Peculiar Prescription Predicament (Or: I’ve got them ol’ Psychiatry-blues again, mama):

poppy red

All windows barred and shut and closed and covered. Silent swansongs from afar seek his ears and drool upon his knees and folded hands, folded now as if to pray, yet releasing only the golden voice of drowning whispers that might, on second glance, have been a scream of abstract epiphanies or rejected freak-ideas. Chewed, shot, regurgitated and shell-shocked, he lies there beneath ominous clouds of benzodiazepine-blue above, pining for release.

Masques line the walls of his single-celled organism living room cell, eyes that gaze and see nothing but blue-streaked shades of blues and the malevolence of benevolent pill-tyranny from shutter-bug masques and cliques that never once revealed their own face or true shape, yet claimed allegiance to the holy lost tradition of past healers mystical path.

Modern-day shaman rites in therapist couches and classrooms overrun by borderline infantile infanticide; Xanax double-takes that see young boys and men Xeroxed and ritualistically Ritalinized into completely oblivious oblivion. Or stroked and stoked into opinionated opiate-ponderings where and when all else fails on the long and winding road towards a cure for their peculiar predicament prescribed and defined as such from long-fingered hang-tooth nailbiters chewing on their last whistleblowing efficacy delicately, mulling the plight of their patients over in their heads above industrial-sized governmental coups in cocktail-party conversations with the best and brightest purveyors of rare drugs and synthesized herbal refreshments.

Or else euthanised euphorically and lovingly with Lithium and her alarmingly alluring grace; assorted whites and yellows and heavy metals; aluminium coils wrapped neatly around his neck and twisted tenaciously on the back of his tongue, spreading the woefully woke and aware inflammation further through his central nervous system, assaulting his brainstem and his neural interface, waking now and seeking madness, rampage, full frontal fevered frenzy.

…but succumbing to alluring traits in couch-lock cock-blocked bliss-and-blues as the medics and the healers both state with defined certainty that tribal states and views and love are not for him or his. For in his future lie naught but a blissfully unaware lifestyle-choice of hermits in the hermits cage and cave, built by the hands and hungry pens and mouths of vicious freelance isolationists and sanity separatists with concerted Ritalin or Concerta-grips around his morning bathroom routine, tangled in the lonely web of spiked-drink-greens upon his walls and consciousness that dread and die and dared defy the soothing chill and body-buzz of Venlafaxine-induced hyper-aware hyperactivity.

That lack of sleep from spiked brain-processing brought up from the depths of Effexor and her spectral shape mimicking amphetamines that kick-started body rush and muscle spasms, lockjaw-pains and clenched teeth and facial muscles… that then fed into an acute and immediate psychosis of delightful rarity and delicacy exploding from the shattered force of the tranquillized child lost deep within the mad-mind-maze of this spectral spectre spectator spectacle flooding the body with unknown chemicals and neurotoxins which were then to be quelled and conquered by the psychotics dream of anti-psychotics; graceful Zyprexa and her ruby lips injected into the tongue or corners of the eyes to kill the roaring madness and woefully misplaced energy whipped to a torrential monsoon by Venlafaxine. Oh boy.

Better soothe them nerves, old boy, to sleep and then to slumber some; take this casket or this suitcase or this ancient hearse filled to the point of structural collapse with alluring chemical remedies for your peculiar plight and predicament; uppers or downers of our choice by our hand and lingering pen-pal prescription delivered straight to your mailbox; instant Nirvana, instant enlightenment, instant radiant bliss, chronic constipation and a lingering impotence manifesting in the shape of a limp-noodled pinhead-dick.

And have we told you of our healers way, our ancient traditions brought to the front-and-centre of our world and dreary days; culture born from our holy ghost and divine presence; pop-psycho-babble amazingly popular in these streets named now after pharmaceutical companies dealing in bliss-by-the-bottle-and-the-handful salvations; four bucks a pop and we will promise transcendent pit-stone euphoria in blissful remedial Remeron sleep-and-slumber. We can promise Benzo-Buddha beauty and benevolence; numb and unfeeling, uncaring, a stoics dream and vital lifeline handcrafted by mechanical interventions in the deadlined supply-line and brought to life by starstruck seashore sellers of sensual sanity.

Or else we do have Prozac and Xanax, Cipralex or kiss-my-arse and various other tonics and bitters and swamp-snake snake-oils for your immediate release onto the loving bosom of God, in order to bring you to your knees praising God and his divine eternity in permanently persisting paradise; entire civilizations drugged into compliance and forgotten, lost within the murky swamps without a guiding light, with no need for guiding lights when there are no place to which one should wish to be guided.

Just flow and just feel nothing in this chemical bliss and castration of your muddled murky masculine mind blinded by insufferable individual ideology.

Soothed to the point of imaginary tentacle extraction and playtime alien brainwave interference by our galaxy of pop-goes-the-weasel pills that promise all and deliver nothing; all at once. And we can deliver salvation and we can deliver bliss and we can deliver you to the gates of paradise by scribbled lines from pens and needles in your feet and in your stomach and your heart and spine and soul and all.

For immediate release, in this day and in this age is prescribed from immediate need, from lack of patience, for lack of accumulated strength and wisdom to stand still in the coming storm, to call the storm to play ones own part and then become integrated into one self – conquered and defied, leashed and curtailed within and subdued by ones own strength of will.

The mouthy masques of psycho-babble babblelogues do babble on, solving issues of severe substance with substance-abuse court-ordered and mandated by vast and vague wishes of state-sanctioned uniformity – prescribed psychiatric prophylactic psycho-pills to conquer all and mend the beast – or, failing that, at the very least hiding said beast behind the merchant masques that stutter and then stammer so, to turn the beast within a docile, slumbering mess. Yet still being there within the brain and the fluctuating chemistry therein, it will once in a while pop up and come out to play, prompting us to crawl back into psycho-thematic couches and chairs to be prescribed some more and then some more, time and time again.

Or else be met with disbelief and stark defiance should we propose a differing solution to the drug-induced lazy euphoria of couch-lock-bliss and energies curtailed or wired or both at the same time, drowning in chemicals that tell the nervous system to do diametrically opposed things simultaneously; to be wired and to be subdued. To be fully aware and energetic, yet to be unaware and unconscious.

In this haze and marvelled madness lies he still; subdued and pill-popped, pondering his peculiar prescription predicament by the hand of God and the Government, merging, melding and meddling, becoming one and the same, indistinguishable and wonky and clad all in white flowing gowns.

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 – Moiret Allegiere, 17.08.2019

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Yet Another Shooting, and Yet we Miss the Mark:

Male poetry reading 2019 lowres

Illustration: «Group of men reading poetry, 2019», Moiret allegiere

My original intent during my writing session this morning and afternoon was doing a short – or long and rambling, as these things tend to become – piece on hobbies. That is – the importance of hobbies and how they correspond to male health and emotional well-being.

Waking up far too early after yet another night of restless sleep due to severe pain coursing through my entire body combined with this foggy head-space that always follow whenever my symptoms flare up like mad hissing snakes, however, I find the prospect of doing a piece on that terribly difficult. Not so much because of my scatter-brained state of being at the moment, but because there are more pressing matters to attend to. Which just so happen to be both more difficult to write about as well as more pressing. Which is funny, in a slightly sardonic way, I suppose. As the assumption must be that the hobby-thing which I thought of writing about is far easier to tackle with this failing and ailing body and psyche of mine than is the topic I chose. Who can fathom the mind of a bearded bard? No-one. Not even the bearded bard himself.

In order to explain; this topic is more pressing – more pressing at my subconscious – a sensation of strange pressure at the base of my skull – nerves pinched and writhing in agony and soulful despair – something that needs some form of immediate release. Because things I mull over and think about tend to manifest themselves in weird and peculiar ways in my muscles, tendons, bones and joints. Some strange materialisation of the psyche. Psychosomatic illness; pain and death and despair, mind and body working in perfect asymmetrical harmony. Or disharmony.

Did I not know any better, I would say that this culture of ours is making me ill. It is far more complex than that, of course. But it sure as hell ain’t helping.

It was not a good morning to wake up too, nor was it a good world to wake up too.

Usually, I don’t write on relatively recent events. There is a sense of urgency in doing so which does not pair well with my own tendency for long, slow and deliberate thought on a topic – any topic. This is not to say that I consider myself to be stupid.

In all honesty, I do not and I am not.

In order to be even more self-deprecating: I am probably smarter than you believe that I am, yet not as smart as I myself believe that I am. Make of that what you will. I find poking fun at myself makes life more bearable. Something which would translate well to society at large, seeing how everyone and their mums take themselves way to fucking serious, which brings the point to a boil: we have no more room for humour as release or as a point of healing. Because everything is offensive to someone, and no-one can laugh at themselves any more, or at anything else for that matter. Because someone will take offence. Leaving one avenue for self-expression and healing completely closed for everyone.

I tend to prefer looking at – or attempting to look at – the big picture, the grander topics, the greater ideas and so forth and so on, not singular events, happenings or articles. With a few exceptions, for sure.

In order to combat my own insecurities, whichever they may be, I want to be sure that I can defend both morally and factually whatever statements I make. Hence, the long, slow and deliberate thinking I do. Chalk that up to neurosis, if you so wish. I will admit my various insecurities to be plentiful, albeit in a steady decline since I finally began working through them and move onwards with this steady shuffle of mine towards healing.

Which includes self-deprecating humour which somehow people tend to take more seriously than they should. I find that the more serious a topic, the more release is found the moment someone cracks a joke. And an illness causing constant, widespread and chronic pain as well as fatigue is really god-damned serious. Which makes it perfectly reasonable to find release through humour instead of being bogged down with frustration, resentment and anger.

Granted – when this is posted, the topic at hand will no longer be considered recent events in the split-second memories our mass media and social media have brought down upon us. It might as well have been last years news. Or last decade.

…Whatever.

But, Moiret, why this long tangent on humour and release and healing and other metaphysical conundrums of the human soul and condition?

