empty vessels projected by her own uncertainties. I can see no other explanations for this behaviour, for this inability to comprehend that other people chose to live their lives in a different manner than they do, than severe difficulty in comprehending that other people simply are other people making other choices and finding joy in other things.

To think that people who make small and, in many ways insignificant, choices different from ones own in how they live their lives must be told to live differently is very totalitarian thinking. It is the notion that only one way to live is the correct way to live, and that micro-managing the relationships of other people must be done so other people – in this instance a women who had to suffer the horror of me telling her she was pretty – shall be free of the tyranny of men.

This is immensely frightening.

Not only was I painted as something of a tyrant for doing nothing but giving my girlfriend a compliment, but she in turn was painted as a weak and pathetic victim, unable to speak on behalf of her self and so needing someone more knowledgeable, wise and powerful to speak on her behalf, even if she did not want or need anyone to speak on her behalf because she was happy being given a compliment on her appearance.

This is the feminist view of relationships and of men and of women. And for some reason these people are the ones we are supposed to listen to in regards to all thing sex, gender and relationship; the ones painting everything in a relationship as a man doing something to a woman and a woman passively, albeit reluctantly, submitting to what he does. Even when she is told she is entitled to everything, and he is entitled to nothing.

In my view, it is very simple: for a relationship to function, all parties within must be functional. And for all parties within a relationship to be functional, each must talk, each must listen and each must be heard.

…If I am preaching anything in these long-winded and hop-scotching rambles of mine, I like to believe that mutual respect, cooperation and compromise is at the core of it all; that my message is one of balance, of individual freedom, individual choice and individual responsibility. Even – or probably especially – when it refers to the dynamic between men and women. We are meant to compliment and to fulfil each other, not to constantly be at each other’s throats as the feminist hive-mind has crafted the narrative.

There is no war between men and women.

The whole notion of this is, to my perplexed eyes and fracturing mind, nonsensical. There is a war instigated by feminism upon men and upon masculinity, and it has ben raging for quite some time, meeting close-to no pushback. It is about damned time that this changed. And this, I think, can only change through feminism losing its stranglehold on the discourse, through tearing down the monopoly feminism has gained on the subject of all things gender. In essence: to allow other voices to talk, to expect society to listen and to make damned sure the voices of men and of women that do not conform to the ideological purity of our day and age are heard. Until this happens, I fear the future of relationships – and of our entire world – is doomed.

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   – Moiret Allegiere, 06.04.2019



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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



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A rant about violence.

schools lost A3 Lowres

Ill: «Schools Lost», A3, Moiret Allegiere, 2018


Buckle up, Buckaroos! Grab a drink. Have a few. We`re going on a wild ride, a mystical journey to the center of the mind. Or at the very least to the center of certain insanity. Destination unknown, trajectory wonky, wobbly, uncertain. See the writing on the wall. Fasten your seatbelts. Down we go.

Have you ever heard the saying «End violence against women»? Thought so. Did you shake your head and mutter something along the lines of «those poor women, disproportionately suffering violence at the hands of evil men?» Thought so. Sounds fairly typical. Yet another episode wherein visceral gutinstincts overtake the usual rational response. Because we sure as hell need to end this terrible wave of violence washing over the poor defenseless women. Why should they suffer so? And at the hands of men at that! Poor girls. Time to don that armour and fight for their honour. Just as we have always done, time and again. It is chivalry returning for the umpteenth time. Protect women. Always. Even at the expense of men.

The fact that the overwhelming majority of victims of violence are men don`t matter much to us. We need to worry about the minority of victims of violence instead. And this minority just so happen to be women. The reasoning seems to be that men are the perpetrators of violence more often than not. And as such it does not matter much that far more men than women suffer violence. The gender of the perpetrator makes the violence acceptable when swung in the general vicinity of the disposable male; evil mercenary of the patriarchy that he undoubtedly is.

Nevermind that this tells us that the small percentage of men who are likely to be violent would rather assault another man than he would assault a woman. We do not have a call to end violence. Not as such, no. Just a call to end violence against women. Framed in such a way that it is mens violence against women. And only mens violence against women. Of course: women are seldom, if ever, violent against men is what we are told. And when they are, it is brushed of or even given excuses, explanations and mental gymnastics galore to make the female perpetrator out to be the real victim of her violence against the male victim. Deny and reverse victim order yet again. He must have done something to deserve it. Because of course he must have. Victimblaming, superb and absolute, is quite alright as long as it is a man, tainted by original snakelike sin, being blamed for the actions of a clean, angelic and innocent woman.