Well, now, my friends, come closer to the fire and I will tell you why: Men, by and large, are the ones telling “offensive” jokes at subjects that are supposedly not to be joked about. And women, by and large, are the ones being offended by these jokes. This goes yet again to show that men and the way men attempt to heal and lighten or brighten the day or the mood are not understood. Instead of attempting to understand humour and the reason for morbid humour, it is painted as men not having empathy and not showing proper behaviour in light of a tragedy. Shame, again, is the point. This removes yet another avenue for men to heal, as we can no longer crack jokes for fear of shame and ridicule from the whamens. Causing build-up of internal pressure that finds no release, for all our ways of release are deemed verboten and in bad taste. Despite being quite the opposite, were only these troglodytes able to understand humour, the reason for humour and the one simple fact that I was told once by someone who worked in a late-stage terminal disease ward; that being that there were nowhere and no-one he had ever been or ever met who had such a grim and morbid sense of humour as those who were months or weeks away from death. It eases and it releases. Humour is far more, and goes far deeper, than merely laughter for the sake of laughter.

This lack of humour, or that is to say: the offence taken at all manner of humour and – by extension – the masculine path to healing brings me to that which is pressing on my subconscious mind; the recent mass-shootings in the USA. If that is not made obvious by now. That is to say – not so much the recent shootings. They are severe tragedies, as are all things of this nature. I, for one, don’t give a flying fuck about what politics brought this into being on part of the shooters.

I don’t care whichever ideology or unnecessary, old-fashioned and outdated side on the left/right political axis they claimed allegiance to. I think it would be safe to say that people who commit such terrible crimes are damaged beyond repair no matter which self-splitting and soul-leeching ideology they subscribe to. It is not necessarily the recent shootings that bother me, as it is that these types of shootings happen at all. Seems to be so commonplace now. Though, this might just be because news travel faster now, and are more sensationalised than ever they were before.

The sensationalism following in the wake of these absolute tragedies always drag with it in its current the usual political pundits and leeches trying to score quick and easy partisan political points on the corpses of those that died before they are even cold. They bathe in the blood of the victims and they feast on their flesh like the vicious cannibals that they are.

And here I am.

Writing on it myself.

I don’t know whether this makes me a hypocrite of the highest order or not. Probably, it does. What I will say in my defence in regards to this is simple: I have no interest in pointing fingers at any political party or any politician. Our western societies are divided enough as it is. And the rank stupidity exhibited on both sides of the great political divide is enough to make me vomit bloody chunks of cancerous sickness.

What sickens me most is of course the usual mass media purveyors of fake news and dubious reporting. This may be bias on my part. I suspect, however, that it has more to do with their reach as compared to those that are not of the mass media persuasion than any bias on my part. Though, I have no problem with admitting that the bias is there.

The so-called reporting I have seen on these tragedies have not been journalism as much as it has been opinion-pieces pointing fingers here, there and everywhere.

…Well, not here, there and everywhere in regards to the mass media pundits. They spew their usual trite and predictable trash, blaming toxic masculinity, blaming men, blaming white men in particular, blaming Donald Trump, blaming the fluent and gaseous, ever-changing, never-static and poorly defined “far right” – their enemy of choice; the Emmanuel Goldstein of their world and their warped and wretched minds that seems to have barely survived a failed coat-hanger abortion.

There is little use, to my eyes, in pointing fingers at this one thing over here as opposed to this other thing over here to try and explain these horrible happenings in the simplest way possible.

Because the partisan political ploy and play on display is far too simple and far too easy, far too emblematic of the great chasm that suddenly appeared in the midst of our societies – that is, the entirety of western civilization. Though this split – this far too obvious and far too ideological split – seem to be greater and more dangerous in North America, it is something that has spread, and continues to spread, all over the west.

These are dangerous times we live in. Not only in regards to violence, but in regards to unthinking stupidity, in regards to immediate knee-jerk reactions from everywhere and everyone. It is one thing for some random person on the vast cesspit of social media to spew some uninformed garbage in regards to things of this nature. It is quite another for so-called journalists who are supposed to hold some manner of journalistic integrity to do the same. This goes for politicians as well. Using tragedies such as these – standing on the corpses of the victims in a blatant attempt to harvest votes and boost ones own popularity – ought to be career suicide. Yet, they keep doing it. And people keep celebrating it. Never once seeing beyond their own ideological idealization of the whatever or the whichever, and never once understanding – or attempting to understand – a broader picture than “men are prone to violence because they are men”. Neglecting the fact that the pain of men is taboo (shameless plug: check out Tom Golden of menaregood.com and his books on male healing for more on this), and that the path men tend to take towards healing is not understood as anything but the wrong path for not being the same path that women tend to take, leaving little cultural acceptance for both the pain of men and the ways men tend to heal.

And I sit here now. Attempting to write on it. Tom Russell filling the room with melancholy tunes from the fantastic “Blood and Candle Smoke” album. Trying to sort out my own thoughts on the matter, as this impacted me far more than I believed that it would when the first reports started trickling in.

It is Wednesday, the seventh of August at the time of writing. This will – most likely – be published a week from now, when all the gun smoke has cleared up and the corpses gone cold. The memory will still linger in some corners of the web, and the sense we attempt to make of tragedies of this nature will be no closer to any semblance of sense. Because it is, in one word, senseless.

My sneaking suspicion – prediction, if you will – is that it will be mostly forgotten, replaced by some new outrage or sensationalised tragedy. The happenings, that is. The rhetoric from all who chose to use it as some quick political weapon will not be forgotten, nor will it be subdued.

Please note that I do not consider possibly fruit-bearing discussions on the possible causes and solutions of and to things of this nature to be quick political potshots.

There is a difference, I think, in pointing fingers of blame hastily at whatever or whomever is in stark opposition to ones own political beliefs and in attempting to find a root cause.

That is to say: there is a difference in stating as absolute fact that this is caused by some defect in men as a group, and in saying that there is something wrong with how our societies treat men that cause them to lash out in a manner such as this – what might that be?

For example.

For there is absolutely no reason in denying or refusing to admit that it is mainly men – and mainly young men at that – who commit such vile acts. That would not be factual. Nor would it be helpful to any cause I wish to champion. Or at the very least spread awareness about.

There is, however, reason to deny the statements made that there is something wrong with men as a whole that cause this. For the very simple reason that men are not defective – being a man is not some biological or cultural defect. There is nothing wrong with masculinity as masculinity is. And there is nothing wrong with men as men are.

There is also reason to deny that it is mainly white men doing this. Because that is not factual either.

But my main gripe, my focus is not on ethnicity, not on matters of race or skin colour or creed or race relations or what-have-you. That is reserved for those who claim to abhor racism, yet do little but encourage hatred and division along lines of skin-pigmentation. And so I am careful when mentioning these factors, as I know very little about them. In particular in regards to North America.

I don’t think there are any easy explanations or simple solutions to these problems. Tragedies such as these will happen and they will keep happening. This is just a sad fact of life – people snap. People reach their breaking point, and they snap. This is something we will never get rid off. I believe, however, that we – as a society – would be able to reduce the amount of such tragedies in a not insignificant way. With solutions that are not simple. Yet would, I hope, be helpful and bear fruit were they to be implemented.

And I have, actually, a few propositions. I admit – willingly – that this is speculation on my part. It seems very obvious to me, though.

I would also like to state that these are based on thoughts, beliefs and values that permeate the structure of my philosophy and my life, and as such are not something that popped up in my mind as immediate responses to these tragedies. This is important for me to mention, as I spent the previous 1600 or so words attacking knee-jerk reactions and quick-and-easy political potshots to these tragedies. I am fully convinced that these propositions of mine would make for better societies overall, not only in regards to extremes such as these.

These are of course not my thoughts and opinions alone; I have a lot to thank the voices, thoughts and work of the likes of Tom Golden, Paul Elam, Janice Fiamengo, the Honey Badger Brigade, Warren Farrel, Erin Pizzey, as well as a multitude of other voices that dare defy the cultural norm and narrative of this day and age. Credit needs to be given where credit is due, and I have a lot to credit these incredible people and their incredible work for.

What sticks out the most to me is that our societies have to acknowledge and understand that the empathy-gap exist. That is: that men are met with far less empathy and understanding than women are, which I think goes a long way in explaining why young men blow up in such a spectacular manner.

These young men are – more often than not – men who have met nothing but hostility and a lack of understanding in this ripped-apart world of ours. From home-life to school to work. They are, as is my understanding, deeply damaged, neglected and ignored men. And damaged people damage people. Or they damage themselves. Or they do both – going out in a blaze of fucking glory and bloodshed, taking as many people with them as they fall as they can.

I would think it bloody obvious that people who snap like this are not well. Mentally healthy people don’t do things like this.

After a tragedy such as this, there is – rightfully – little compassion shown the perpetrators. In my way of thinking, however, showing compassion, empathy and understanding for their troubles before they reached the breaking point would go a long way in defusing the bomb, as it were.

It would behove us, then, as a civilization to not celebrate a cultural zeitgeist that do nothing but paint men and masculinity as inherently defective, that do nothing but place the burden of blame for everything wrong in our ramshackle societies on the shoulders of young men, that do nothing but tell them when they attempt to heal that their way of healing and coping and dealing is wrong. It does not do anyone well having to live with the sword of Damocles hanging over them; to live with the claim that the original sin of masculinity dangles there on a piece of flimsy string, ready to force them to break and snap and kill, maim and mutilate and rape.

When men – be that individual men, or the broader men’s rights movement – speak on issues affecting them as individuals, or men as a group, our societies would do well to listen instead of demonize and smear, instead of shutting down conferences and writing article after article filled with lies about the wickedness of this loosely knit movement.

It is often stated that men need to be more in tune with their emotions – that men need to speak about their emotions more. This presupposes firstly that there are people willing to listen, which is seldom the case. Secondly, it presupposes that men and women deal with their emotions in the same way. Which we do not. It also presumes that men do not understand their own emotions. Which we bloody well do.

There are differences in how men and women deal with difficult emotions, and men are drawn more towards action or solitude than are women.

This can not be stated enough.

Assuming, given this, that men would be cured if only they spoke about their emotions as women do are built around the presupposition that the feminine way is the correct way, and that the masculine way is the wrong way. Once again stating – in so many words – that boys and men are, really, only defective girls and women. Men have an incredible ability to be together in silence – doing something together, yet enjoying silence and merely being in the presence of a good and trusted friend. Men face their enemies and stand shoulder to shoulder with their friends, as the saying goes. The way our civilization has managed to dismantle and destroy any male-only spaces (yet keeping female-only spaces) has removed this one very simple act of healing through action or through silence.

Just the knowledge that this friend with whom one is doing whatever – even if it is just building something together, fixing something, fishing, whatever – is one to be trusted, one who has ones back, goes a long way in making a man feel safe and secure in the knowledge that he is understood.

And when demanding that women be let into what was formerly male-only spaces, thusly removing – under the preposterous pretence of gender discrimination – male only spaces, this male bonding and subsequent healing disappear. Giving rise to ever more broken men who truly have no path to tread in a society in which they are told that all that they do are wrong.

We inhabit societies which have created an entire generation of disillusioned and disenfranchised young men for whom traditional societal expectations have not changed in the least.

This despite the claim that gender-norms have been torn down for all. This claim is simply not true.

It can be as simple as men still being expected to not only make the first move in regards to a date, but also be expected to pay for a date. Or it can be as difficult as men still being expected to sacrifice themselves and their lives to save other people. This is something mainly men do. Just as it is mainly men perpetrating mass shootings. Yet these sacrifices made by men are never mentioned, never celebrated as the grand virtue of masculinity that it is. And make no mistake – I believe that this is a biological trait in men. Re-enforced by culture, for sure, yet encoded in our biological make-up and as such nothing that will ever be done completely away with.

Whenever men do anything bad, it is put up everywhere as men doing something bad. The dominating words then being men and bad, creating a clear link between these two words. This happens despite the good actions of men far outweighing the bad actions of men.

I would think it about time that our cultures began celebrating not only women but also men. There is absolutely no justifiable reason behind labelling it equal treatment when one sex is placed on a pedestal, built up and aided at the detriment, bullying and shaming of the other sex. Equal treatment would mean actually that – equal treatment. Either both sexes get built up, or neither do. Either both sexes still have traditional expectations enforced by culture, or neither do.

To be clear: I see absolutely nothing wrong in celebrating the contributions or importance of women for society as a whole. What is wrong is the lack of celebration of the contributions and importance of men for society as a whole. It is this constant buzz, this constant wretched you go girl nonsense no matter how small and insignificant a contribution any woman may have made.

I remember an article celebrating a female electrician for the simple fact that she was a female and an electrician. Women, then, are to be celebrated merely for doing their job. And yet, men, who are the ones by and large doing all the dangerous work, all the backbreaking labour, who sacrifice and sacrifice all the time, are not celebrated. They are demonized by the very same forces that celebrate a woman for nothing but doing a job that men do all the time.

Young men and boys live in a confusing culture. For it claims one thing – the eradication of gender-norms and traditions – whilst showing, quite clearly, that the traditional expectations are still there where they are concerned. And then the men are blamed and shamed for these traditional expectations as though they are at fault for them being there. Even when it is women – by and large – that expect men to pay for dates, to make the first move, to initiate the whole she-bang.

Claiming that both sexes are treated equal, whilst doing nothing in regards to treating the sexes equally does not make for anything but confusion. This double-standard is clear as the dawn where violence and rape and sexual assault and so forth and so on are concerned as well.

Women and men are the same and can do the same thing is the message delivered all the god-damned time.

This message makes an exception where violence, sexual assault and rape are concerned, however. For that is still the domain of men and men only. To such an extent that men who have suffered violence, rape, sexual assault and so forth at the hands of a woman are not believed, are met with ridicule and laughter and hollow mockery, and are victim-blamed into silence. Only for these same forces to then complain that men don’t talk about their emotions. And then, when this is brought up, the blame is yet again laid at the feet of men. For is it not the ideology of masculinity that has made it impossible for men to speak openly about things of this nature? That is the claim. Despite the fact that feminism does nothing but ruin the spaces where men speak about things like this, and then bitch and moan and shut down the voices of men who dare speak on things of this nature. Catch-22 and the circular logic of feminism as well as the societies surrounding us.

…For this is obviously driven by the culture we inhabit. And the culture we inhabit have listened nothing to men’s advocates where this is concerned. Quite the opposite. Yet, the blame falls on men whenever these topics are brought up, which is odd considering that it is feminist lobbying that brought these double-standards into dubious and neglectful policy in the first place. We just conveniently chose to forget that fact, I suppose.

The point being – men need to be listened to when we speak, the problems of boys and men are not that they are boys and men. It is that we live within a society which do nothing but smear and scorn and shun and ridicule and blame men and masculinity for being nothing but men, for being nothing but masculine. As though the mere trait of masculinity, the mere existence of a man as a man is enough to bring doomsday upon his fractured head and torn shoulders, breaking from the weight of the world.

There is also the issue with fatherless homes to consider. Boys who grow up without fathers do not do well in life. Girls who grow up without fathers tend to do better, but still do worse than girls who grow up with fathers in the home. Fathers are important. I am not interested here and now in placing any blame at the mother or the father for the absence of the father. It is not as easy as placing blame here or there. Because the blame is seldom here nor there on a societal level. On an individual level, it most assuredly can be. That would be another ramble, another long-winded and depressive affair that surely need to be explored. But this is long enough, and going of on yet another tangent would not do anyone any service. My view-count is low enough as it is – ha ha.

Suffice it to say: fathers need to be in the lives of their children. Children need their fathers to be in their lives. Particularly young boys. For stable, good, loving masculine role-models are of immense importance to them.

And to girls.

This is not something new. This is not some wicked scheme of the patriarchy to downplay the role and importance of the mother. Or, for that matter, force women to be mothers. Whatever the hell that means. This is the pure and unfiltered truth. And our societies… their celebrations of single motherhood have got to stop. There needs to be a celebration of both parents, a re-implementation of the family unit, of understanding the importance of a whole and functional family. Not necessarily in any traditional sense, as I have come to understand it.

Just the simple fact that both parents need to be present for the good of the child, be that child a boy or a girl. Even if these statements will bring hate and fury, rage and ruin upon my insomniac head and crippled ass from scores of single mothers feeling slighted and attacked for me daring to state that fathers are just as necessary and important in the life of a child as are mothers. There is genuinely something deeply wrong with a culture that celebrates the absence of one parent, that only celebrate the achievements and acknowledges the importance of one parent. That neglects the importance of the masculine and over-amplifies to the point of tonal distortion the importance of the feminine. This has gone to such an extent that we now have people lobbying to change father’s day to “Special Persons Day”, because – they claim as the reason – some children don’t have fathers. Some children don’t have mothers either, but no-one is lobbying to remove mother’s day, for some strange reason. For, you know, single fathers do also exist. Even if it is rare. And this is rare because of the biased nature of family courts, which holds as the golden standard of parenting the mother, no matter who is the best parent in any individual relationship. Of course, despite feminist lobbying to not have 50/50 as the default custody, this is also blamed on the patriarchy and therefore by extension men. If this does not tell us something about how our cultures view fatherhood, nothing will. It does not matter how small or big the movement lobbying for the removal of father’s day is. It is bad enough that it not only exist, but are given media attention.

Despite what one would probably be led to believe, considering the overarching theme of my writings – I do not place the blame on this solely on feminism. Though I do consider feminism to play a major part in it, and though I consider feminism to be a global fraud and sham, a blight on this earth and a foul and horrible den of hypocrites, double-standard aficionados and control-freaks that will eventually cause the collapse of our civilizations by crafting and crafting again, this narrative, by spinning and spinning again, yarns that do nothing but exaggerate and amplify a manufactured and nonsensical gender-war that does nothing but create rifts and lack of co-operation and understanding where there should be co-operation and understanding between the sexes – there is far more at play in this than that of their forces and their forces alone.

We also have gynocentrism to contend with, we have the biological impulse in men to protect women, we have the – from what I understand – biological bias exhibited in women’s greater in-group preference as opposed to men’s greater out-group preference where the sexes are concerned. Meaning that both men and women will rather look out for the interests and well-beings of women as a group than men as a group. Then there are trad-cons and white knights and the blue pill and the whole buckaroo banzai, the whole fucking thing. There are more forces at play than feminism, and feminism exploits all these other forces, being little more than trad-cons in alluring disguise. It is, as are all things, more complex than it is not. And as much as I would like it to be as simple as pointing a finger of blame at feminism and nothing but that, it really ain’t. I have a bone or two to pick with feminism, for sure. And I tend to focus on it. This does not mean that I am not aware of the other forces at play, making the coinci-dance of society such a difficult fox-trot that I always end up stepping on my own nose when trying to learn the moves.

I must also make it perfectly clear that I do not absolve the young men who go on these shooting sprees of any guilt. The responsibility of their heinous actions fall flat on their shoulders, and so they must also suffer the consequences of these actions. It is a far greater problem than men = bad, is what I am getting at. Obvious to anyone but those who have decided that men = bad, I suppose.

In order to combat mass shootings – in order to do something to reduce the risks for these tragedies to happen – we need to show more understanding and compassion and empathy towards men and boys and what they go through. We need to understand – on a grand scale – that men and boys are not so privileged as we have been led to believe. We have got to stop bombarding boys and men with messages of their inherent wickedness. And we need to stop telling girls and women that they can do no wrong, whatever they do. For – as it stands – any action done by a woman is empowering in some way or other, even if that entails nothing but doing her fucking job. Either, we start celebrating and building up boys and men in the same way we do girls and women, or we celebrate and build up neither. As the world is now, boys and men get all the hatred, all the shaming, all the dark and despicable forces we would rather see hidden in the shadows. And girls and women get all the celebration, all the love and care and empathy and compassion we can find, no matter if this is deserved or not. This goes for gendered scholarships as well. Women outnumber men in higher education, and there is still this immense push to get women into higher education. Even when boys and men are dropping out completely.

We have got to understand that bombarding men constantly with messages of how horrible they are, how bad and vicious and evil they are, has a terrible effect on young men and boys.

Particularly when we see, time and again, women being praised and praised and then praised some more. Our societies – our cultures – show nothing but contempt for boys and for men, made possible by some strange and predetermined biological traits perhaps, yet amplified immensely by a culture that has decided that its one scapegoat, its one wrench in the mechanism, is men.

For our cultures are in the act of auto-cannibalism; are in the midst of self-destruction. They are melting down due, in no small way, to the insistence, the message, the constant reminder that boys and men are no longer necessary – that masculinity is archaic and toxic – that women and femininity are the only saving grace we have. Despite us needing both in co-operation to survive and to thrive, we have decided that we only need the one and that the other should be destroyed. And destroy it they will. Bit by bit and piece by piece, tearing it down from within individual men who are shown and are told over and over that – no matter what they do – they do only wrong. That they can do nothing right.