Now, I will admit that I absolutely think it is a good idea to end violence against women. I just so happen to believe that ending violence against men is just as important. And considering, yet again, that the vast majority of victims of violence are men one would not have to be particularly imaginative to imagine that more resources ought to be directed towards the group most affected. At the very least one would expect more resources. Some resources, even. Yet, that is not the way the swings are swung. Violence against men is commonplace, and mens pain and humiliation – both emotional and physical – is a source of amusement and humour in the zoological paradise of the domesticated primates.

Who can forget Sharon Osbourne laughing, at starspangled daytime television no less, at the very real story of a very real man who got his very real penis chopped off by a very real furious harpy fuelled by bloodlust extreme, and then thrown into the very real waste disposal bin? Snip, snop, chop-chop, blood and pain and humour eternal. Considering that male genital mutilation is legal and not considered mutilation, it is not a far stretch to say that this indifference to the wellbeing of boys and men begins early in a boys life.

Laugh at the mans pain and dismemberment, audience. Add to his humiliation and add to his pain. Laugh, I tell you, laugh! And an army of trained seals applaud and laugh, as the magic is absolved by the zeitgeist, a magic that makes us immune to empathy whereever men are concerned.

The wonders of aerial telepathy told them not only that they were allowed to laugh, but that they had to. The victim in this instance singled out for ridicule. Not only dismembered and victimized, but shamed and furhter victimized for being so! The mutilation of his penis, his physical and psychological pain turned into a joke through dreary daytime television horrors. With little-to-no serious repercussions for Sharon Osbourne, I might add, who made a half-assed apology later on which she snickered and sniggered and giggled her way through; a mean girl lost in the adolescent haze of high school still.

She still has a career.

A man doing the same, were the genders reversed, would without a shadow of a doubt have no career after the inevitability of a nuclear winter following his jokes at the expense of a mutilated woman. He would have been subject to the ferocity of mob law and mob rule. He would have been lynched, his name tarred and feathered, then driven out into the desert to wither and die. Considering that men can not even make a private joke amongst themselves in the presence of a woman without suffering backlash, this is not something I just pulled out of my ass. Look to «Donglegate» for one example amongst many.

Since the victim was a man, he must have done something to deserve his fate. If not directly, he must have done something indirectly. Due to vagueties of patriarchal hierarchies and explain-it-all-away-please.

And so we are blind to his pain and humiliation. Societally, we have no empathy for him. A mans pain is either taboo, or it is a source of amusement. A womans pain, however, is something that we need to band together to end. No matter how small and insignificant that pain may be. Feelings trump facts in this regard, and feeling as though a man looked at her wrong means the man commited sexual violence in some shape or form. «He done eye-raped me, y`all!» And then it`s all «Girl power! Go Girl Go! Show them evil men-folk who you are, how strong you are!» And other such slogans; one-upping the patriarchy, one severed penis at a time. If his right eye offends you, then you must pluck it out.

Is it then any wonder that few men report being victims of domestic violence? No wonder that the statistics previously have shown few men as victims of domestic violence, even though Erin Pizzey have said since the 70`s that women are just as likely as men to engage in domestic violence; that most domestic violence is bilateral. Not only are men not believed nor taken seriously, they are ridiculed if they dare to step forward and tell their story of violence at the hands of women. As a natural effect, it is underreported. There is also the Duluth-model to take into consideration, of course. I will not go into that one here and now. This is long enough as it is!

Many factors conspire and work together, so that we believe that it is mostly women who are victims. Of course, the feminists would tell you that this is the fault of the omnipresent patriarchy, which views women as weak and incapable. Which sounds an awful lot like «The Devil made me do it». Odd, then, that the very same feminists are the ones who scoff at the idea that men can suffer domestic violence at all.

Katherine Spillar saying that «Domestic violence is just a clean-up word for wifebeating» in Cassie Jayes fantastic documentary, the red pill, should tell one everyting one needs to know. There is no domestic violence. Only wifebeating. What a trip, eh? See how they try to change words around and how they manage to shift the definition to suit their agenda. Luckily, it seems that the tides are turning and that men have finally started reporting domestic violence. Mayhaps we will see a change in the general cultural norms come time. I wouldn`t count on it any time soon, though. Changes such as these do take time. We are fighting a long battle. And the siege has only just begun. We need to be patient.