And all that they experience is a loss of love. A loss of love from the culture surrounding them, and a loss of love for themselves. And they have no purpose. And they have no place. And they have no help. And they gain neither empathy nor understanding for their plight, being told that they are privileged patriarchal oppressors. And there is no guiding hand, no guiding light, no masculine role-model whom they may emulate and aspire to become. And there is nothing but the constant droning, the constant gnawing, the constant tearing-down of the self and all that is, was and ever will be the self. And they reach the end of the rope and they snap.

And the rope becomes a hangman’s noose; tied about their necks. And seeing nothing but death and seeing nothing but destruction and seeing nothing but despair and neglect and hollow tunes and mockery of their misery, they stand upon the gallows and upon the trapdoor underneath their feet, destined to die and destined to take as many with them while they fall as they can.

And then – when the fall is over and done with, when the damage is dealt and the damage is done, when the neck is snapped and the body is dead – the internal injuries now externalized – the whole vicious circle begins anew. For now, his actions and his rampage and his massacre are shown as absolute evidence of the rhetoric that brought him to the breaking point in the first place. Building ever more of the same. Repeating and continuing the rhetoric; a perfect circle that perfectly feeds into itself and into our cultural narrative and the societal zeitgeist, solving nothing yet claiming to solve everything. Rinse and repeat. Ad infinitum.

   – Please like, share and subdcribe

   – Moiret Allegiere, 14.08.2019

__________________________________________________________________________________________

My book – Howling at a Slutwalk Moon:

Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
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Gazing at the Harbingers of «Female Oppression»

Lonely trainstation blues lowres

Illustration: «Lonely Trainstation Blues», Moiret Allegiere, 2019

Some time back I was served a good old fashioned chewing out by a feminist acquaintance. My crime was one of the most horrible crimes a man could ever commit. Such a terrible display of toxic masculinity and male entitlement was this trespass of mine that I was sure that whatever was lurking in my future would be nothing but brimstone and hellfire. No choir eternal to lull me safely into the long and deep sleep of death and the beautiful grace of the afterlife. No halo to be placed upon my head and no graceful angel-wings upon my back. Pitchforks and damnation eternal awaited me beyond the veil and my long toil on the mortal coil.

So, what did I do to warrant such an exquisite and most justified chewing out?

Simple and easy.

I gave my wife a compliment on her appearance. This is not something I am supposed to do, as one would expect. This is not something any man is supposed to do in this crazy post-apocalyptic wasteland of ours, come to think of it. To the eyes and mind of this frail flower of feminine feminist virtue, this could not mean anything other than me valuing only the physical appearance of my wife and nothing but that.

Granted, my wife is bombshell-hot, wielding an alluring sex-appeal that would turn both heads of any man in any room and – apparently – turn any woman in any room into a boiling cauldron of unfiltered jealousy, making her manufacture any way possible for her to climb to the top of the feminine pecking order. By, for instance, chewing me out for giving my wife a compliment on her appearance. As a point of severe interest, I must add that the feminist in question was in her mid-forties at this point, and my wife in her early twenties. Chew on that for a little while. Might have something to do with it.

Now – the reason given for this chewing out is exactly what one would expect. In the embittered cage of jealousy, spectacle and wonder that was – and, I suppose, is – the mind of the feminist in question, me complimenting my wife on her appearance meant that I did not value any other qualities of my wife. As if her physical appearance was all that mattered to me, and any other quality be damned. A simple compliment must therefore – on feminist insistence – include all manner of other compliments relating to her intelligence, her spirit, her personality, her very soul, including but not limited to any and all prior incarnations of her undying soul as well as any other talents and abilities she must have underneath her bombshell appearance, vintage pin-up looks and alluring feminine grace.

And those other qualities of my wife – those that are not her stunning looks – are plentiful. Of this, there should be no doubt. I am not so stupid as to marry someone solely for their looks. Even if that is how feminism views male romantic interest. I think it would be safe to assume that the feminist in question could see no other qualities in my wife than her appearance. And her youth. Also, I feel quite certain in saying that my wife would probably be a bit peeved if I suddenly stopped complimenting her on her appearance.

Of course, what my wife thought of the matter was completely irrelevant to this single-minded simpleton so hell-bent on ruining this singular compliment. She felt offended at this horrible act of mine, and so she saw fit in her see-saw ways to defend the honour and the grace of my wife. As we all should damned well know by now, any woman not falling in line with the feminist orthodoxy must be a pawn of the patriarchy; an unwitting and un-awakened slave of societal constructs placed upon her against her wishes from which she must be emancipated lest she contribute to and willingly participate in her own oppression. Unknowingly, of course. A very whimsical and witty way for the feminist hordes of salivating salvation and holier-than-thou platitudes to parade their enlightened forms across town. Saying, in so many words, exactly this: “I don’t care what you believe – I know better than you what you feel deep down inside, and if you would only listen to what the sisterhood says it would all be clear to you. Meanwhile, I will just ignore everything you say. Because: as a simple and enslaved woman, you could not possibly understand any of this.”

Forgetting, for the moment, what is implied in the original offence taken – that is that a man can not possibly enjoy anything in his partner other than her physical appearance and what this says about the feminist view of men – I would like to take a look at one particularly terrible part of the feminist poltergeist philosophy. That is their insistence that the private must be political and the political must be private. For this, I believe, is the reason why the hive-mind feel as though they are entitled to intervene in a personal relationship and the compliments given by a husband to his wife.

It is preposterous.

Any personal relationship has to fall in line with the feminist philosophy and their whimsical ways and vices. This is to such an extent that they feel they have the obligation to be moral busy-bodies, poking their powdered and upturned noses into the private lives of everyone. Neighbourhood gossip-mongers given free reign to spy on and interfere with their neighbours. And you can be damned fucking sure that they will do this at the moment someone does not tow the party line. And what is it that does not tow the party line? Well, now, that depends on the feminist in question. If one but gazes beyond the veil nailed to our eyes by decades of feminist indoctrination and power-grabs, one will be able to see this busy-body poking and prodding everywhere. It is commonplace now.

Of course; given that our societies are beholden to a deliberate and – to my eyes – absolutely absurd celebration of celebrities, to such an extent that their private lives are something of a public spectacle, it is no small wonder that the peeking and peeping and attempted control of the private lives of ordinary people are not noticed as much. We seem to be far to busy with the virtue-signalling, moral grandstanding and constant displays of hypocrisy, nonsense, constant crisis and severe debauchery of celebrities to notice this peeping and prodding and poking into our own – by comparison – uneventful lives.

This does not mean that it is not there, however. If a married couple makes it known to the world, be that merely their friends and family, that they live a traditional life – that is wife at home, husband at work – I will bet you that one or more of the frazzled and bedazzled horde will poke their noses out of the cesspool that is social media to make it clear and to make it known that this is not the way one should chose to live. And people will buckle down and they will listen and they will apologize and mutter and stutter something along the lines of “yes, yes, I know, I know, it’s not entirely correct, but this is how we do it”. Thereby giving an admittance of guilt where no guilt exist.

…I am reminded of the “Big Bang Theory” starlet who made a horrible dent in the fabric of the space-time continuum when she said in an interview that she enjoyed cooking for her husband. Being a housewife was something she enjoyed. And this, it was made perfectly clear, was not something she was allowed to enjoy. This is not acceptable to the domineering sisterhood, and the high priestess was most displeased at this heresy. The social media harassment that followed was enough to prompt her to apologize for her wayward ways, throw down her sword at the feet of the feminist conquerors and swear fealty to their cause and their ways. For a woman – any woman – to enjoy something that is not of the feminist dogma is a terrible trespass upon women’s rights and must be fought by any means necessary. The woman in question does not matter. Her choice, her wishes and her enjoyment of anything does not matter. Only the collective matters – the sisterhood – the feminist collective of guilt and shame and attempted remodelling of the personal lives and doings of people whose lives they have no business interfering with.

The most frightening – and I think sobering – part of this privately political and politically private nonsense is of course the loss of personal freedom, liberty and responsibility. Allowing for a political movement to poke their noses in wherever they want in order to interfere and remodel the personal lives of other people – often strangers – is thinly veiled tyranny. It is an obvious attempt to govern what ordinary people do within the confines of their own homes, reaching into their lives and into their minds by telling them that if they do this, it is wrong. Teaching them, through the pain of shame, that they have to sort out their personal affairs, their family dynamic, to put their house in order in a way that pleases not them, but the movement, the ideology, and – in the end – the state. Barring violence and abuse, there should be absolutely no reason nor allowance given for anyone but the people involved to figure out how they want their interpersonal relationships to function. What works for them should work for them. What works for their neighbours should work for their neighbours.

This should be obvious.

But in the era of the collective, in the tribalizing societies we inhabit, this individual liberty and individual responsibility is forgotten – by will and by power – to be replaced with an ideology so determined at tearing down anything slightly resembling their chosen enemy that nothing matters but the tribe and the collective. And that is tribe and collective assigned by value of sex and gender, by random chance of birth. If a woman does something that is not considered suitable by the elders of the tribe and the collective, she must be shamed until she complies. And the same goes for men – doubly so, of course, or more, since he is the de-facto patriarch of his home and the one who has forced his partner into a subservient state of being in which she is valued only for her looks and her cookery. According to the elders of the tribe and the collective, as well as the high priestesses of immediate and visceral femdom.

…and in turning the political private, any personal grievance – however petty – experienced by a woman must be heard and given time and given due consideration as though it is the experience of every woman everywhere, even if she is the only one experiencing it. That is, of course, if the women just so happen to be a feminist, if she stands bold-faced and wearing warpaint within the ranks of the conquering army. Otherwise, she will be ignored and forgotten unless she allows herself to be engulfed, swallowed and subsequently digested by the tribe and the collective.

People in general want to be good, they want to do good and they want to be seen as good. People, by and large, wish for nothing but the acceptance of the world around them and the society which they inhabit. People, in general, don’t have the time, the resources or any particular interest in looking into things in great depth and detail. And so, when they have been told that feminism is a force for good and for equality and only that, they swallow it hook, line and stinker. And they do their best to fall in line. When being shamed by feminism – whose prime focus is naught but equality, you know – they consider their point of view from the point of view that feminism equals equality, and equality is of the good and so they must have done something wrong if the feminist horde are angered. So they whimper and let loose an apology for doing nothing wrong but arrange their lives in such a way as they see fit, but as feminism does not see fit to accept. There is no more powerful force in the world to bring an ordinary man to his knees than being shamed at the hands and lips of a woman scorned and offended.

What people ought to do is to let loose a barrage of anger and hostility towards those who are so rude as to suppose that they know better than the people in question how they should live their lives. To shame them into the shadows for being so solipsist in their view of the world that only their way of life works, that nothing exist beyond the barricades of their minds and the ideology infesting it. These people – these petulant peddlers of personal grievance and mangled word-treachery – should be shown, time and again, how rude, how inconsiderate of other people, how egotistical, selfish, narrow-minded and foolish they are. They should be told to leave other people alone. To not stick their shit-stained noses where they don’t belong. Or they should be ignored completely. Simple as that. They should not be given anything but a cold shoulder and a dunce-cap, to be sat in the corner of the grand classroom of the world to weep at their perceived wickedness of the world. Then they should be told to grow some balls and respect the privacy of other people, since this seems to be something they are absolutely and completely incapable of doing. Little by little, or with a full frontal shotgun blast of reasonable truth and individual liberty, they should be told – simple as it is – that the lives and affairs of other people are not their business, and that they should keep themselves to themselves and allow other people to do the same. Otherwise, fuck them.

   – Please like, share and subscribe

   – Moiret Allegiere, 07.08.2019

   links:

My book – Howling at a Slutwalk Moon:

Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/people/152465815@N04/

Deliberately obtuse and lazy; hiding behind drivel to ignore facts:

kikkande på framtiden baklengs

Illustration: «Gazing at the Future Backwards», 2017, Moiret Allegiere

Being woefully, wilfully and deliberately obtuse does not befit anyone. It is not a good look for anyone, nor the tribe of anyone. Laziness is not a good character trait, especially when someone uses this trait in order to dissolve opposing sources shown to frantic virtue-wavers flagging their flannel-shirted self-flagellating morality atop ivory towers wherein lie the indoctrinated, inoculated, sheltered and echoing chambers of self-assured moral superiority.

For someone who is supposedly educated, who is supposedly intelligent, to act and to behave in a manner successfully proving the exact opposite is not exactly behaviour that generates any manner of trust in the soft-spoken or angrily shouted words of vain cotton-mouthed slurred-speech-enablers of the tongue-tied-and-twisted-variety.

And yet, when reading debates on the animosity of the sexes; on the victim-cult of social justice wherein self-proclaimed academes of supposed academic rigour stand silhouetted against the divine light of decades long studies on the emancipation of the mind and spirit through intellectual curiosity, the internalized, the mad and brilliant self-imposed obtuseness floats underhandedly to the forefront of their shiny and pimpled forehead, painting themselves as lazy and incompetent manufacturers of mindful fault lines within the messy mind of echo-chamber rhetoric where arguments that do not fall in line with their orthodox religion driven soul-lessly by dogmatic conviction are never once considered, never once taken into account and added to the vast databank that holds all their prefabricated retorts.

Self-choosing and picking paths to walk that are easily stumbled through by shouting regretful tear-duct-rape forced upon their bleary eyes by having to read something with which they disagree on a base-instinctual level, on a plainly emotional level, no matter how true or factual – they fall into lines of shivered spinelessness and pretend to misunderstand the argument or the facts and sources presented within the argument so as not having to take the act of disagreement based on truth into their cataclysmic cranial apocalypse.

Purposeful misunderstanding of the lines presented as a counter to their repeated-ad-infinitum statements makes sense within a tribe of people whose very being is existing in a state of permanent dishevelment gently prodded into their throats and gutless guts by years of indoctrination in lavish halls of lackademia.

The notion that anything might go against the grain of their ideology imprinted in their minds with hammer-and-sickle would mean that all that they have been taught, all that they have been told and all that which they have paid – or their parents have paid – exorbitant amounts for have been either false or heavily biased bile meant to drive a social movement forward, not the curious nature of man.

The arguments – or plain facts – disproving their metastasized cancer ideology can not properly be filtered through their lens of intolerant orthodoxy, and so can not properly be understood, and so must be wrong or they must have heard it wrong or it must have been written wrongly, giving cause for confusion in their minds so sprained from the free-form association of faulty academia that they stand unable to comprehend the perceived gibberish from opponents to their teary-eyed view of the world as is exactly as they experience it, nothing less and nothing more.

…Or exactly as they have been told that they experience it. Whether this tale of experience is true or not becomes completely irrelevant when ones mind and processes of thought have been beat into compliance with the governing rule of the lackademic tribe, all shining armour and trembling battle-cries, whose first and foremost governing rule is that those who take offence are always right if their tribe happen to align with one or other of the supposedly marginalized tribes of rampant hysteria and hypocrisy.

In not wanting to show any manner of intellectual weakness in the face of such a horrid thing as truth-fact-reason, truth-fact-reason of course being the name given to the three-headed dragon of their mythology; a fabled beast who is sent to bring forth Ragnarok and crush underfoot all who oppose evil and its mighty influence upon the world of men, they refuse to read the sources presented them that disprove their toxic victim-ways and calls for power and complete dominance. Thus, they feign being too lazy to read the sources just at this moment presented them so that they do not have to take into their laundromat-minds anything countering their fruit-flavoured views on the governing topics of the day.

Because being seen, deemed and considered lazy by all who live and work and interact with and around oneself would be a far better prospect than having to alter ones deeply ingrained views of the world and how the world actually functions, that being in wondrous and mysterious ways.

Being a lazy and dishonest bastard then becomes a virtue in and off itself, something to celebrate as it completely shelters one even more from the radical and frightening consideration that the world is far more nuanced and complicated than they or their tribe would like to paint and present it; a dubiously checked and lazily sealed envelope containing lavish words and long, ridiculous sentences full of mirth and fluff, saying nothing at all but giving the illusion of saying something profound.

Cheap excuses to hide the imminent truth somewhere in the back of the mindful and painful cavity that is their mindless minds, within the vortex created by the constant gnawing doubt in the back of their birdlike flutter-by minds created and maintained by the rigorous rigmarole of their echo-chamber and the dilettantes that spit and splutter in their footsteps to be granted inclusion into the holiest of holies, into the inner sanctum of acceptance and inclusion gained from the tribe and from the cult and the orthodoxy which constantly generate new rules of conduct, new dogma to adhere to in a constant flow of self-assured assuredness where no other thoughts or ideas are considered but the ones that their blatant blooming mediocre laziness pick-and-chose from the nebula generated in their black-hole-halls.

Such is the ways – in free fall – of cult-like thinking and behaviour; an absolute and absurd inability to see anything but that which is right at the tip of their noses, that which they have been told repeatedly is the only truth there is, which they have been shown repeatedly as being the only thing that exist, patting themselves on the back for their cleverness and closing their eyes and ears and mouths to anything not confirming their ways, their view, their world and their hollow holiness; their saintlike ascension into the highest reaches of their wordly paradise, a paradise wherein supreme morality reign supreme – that being supreme morality viewed through tribal allegiance and collective guilt, stating quite clearly and succinctly that my tribe good eternal, your tribe bad eternal, and may nothing ever change that view, that truth, that simplicity, amen.

 – Please like, share and subscribe

 – Moiret Allegiere, 03.08.2019

Gender is as Gender does; A Few Lines on Gendered Language

runes lowres

Illustration: «Runes», 2019, Moiret Allegiere

 

It has come to my attention that gendered language is offensive and non-inclusive. This is something that has to be dealt with by altering our language, and as such altering our methods of communication. At least in the long run. “Manhole” is not acceptable, and as such must be changed to “Maintenance hole”. To be fair and perfectly honest – this is not something that bothers me all that much. The “Maintenance hole” bit, that is. The altering of language, on the other hand, might be slightly worrying. Depending on how far people are willing to take it.

Double-plus-good, newspeak, Ingsoc, 1984 and all that jazz, you see. And so, here I am, invoking the sacred spirit of George Orwell once again. I am sorry. Truly. But I can not help but see the writing on the wall or the mirage flickering on the horizon where our societal descent into totalitarian madness is concerned. I would much prefer not to say this, but I would have to admit that I think Orwell might have maybe been a bit of a prophet or a visionary, seeing the writing on the wall and then placing that writing onto paper magnificently. As though he was beholden to certain fits of visionary journeys.

This altering of language is a sort-of, kind-of nonsensical waving and flailing of the arms, showing severe weakness and frailty on part of the feminist/SJW-crowd. If the mere mention of the word “man” is enough to keep women out of a profession, I would dare say that these women are probably to timid and frail to handle such a profession in the first place.

And I do happen to find it very difficult to believe that women are as weak and frail as the feminist hive-mind would have us believe. That is probably not up to me to decide, of course – I will gladly leave the projection of female fragility in the trembling arms and flapping bingo-wings of the secular feminist slut-marchers, with all their rambling and juggling of word-salads as well as internal inconsistencies.

It is clear as polished steel to me that the hive-mind wishes us to perceive women as weak and incompetent, completely incapable of handling the slightest bit of criticism, the softest of jokes and simple words that do not have anything to do with them, yet still see them diving head-first into the soup of dialogues to flaunt their frailty and tremble at the spoken word “man”. Or the written word “man”. Or anything that has to do with “man”. After all, it is the current year and we should all refer to each other as “peoplekind”, lest we offend the women and frighten the children.

Now; I am not much of a linguist. That much should be established. I merely juggle the words, know what they mean, but don’t know all that much about their roots, their history and their deeper meanings. I have picked up a little here and there, of course, but not enough to consider myself an expert by any stretch of the imagination. What is clear to me, however, is that language does not pop up in a vacuum, does not suddenly spring forth from the ground ready to use as a gift from the Gods. And so, I have picked up that “man” in “mankind” has nothing to do with man as a sex. Nor does the “man” in “woman” or the “men” in “women”.

In my way of thinking, this attempt at altering language is not so much to do with anyone being offended or the language not being inclusive enough. As is with all things in regards to the feminist hordes and the SJW-types, I suspect that it has to do with control and with power, which is at the burning authoritarian core of this hydra-headed movement of theirs.