Oh, goodness gracious me – I almost forgot – men are stronger than women by far, dontcha know! So they would have no problem defending themselves. And here I sat years ago, believing the feminists when they told me that women can do anything men can do. And do it better. Anything but violence, apparently. Strange, this, that biological differences suddenly pop to the forefront of our cultural knowledge and the blank slate social constructivist nonsense suddenly gets spirited away whenever it suits a certain worldview and a certain agenda. Gone in a puff of smoke and leaving nothing behind but a lingering aroma of rotten eggs and synthetic hairdye. It is not either-or. Stick to your scripts. Men as the perpetrators, women as victims. For all time, for ever and ever. Hail Bindel, Praise Dworkin, Amen. Nevermind women using weapons. Nevermind emotional abuse. There is a reason that the caricature of the henpecked husband have been around for aeons.

Oh, my bad, that caricature of the henpecked husband is of course an attack on womanhood and as such evidence of rampant misogyny throughout the ages. Even if it is the henpecked husband being made fun of! Nevermind, nevermind, wipe it under the rug, dust gone, all settled, now we are clean and good to go. Just as long as we know where we have to stand on these issues, dontcha know?

Going back to my teens, I remember the school, as well as the youth club I attended every friday offering classes in selfdefense for girls. Nothing for boys, of course. And at this point, I had been assaulted twice. Not talking about scuffles amongst friends – those happen with teenaged boys, full of piss and vinegar and more pride than sense. It is to be expected. A small scuffle, a quick fight, done with it, nothing major, friends again now. Nah, I`m talking about proper, out of the blue, assaults by relative strangers. People whom I knew by name, and nothing more. And I was thinking back then the same as I think now: why would only the girls be allowed to learn how to defend themselves, and why would the boys be expected to know how? It seems to me that we were, and are, expected to experience violence and as such are expected to be able to defend ourselves. Violence enacted upon men are so commonplace that we don`t register it. It just happens. It is a fact of life. Deal with it. Brush it off and man up! Don`t complain and don`t ask why you are not allowed a free selfdefense class or two, lest we label you a hater of women and scoff in your general direction, you son of a silly person!

Violence against women is so rare and happens so seldom, relative to that against men, that we notice when it happens. We are wound up tight by the wheels and cogs of gynocentrism and a philosophy of protect-the-women, that we feel a absolute and most definite need to end it. Socially, societally, globally. We notice and we weep for the poor defenseless women who needs all the help they can get their poor hands on. Bring back our girls. Boko Haram. Thousands of boys kidnapped, tortured or killed over the years. Forced into becoming child-soldiers. Merely a flicker of a fly buzzing through our collective consciousness. Kidnap some 200 girls, however, and everyone is all up in arms. Women and girls must never experience violence. Men and boys, on the other hand… not so much. It`s different, we are told and led to believe by aerial telepathy and the clicking of the presses, the machines at work. Why is it different? Well – it just is. The apathy disgusts me. The inability to see boys and men as victims, only perpetrators ought to make our foundations shake and tremble with rage.

And I have to wonder if male victims of violence which may leave them crippled physically or psychologically worry or even care about the gender of their perpetrator, or if they would rather see justice served and be done with it? The gender of the perpetrator should not matter. Only the violence enacted should matter. The act. And justice. Not justice legionaire, but justice at all. Justice for one and all. Ideally, we should all be equal under and in front of the law. In reality, though, this is not the case.

If we are to be so stupid as to look at violence through the mindnumbing glasses of partly or completely blinded gender-ideologues, where the gender of both the victim and the perpetrator matter, how does this work in actual reality?

If one follows the cracked and poisonous eggshell-logic of these modern-day victorians, should it not also be the case that a woman assaulting a man is evidence that this woman hates all men? Should it be considered a hatecrime? Is it not evidence of womens violence against, and hatred of, men? What are the rules exactly?

Of course, we know that it is not viewed as such. Were the rules evenly applies across the board, though, it should be viewed as such. Because that would make the woman attacking the man attacking him solely for being a man, if we are to believe that a man attacking a woman does it solely because she is a woman. But the rules are, of course, not applied evenly in the feminist claptrap utopia of doublethink, mental gymnastics and bigotry.

Because of something-something-mumbo-jumbo-woo-woo invisible power structures and patriarchy reigns supreme, it is something completely different.

But what if a woman assaults a woman? Who would be the main victim there? Would the assaulted have done something to the assaulter that warranted the attack? How many factors do we take into consideration when measuring the harmful effects of an assault? Gender? Age? How about sexuality? Skincolour? Mental state? Intelligence? Should we delve even deeper into the vacuos rabbithole of identitypolitics and superficial qualities? What should we factor in? Depends, it would seem, on the time of day, the phase of the moon, wether or not there was a full or partial eclipse of the sun sometime prior and so forth and so on. A butterfly flaps its wings. Women are most affected.