It has to do with governance and complete domination, making it easy for these masterful emotional manipulators to claim offence at any word uttered that does not comply with their ridiculously rigid standards of behaviour, and in so doing being able to derail and shut down any discussion where they do not have counter-arguments to the claims, facts, arguments, statistics or whatever they are faced with, thus shutting down the discussion by claiming bigotry on part of their ideological opponent.

Very clever, very sly, and very snake-like.

In attempting to alter the language to be more gender-inclusive or gender-neutral, they will then be able to call out anyone who does not use the new-speak of our fantastically warped current year, instead of actually arguing their case, thus forcing their opponent to defend themselves against ridiculous claims of bigotry instead.

I see – and I suspect others do as well – behaviour such as this from the god-awful hive-mind all the bloody time. I remember witnessing someone attempting to debate a prickly social justice warrior urchin of thinly veiled contempt on Facebook on something regarding feminism and social justice. This SJW fruitcake ran out of arguments, as these people do when faced with facts contrary to their overarching narrative where feels equals reals. And so, instead of admitting to being in the wrong, the fruitcake started running her mouth about being mis-gendered by her horrible ideological opponent, screaming, cursing and roaring as though she were in the midst of complete and utter hysteria that he should not refer to her as her, but as they or as them. This of course despite her never giving any indication of this prior to the altercation, and having a pair of tremendous tits staring at us from her profile-photo in a very low-cut cleavage, showing very clearly that she was a woman and then some. It is important to mention that this mis-gendering did not come up as a topic before she started running out of counter-arguments, making it very difficult to believe any offence were really and truly taken – it sure as hammered hell was not given – but making it very easy to come to the conclusion that she derailed the conversation onto bigotry on part of her opponent so that she could take the moral high ground, showing him as a bigot as opposed to her virtually virtuous self, thereby winning the argument on grounds of morality, leaving the original topic of discussion behind in the dust whipped up by her infant-like flirt and flutter. How quickly we forget the original topic when being presented as a bigot in no small way. It smells an awful lot of rank bullshit and distraction; diverting the discussion onto a playing field that is all but level.

As an aside, and in order to air some perfectly reasonable personal grievance on my part, I would like to mention that this SJW fruitcake reacted with offence on behalf of my wife – with whom she had never spoken – when I shared a picture of my wife’s giant collection of shoes, with the comment “Help me – I’m drowning in footwear!”; an obvious joke and a pop-cultural reference to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. That’s how hip I am; referencing 90’s TV-shows in the apocalyptic days of the 2010’s. Sigh. I must be getting old.

Anyhow: this severely busty and thusly be-titted gender-neutral fruitcake snowflake commented with “What about your record-collection Moiret, Hmmmmmmmmm?” as though I had done my wife some horrible injustice and disservice by cracking a joke, horrible patriarchal oppressor that I am. It is amazing the lengths these people will go to in order to seek out offence where no offence is, in order to control and govern what other people do – going so far as to take offence on behalf of someone with whom they have never uttered a single syllable of communication. My wife was not impressed, as she found my joke to be funny and absolutely within the realm of the acceptable. Clearly, these petulant nut jobs do not value the individuality of women, assigning themselves the role of absolute protector of the poor and helpless maidens of chronic neuroticism whose frail submissive nature renders them incapable of speaking for themselves. In particular when faced with something so horrible as a simple and – admittedly – not particularly funny joke at their expense. What should have been a cheap laugh devolved into accusations of this and that from someone taking offence on behalf of my wife, who did not in the least bit take offence to this obvious joke. And so it goes – if no offence exist, offence has got to be found. And if it is not found at once, one must dig and delve a little deeper so that offence may be found, taken and then revelled in so that moral superiority and imbecilic virtue-signalling may reign supreme. Because these people have no personality to speak of. There is nothing there beyond the repeated mantras of offence and victim-hood, of simulated strength shown through opposition to whatever it is they deem offensive or oppressive or offensively oppressive. It is sad, really. And I would be inclined to pity them, were it not for their absolutely insufferable nature and them actually managing to get things censored, shut down and de-platformed by virtue of feigned offence!

It has all to do with power and nothing to do with actual offence taken, or given. For lack of decent arguments or truth, they seek censorship. Because this movement of theirs would die a quick and horrible death were they not able to shut down their opposition.

And what better way to do so but claim offence, discrimination, hatred and bigotry on part of their opponents, appealing to emotion instead of intellect, bringing forth the knee-jerk reaction of anyone who consider women and minorities to be above any and all criticism and disagreement? From deeply rooted trad-cons to the most radical of feminists, there is this in common: women shall not be critiqued or face jokes at their expense. Or, for that matter, take responsibility for their actions. They are to be pampered and protected by men. That is – the very forces that apparently are the enemies of women. It boggles the mind.

Any disagreement with a feminist will be painted as harassment of women by misogynist trolls, and may as such be easily waved away. Any poor criticism of any new movie predominantly starring women will be painted with the same brush; misogynist trolls just out to attack women instead of the film being yet another remade pile of trash from an industry completely devoid of any-and-all originality and creativity, dying on their fields of incessant wailing and attempting to regain past glories through the fractured lenses of our brave new world, cashing in on the momentary cash-cow of intersectional feminism and social justice.

I find it incredibly interesting and frightening. It is a tactic so blatant and so glaringly obvious, and yet people fall for it time and again. Because people in general do not wish to be perceived as bigoted, and so follow the new rules of the discussion. These new rules are that they must defend their person against accusations of whatever these troglodytes may conjure forth from the vast void of their emotional reasoning.

But – to get back on track – this started as me rambling on gendered language and the attempted re-structuring of language, something ripped straight from the pages of 1984. If one may control how people speak, one will also be able to govern the way people think. In altering language in this way, little by little, claiming inclusivity and non-discrimination at first, playing on emotions and perceived superior morality on the progressive push forwards, I fear they will begin to take larger bites after a while, redefining and restructuring language and terms and words to fall more in line with their dogmatic secular religion of feminism and social justice.

It should be fairly evident that their gripe is not with gendered language, considering their frequent and ridiculous use of gendered language to paint behaviour done by all humanity as something done by men and men only.

Mansplaining” – meaning talking in a condescending way – for example. Something both men and women do, but is painted to be something only men do, thus creating a new word – a new gendered word – to replace a gender-neutral term.

The same could be said for “manspreading”, of course, where they paint behaviour done by both sexes – that is taking up more room on public transportation than they need, being inconsiderate of other people in that space – as something done primarily by men, creating a new and gendered term for something not only men do, and, what is worse, something men have to do based on their biology. It has not only to do with genitals, but also with centre of gravity and being able to sit without swaying like a madman on moving transport, being that both the hips and buttocks of men are smaller than those of women, making it more difficult to maintain balance when seated, forcing the legs to be spread slightly so as to allow for balance. Whereas women tend to spread their bags and purses onto any-and-all seats available, or rest their legs on the seat opposite or whatever. This is behaviour both sexes exhibit, but of which men are made to be the only perpetrators.

There is also the term “manslamming”, made to describe men bumping into other people when they walk, in order to establish dominance and show strength, never-minding in the mess of faulty wiring that is their melted-machine-minds that both men and women do bump into other people by accident all the fucking time.

By accident.

But accidents don’t happen when it is men doing something, as the holy light of feminism have told us. For whenever men do anything, it is always with some preconceived plan in mind, some scheme of dominant tyranny. Men are held to such a standard by feminist ideologues that we are absolutely incapable of any accidents. All our accidents – all our clumsiness – is pre-planned acts of violence, dominance and tyranny. Men are perfect beings, to the eyes of feminism, completely incapable of doing anything by accident and as such being held to impossible standards of conduct.

Then there is the term “manterrupting”, meaning men interrupting women when women speak. This is despite the fact that women talk more than men on average, and of course despite the fact that this is something both sexes do. It is a human thing to do. Not something only men do. And I would dare say, based on personal experience, that this is something women do far more than men.

To be fair, this is only anecdotal. I can not prove it by any study I have seen, and it has to be taken as as such.

Based on these few examples, I would think it absolutely ridiculous that the de-gendering of words has anything to with actually removing sex and gender from these words for being offensive and non-inclusive. Given that the hive-mind is more than willing to create, to manufacture, new gendered words to add to the rambunctious vocabulary of the world, it would be supreme bullshit of the finest vintage for them to claim opposition to gendered words.

One can not oppose something and then create more of it at the same time. It would be like beating someone up in an alley whilst screaming that “I fucking hate violence with all the phlegm in my mistreated body.” It makes absolutely no sense.

When they restructure – or attempt to restructure – language in this way, removing gendered words for perceived offence, whilst simultaneously creating new gendered words which are actually offensive given that they are made to describe bad behaviour as something only men do, I can only come to the conclusion that this is some weird scheme of social engineering. I can only reach the conclusion, despite this probably making me sound like some tinfoil-hat wearing bastard, that the attempt is to restructure language in such a way that all negative behaviour is inherently masculine, and that all positive behaviour or profession is – at least at the first stage – gender-neutral.

That this is some strange way of saying through language remade that, though both genders are capable of good behaviour, only men are capable of bad behaviour. In altering language in this way, and attempting to make this stillborn spontaneous abortion that is the holy tongue of divine feminist new-speak go mainstream, it will cement itself in our minds and in our way of thinking.

Language is a very complex thing. And – to repeat myself – I am not a linguist by any stretch of the imagination. Yet, it seems obvious to me that altering language will also alter the way people think and thusly alter the way people view the world. Like looking at the dictionary definition of feminism as being only about equality between the genders have cemented this view of feminism in the hearts and minds and souls of our societies of only being about equality, despite their actions proving that this is a faulty definition. Easily proven to be wrong by simply seeing what they do as opposed to what they say. Actions do speak louder than words ever could.

It is very easy to laugh at, crack jokes and ridicule these new gendered words and terms that the hive-mind has manufactured. And I absolutely think they should be laughed at, scorned, ridiculed and shown the door.

However; there is still this terror floating in front of my eyes, this scary and sneaky subversive tactic used that is more than meets the eye. Main-streaming words that can not be viewed as anything but inherently negative towards anything masculine will make the words part of our daily thought-process and will, eventually, take part in painting the way we view the world.

Now, of course, the very same thing could be said in regards to gendered words such as fireman, policeman, manhole and the like. To repeat myself: I don’t mind genderless language or descriptors as a general rule; it really does not matter to me that fireman becomes firefighter instead, or that policeman becomes police-officer. In all honesty, this sounds fair to me. It does not bother me in the least, one way or the other. Now; do the same to “midwife”.

What bothers me is the blatant hypocrisy of supposedly opposing gendered language whilst creating new gendered language. What bothers me is the re-engineering of language to manufacture this view that so-called negative behaviour is purely masculine, whilst so-called positive behaviour is either gender-neutral or strictly feminine.

Though I am aware that language changes all the time, that it is a fluid thing that take new forms and shapes constantly, I can not help but think that – as is with all change, all evolution – it has to come about natural in regards to evolution, and has to be well thought-out, pondered and considered in regards to man-made change. I can not help but think that things have to change slowly and over time, not being implemented where there is no rhyme or reason to it at the whim and will of a movement hell-bent on dismantling any-and-all in regards to western civilization.

I can not help but think that this altering of language, this restructuring of the way we interact with one another, is but a small part of a greater machine designed to manufacture even more distrust of anything masculine, sowing even greater seeds of discontent than are already sown where the relationship between men and women are concerned, furthering this nonsensical gender-war and keeping it going far into the future. And, in so doing, making us drift even further apart.

This movement, that claims to work for non-divisiveness do, as a matter of fact, foster nothing but divisiveness, does nothing but drive the hammer home and create vast schisms where once the sexes were co-operating, where once the sexes were on the same team instead of being forced into opposing teams, caught in an eternal head-on-head battle where no-one will emerge the victor but the ideologues who seek to divide and then to conquer.

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 – Moiret Allegiere, 31.07.2019

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Vile cacti sodomy: A ramble on the empathy-gap:

rock n roll will never die lowres

Illustration: «Rock’N’Roll will never die», 2019, Moiret Allegiere

 

In this weird and strange hay-stack world of ours, where all manner of elusive illusion reign supreme, one figment of fantasy tower above all other. That would be the illusion – the phenomenal fantasy – of some grand global network of conspirators aimed at making men the privileged sex. This is dubbed the nefarious patriarchy, thriving and revelling on the subjugation and enslavement of women.

The claim that the voices and concerns of women are never heard is so ridiculous given the state of things that wilful blindness is the only possible reason for people to make this claim. Personally, I much prefer the reptilian conspiracy to that of the patriarchy. I think it makes way more sense.

The fact of the matter is that the shrieking tunes of the feminist death-squads and marching bands are heard and given credence no matter how absurd and ridiculous their claims, no matter how much their statements are debunked time and again by people far more clever than both them and myself. If it is a problem predominantly facing women, you can bet your pontificating arse and snivelling snoot that heaven and hell will be moved in order to fix it. Or at the very least alleviate it. Even if it is a ridiculous first-world problem easily mended by taking some more responsibility for one self, as is the case with the horribly sexist air-conditioning; a non-issue and personal pet-peeve of mine, remedied quite easily by the woman or women in question putting on more clothes.

Imagine that.

Considering that the dress-codes for men in workspaces where air-conditioning exist tend to be far more rigid than they are for women, business-suits of course being the only acceptable form of clothing for a professional man, there is little wonder that men in these workspaces would be far warmer than the women in these spaces. A business-suit is a hot thing, warm as the devil himself. And not being allowed to wear anything but this suit; no shorts, no shirts, no nothing of the sort… All to give the veneer of professionalism sorely needed by the company, it would be fair to say that the air-conditioning should keep the space cool and that the women being cold should maybe do something as simple as putting on a sweater or wearing pants or something of that nature. Radical notion, I know. But that is what happens when you get radicalised by the horrible patriarchal reptile forces of the internet.

This is, of course, an incredibly sexist and horribly misogynist thing to say, as women should be free to do whatever the hell they want to do, even if that includes blaming other people for their problems of feeling a slight chill in the workplace when the only thing needed to do is to put on one more layer of clothing. I assume this will be held forth as a shining example of a man trying to control what women do with their bodies; not taking into account the dress-codes for men in these spaces.

This does not matter, obviously, because men being uncomfortable in the stifling heat and lack of oxygen in the sauna-like room temperature that seems to be preferred by women everywhere is just another manifestation of primeval male toxicity calling for the governance and patriarchal regulation of female body-temperatures. Where will it all end? At some point – men may be so rough and domineering as to keep the temperature of the room at a level where they are comfortable.

Cor blimey, governess, we can’t have that, now can we – men can not, under any possible circumstances, be expected to be comfortable? Holy hell and shining madness – soon you’ll be expecting they be allowed to sit comfortably as well… soon, you’d be expecting men to sit in the manner their biology dictate… and we’d see a horrid rise in episodes of vile and violent manspreading. Best get that man-spread-combating chair of monumental stupidity – designed by a feminist apparently considered a hero by the frail and fragile forces of frantic and frazzled feminism – rolled out to meet and greet the world at large. Knock it into the law-books; manspreading to be punished by public castration. That sounds good! YASSSSSS! Slay QUEEN!

…And various other ululations of feminist preposterous pandering and self-congratulations; patting themselves on the back on their path towards irredeemable and superfluous obsolescence.

Anyone not currently basking in the radioactive glow of unlubricated feminist sodomy lovingly delivered by the strap on cacti-dildo of some-odd dominatrix, should be able to see the lack of empathy where men are concerned scrawled across the crossword patterns of our wretched and decaying civilization. Born as much from men being the disposable sex as it is from lobbying feminist activities and academic institutions indoctrinating young minds into the victim cult, it is everywhere. Right out there in the open for all the world to see. If only all the world were willing to see it. The pain of men is unfortunately taboo to the vast void of the world, and so men who suffer and who struggle are shunned. They are told that there is something wrong with them for being men; that they deal with their emotions all wrong and so need to open up and talk about them. Only to be met with ridicule, shaming and god-knows-what when they do. Toxic masculinity causes men to not share their feelings and emotions. And fragile masculinity is the terminology of choice used to shame men when men do. Odd how that works; almost as though the ideology and preposterous ideas therein are manufactured to paint this picture that men are wrong no matter what and how they do.

See, women in general don’t seem to want this emotional openness in a man. And men know this. More oft than not, they know and learn this by experience, the moment they go from being boys to being men and get met with far less understanding and cozy comfort. So men learn how to process and handle their emotions on their own, in their own way. By and large.

When being told that this is the wrong way to go about it, and being shown that trying to talk about their emotions the way the feminist-infused school of thought demand brings nothing but the same feminist-infused school of thought crashing down on them with all the horrid power of the ancient ones, the breaking point is closing in.

And damaged people damage people.

Snap, crackle, pop.

Everyone has a breaking point.

In seeing how much protest any-and-all conference aimed at the issues men face meet, not only by the awesome might and fury of the feminist forces, but also by society at large – so much so that they are shut down, forced to change venues, forced into obscurity – one can not help but wonder how the claim that the voices of women are never heard can make any manner of sense. Nor how it makes any manner of sense that only the voices and concerns of men are heard. Consider the backlash to Cassie Jaye’s documentary the Red Pill, where genderless gender-studies professors of – apparently – no ill repute prop up their terrified and trembling forms on television to completely and utterly lie about the men’s rights movement and what it represents, sculpting clay-models and straw-men of men who want nothing but to be free to rape and plunder like Mongolian hordes. Consider television hosts in Australia admitting to not seeing the film, but bashing it nonetheless… consider screenings of the film being shut down on feminist insistence… and tell me, with a straight face, that issues facing men are taken seriously; that only the voices of men are heard to the detriment of women.

When the voices of the men’s rights movement are shut down at every turn and men are being constantly bombarded with negative messages regarding their sexuality, their sex and their masculinity.

Like the APA guidelines for dealing with men and boys, in which the finite and infant-like wisdom of the dominant ideology reign supreme, putting into place the notion of masculinity as some form of toxic and destructive ideology. IDEOLOGY. The psychiatrists will then, of course, deal with the issues boys and men face when coming in to seek help by telling them that it is their masculinity – that is – their identity as boys and as men that is the main problem facing them, nothing more, nothing less.

So, one would have to wonder – why is the suicide rate of boys and men so high? Not that we hear that much about the suicide rate and how many men kill themselves, of course. Because women attempt suicide more, so that must be the focus point of our societies in which women are hated so-so much. Never taking into account that the women who attempt suicide survive and the men that kill themselves die. Not taking into account that women who attempt suicide may be crying for help – something that, I absolute believe, should be taken seriously, but which is a far cry from actually dying by their own hand. Nor is it taking into account repeat attempts at suicide by the same woman, boosting the numbers some. Or “simple” self-harm documented as suicide attempts. Nevertheless, it is painted as some preposterous problem facing women first and foremost, as are all issues. Even when men are most affected, it must be somehow twisted and turned so that women are the main victims. Men dying don’t matter. Because women didn’t die. It makes perfect sense, of course. When one sex receives empathy and understanding and the other sex does not.

Yet, the claim is there: the empathy-gap does not exist, as we all should well know by now. It is for the lack of the empathy-gap that women who snap and kill their children or their partners prompt us to feel sorry for them, opening for dialogues of immense importance in regards to mental health and how horrible the state of women’s mental health is. Women are, in other words, and by the insistence of the dominant feminist forces in our society, crazy.

You will excuse me giggling like a rabid schoolgirl.

In so doing, they are creating all manner of ways in which the partner of the woman may be made to be the perpetrator after the fact, being that he most assuredly abused her to the point of her snapping and killing him or their children or both. What a splendid thing, what a tremendous stroke of luck, that he is dead then, and with no possible ability to defend himself. Victim-blame much, you trite troglodyte?

Sounds like the rhetoric of an abuser to me, but what the hell do I know? Men can’t be abused by women, after all. Because feminism said so. And since they said it, it must be true. Proven, of course, by the severe lack of domestic violence shelters for men… or for boys, given that boys above a certain age who are abused are not allowed within the premises of these shelters for women and their children fleeing the horrible and tyrannical patriarch at home. A son is only to be sheltered as long as he is a boy and not a man. For, when being a man, he clearly can take care of himself – as women are absolutely incapable of doing, apparently. The train of ridiculous logic that follows is circular – there are few – if any shelters – for abused men – there are many shelters for abused women – therefore it follows that women are abused more and men are abused less. This is despite the fact that feminists have protested and done all in their power to not have shelters available for men. This goes all the way back to the first shelters created by Erin Pizzey – a woman I have an immense respect and admiration for, and whose experiences I recommend any and all to read – in which she quickly learned that women who sought shelter were just as, if not more, abusive as the men from whom they sought shelter.