The feminist narrative changes according to the whims and wonders of the universe. Sometimes, there are biological differences between men and women that make things different when women do it, or when men do it. Other times, there are none and gender is a social construct, so why-oh-why are there not more women in STEM fields? Oh, fiddle my bump and call me names – I forgot once again – Feminism is not a monolith, and as such views and opinions may vary. Yeah. It`s great to have excuses and explanations at the ready, floating around in the ether to be picked out of the air and presented when needed. A entire list of made-to-order excuses and pre-recorded arguments to pull out of a tricksters hat in order to justify a clear and cut case of double standards and discriminatory practices.

There is also this to consider: this same non-monolithic ideology view men as a monolithic entity. #yesallmen, anyone? #menaretrash? #killallmen? I find it incredibly strange that subscribing to a ideology by ones own choice; that labelling oneself a feminist, grants one the freedom to not be held accountable for the evils done in the name of said ideology. Actions do speak louder than words, and the actions of feminists do not reflect their claims of working for equality. Quite the contrary.

Being born, through no fault of ones own, as a man makes one part of the evil force of masculinity. By random chances of birth, by simply sharing genitals with the few men who commit to evil acts and deeds, one is guilty and need to take on the responsibility of the evils of a few men. Yet, labelling oneself a feminist does not make one responsible for the evils done by feminists. Feminism, I stress, is a choice. A selfinflicted identity whose wounds run deep and whose noose is firmly tightened criss-cross around the neck of the world.

In short: By virtue of my dingaling, I am directly or indirectly participating in the violence against women. And so I must, directly, contribute to end it.

Shame on me otherwise.

The fact that I wish to take a egalitarian approach to these things matter none. Wanting to view violence as violence, no matter the genetic makeup and chromosomal haphazardness of the victim as well as the perpetrator makes me, somehow, diminish the seriousness of violence against women. The fact that I suffered a violent and out-of-the-blue assault by a random stranger at the age of sixteen which dramatically altered the trajectory of my life don`t matter none. Working towards ending violence against all is stupid and bigoted. Ending violence against women on the other hand – well, that is just downright virtuous and something that all and one should aim at. I can`t comprehend the mindset that taking a non-gendered approach to violence takes something away from women. But that is what happens when one views the sexes as being at war. That is what happens when one projects unto others that which one does oneself: by looking at one, we necessarily need to take something from the other. The feminists would do well to remember what they themselves have been saying: when you are used to privilege, equality looks a hell of a lot like discrimination.

Pointing out the fact that men are the victims of violence more often than not, not only the perpetrators, turns us into evil mansplainers wanting to take away from women. So they bathe in, and drink, male tears instead of extending, or taking, a hand so that cooperation to end violence in all shapes and forms brings us closer to a common goal. The feminists would rather ridicule and shame boys and men than they would acknowledge the fact that boys and men are the vast majority of victims of violence. They would rather humiliate than cooperate, shame than emphatize. No fraternizing with the enemy, you know. The discussion has to be onesided, for some reason or other.

According to the feminists, talking about both genders and their issues somehow detracts from the conversation about women. It is a supremacy movement; a push to give women all the advantages they can, at the expense of the wellbeing of boys and men. Giving equal consideration to both genders is impossible, in the eternal quest for victimpoints and woe-is-me; in the neverending quest to put women atop the pedestal. All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others. If you don`t agree, you sure as hell hate some animals more than others. And hating some animals instead of the other animals is the worst crime imaginable.

And now we are stuck in a climate in which boys in elementary schools are made to stand in front of their class and pledge to never be violent against girls and women. Girls are not made to do the same. What message does this send to boys? And what message does it send to girls?

Nothing much. Merely that the life and wellbeing of girls matter far, far more than the life and wellbeing of boys. Not a big deal, you know. Boys have been told never to hit girls, no matter what. Girls are never told not to hit boys. To believe that this would not lead girls to abuse this obvious power is absurd. Women and girls are human beings, and as such are capable of both good and evil, just as men and boys are capable of good and evil. People who actually believe that the genders should be treated equally and held to the same standards would know this.

People who do not believe that the genders should be treated equally, however, would not know this. And there we see the cobwebbed lies spun by feminism; a move for supremacy and increased privilege and pampered protection for girls and women. In the guise of equality. A move for beating down and shaming boys and men for being boys and becoming men. Hidden behind the flowing, glowing and fantastically laced panties of equality.


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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.