She then tried to open a shelter for abused men, and got met by a campaign of harassment by the feminist forces that is difficult to believe in a society in which feminism is painted as a force of good and nothing but. But that is the way of revisionist history and historians; she who controls the past controls the present. She also controls the future.

For the simplest and most profound example of the empathy-gap, one could simply point to male genital mutilation being allowed and – in many cases – recommended, whereas female genital mutilation is illegal, in order to best showcase the glaringly obvious presence of said empathy-gap. But that don’t matter none, because mutilating the penises of baby boys ain’t no problem. Boys don’t have bodily autonomy, my little pumpkin. And that is quite alright; nothing sexist or horrible about allowing one sex to be genitally mutilated at birth – shaming those who oppose it – and making it completely illegal for the other sex. Nothing wrong with using these severed foreskin in facial creams, for the vanity of women either. This is just to be expected; fresh baby-facials for the women, and shame on you if you disagree, or find this a bit icky. These women have all the right in the world to smear severed baby foreskin on their wrinkly faces, you boorish blue-collar slobs. As if the genital integrity of boys mattered more than the unwrinkled countenance of some past-her-prime woman in superficial distress; woe betide you, should you dare oppose the facial gluttony of the barbarian queen.

Honk, fucking honk.

I could go on and on about this. This is just a rambling introduction to the empathy-gap; a roguish ballad sung by a bearded bard riddled with spontaneity, insomnia and sudden bursts of insanity. There is a lot to unwrap, to ponder and consider in this silly world of ours.

I will leave you with some more thoughts on incels, which I touched upon in an earlier piece – “Shame and Ridicule on the Howling Plains of Twitter”, available on Bitchute, YouTube and my blog. Incels have been on my mind quite a lot lately, and I am pondering doing some larger piece on the phenomena of inceldom, if I find more thoughts on this accumulating within the vortex of my cranial madness.

Norway has a television channel very much like the BBC, which of course is far more than a television channel now. Funded by the population by force and the government by choice. It is also infected very much with the vampiric forces of regressive progressivism and the holy ghost of feminism, obviously making them less-than unbiased. Even when they claim that they are unbiased.

That is the problem when people are so engulfed by their beliefs and convictions that they do not consider it properly – they do not see their own bias. This is a very human thing. For itself, there is nothing wrong with it. We all have confirmation bias, one way or the other. It is wrong when something that everyone is forced by law to pay for does not represent the interests of the population in any objective way, mirroring only one set of beliefs, values and convictions and claiming this to be unbiased, thus colouring the mainstream view of the thing by presenting itself as nuanced and unbiased.

Some years back now, they had a news-article on their website about a woman in a wheelchair complaining that the lack of interest she received from men – when sitting in a wheelchair, as opposed to pictures where she was not in her wheelchair – on tinder was a form of sexual harassment in itself, as she felt herself ignored by men for being in a wheelchair. Hardly worth doing an article about, I thought then and I think now. There followed a few lines about her being just as deserving of love as someone not wheelchair-bound.

Maybe she should have used some of that baby-foreskin facial cream. That might have helped. Probably not though. Wouldn’t have helped. Not with those legs.

What sticks out here is, of course, that she sounds very much as though she is involuntarily celibate, forced into a state of permanent singlehood by forces beyond her control. As though she is one of those disgusting incels we’ve been hearing so much about. You know; the ones who feel as though they are entitled to companionship and to sex. Those horrible people whose situation in life has been turned into a quick and easy insult for disgruntled feminists and their orbiting white knights to pull out at their whim and fancy whenever arguments are lacking.

If said incel is a man, of course.

If a woman shows up and acts as though she is entitled to love, companionship and sex from men, she is met with empathy and understanding. To such a degree that woe-is-me type news articles pop up from the wood-works and make themselves heard to make us feel sorry for her and do all that we can in order that her plight of being single – that is, being an incel, is alleviated. For how could any man be so horrible as to have romantic and/or sexual preferences on their own? Men are not allowed this, you see. If a woman shows interest in a man, the man is expected to reciprocate in kind – lest he be considered a superficial arsehole. Does not matter whether the woman is fat, or in a wheelchair, or whatever it may be that throws the man off and makes him not turn on the testosterone-fuelled rape-cannon below his belt – if he shows no interest in her if she shows interest in him, there is something wrong with him. Some would maybe call this behaviour entitlement, but what do I know? The inverse does not apply, but that is part and parcel of life in the strange purgatorial afterlife we have inhabited since 2012.

This is not the only article I have read in which female incels are shown care and compassion that male incels have never been shown, nor ever will be shown.

I sent a complaint to this state-sanctioned, populace-and-government funded channel of ours regarding this article. I worded this complaint properly, of course. Thinking that – since I bloody well pay for this mass of propaganda and nonsense, I have every right in the world to complain.

In this complaint, I asked them if they would publish the same kind of article were it a man complaining about – in essence – not getting laid due to circumstances beyond his control.

They never replied.

As they usually never do whenever I complain. I have sent them a few complaints in my time. Only when their bias is clearly shining through, proving that they do not for one flat-farted second represent the interests of the people who are forced to pay for their spewing of biased bile.

There is that which is so strange to me; that mist floating out there on the horizon, within which all manner of ghosts and ghouls and terrors roam; that outpouring of empathy and understanding where women are concerned, that majestic lack of it where men are concerned. Men, who feel a lack of companionship and of sex are scorned and shunned and ridiculed; are told that they are not entitled to sex, nor are they entitled to a woman’s time. Which I, admittedly, agree with. I also agree that women are not entitled to sex, romance, companionship or what have you.

However; women who feel entitled to this are given empathy and understanding; are given a place in our government-funded public broadcasters of propaganda and sanitized trash to vent their frustrations in regards to this, to lay all the blame on men for not wanting to bang her, for not wanting to enter into a relationship with her for her being in a wheelchair.

And it is not that I don’t have empathy for her. I actually do. Just as I have empathy and understanding for men who are in a similar situation to her. It is that society at large demonize men who are in that position – men who long for meaningful relationships, men who long for physical touch, who long for anything beyond the purely platonic. It is that our newspapers and our public broadcasters paint these men in a horrid light; as haters of women and as rapists-in-waiting, as potential mass-murderers and whatever they’ve got to throw their way, whilst simultaneously making empathetic fluff-pieces about women who act just in the same way that these so-called foul, horrid, basement-dwelling, neckbearded, fedora-wearing incel-bastards do.

Women who feel entitled to sex, love, romance and relationships are to be listened to and understood. And be allowed to shame men for not wanting to fuck them, love them or caress them.

Men who feel entitled to sex, love, romance and relationships are to be shamed and ridiculed. For wanting to fuck women, be caressed, or loved by women.

And yet, there is no empathy-gap to speak of.

And all men’s dreams are torn asunder.

And all men’s love denied eternal.

And all men’s pain invisible.

And all men’s all lost.

And still, men are supposedly the ones whom all the world listen to.

 – Please like, share and subscrive

 – Moiret Allegiere.24.07.2019

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Howling at a Slutwalk Moon:

Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
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Shame and Ridicule on the Howling plains of Twitter:

Reach lowres

Illustration: «Reach», 2019, Moiret Allegiere

In order to bring your regular blue-pilled and blue-balled man to his knees, whimpering and stuttering profound expressions of regret, you need two things. A woman. And shame. This is something that is difficult to spot at first, as it seems to be a thing that has been cemented in our cultural evolution just as much as it has been fixed in the midst of our biological evolution. As such, it is something that gets taken for granted, by both men and women. A part of the social game and fabric of our mutually assured societal suicide; a living, breathing entity trapped within the basement-dwellings of our primal reptilian longing to fornicate and procreate.

Women are the gatekeepers of sex; of fornication and procreation and thusly the ones who decide whether or not a man is allowed to create any form of progeny… or to see his lineage dwindle and die.

Little wonder then that we are willing to put up with so much ridicule and shame from the fairer sex than we would ever be willing to put up with from men. This is not to say that we should put up with it. It is to say that it is so commonplace that it is nigh impossible to see unless you have your eyes opened wide by some personal tragedy or by forcefully applied reason, logic and common fucking sense. And when you do not see it, you take it for granted. It is part of the social fabric; the way things have always been and always will be. Unless we change it.

See, during my much-needed hiatus from writing on these topics, I have not been lazy. Nor have I kept myself out of the loop, as any sane individual would do were they to take a break from everything. I am clinically insane. As a result of this, I can not take a break from things no matter how much my aching body and decaying mind tell me that they need to. The show must go on, I suppose. Well, the show and my obsession on certain topics of the day.

I am not someone who will willingly participate in a debate. Hell; I have to be dragged kicking and screaming out of my cave just to go outside and get something to eat, leaving behind me a trail of despair and destruction much befitting a pseudo-hermit like myself. Winding up in some online debate with a perfect stranger would be, to my gobsmacked intestinal tract, an ulcer in waiting and a prolapsed back emerging from the shackled shadow of the somewhat social teenager I used to be, with all the gloomy angst and mysterious stranger vibes I could conjure forth from my then-emerging extreme introversion.

No, I am not one for debates. I always wind up muttering, stuttering, mumbling something incomprehensible and then doing my best to fade into the woodwork or dig a hole in the ground where I could sleep for a thousand years.

Cause I am tired, I am weary.

My Twitter profile is a living testament to this, as one would expect. My tweets are few and far between. The “likes” I have doled out lovingly to the masterful guards standing in the way of the rampaging feminist hordes, shielded by facts and wielding flaming words of immense illumination are not that few and far between, as I very much enjoy reading and watching debates online. Whether that be professional debates in professional settings, or on online forums like Reddit or Twitter or what-have-you.

Used to be I’d watch or read debates on just about everything, in order to get a grasp on the thought-processes of people and the arguments espoused from either side of a debate. It didn’t matter then, and it don’t matter much now whether I agreed with any side or not. My interest lies in seeing and understanding a side, understanding their reasoning and their conclusions. Keeping an open mind is key to this; to view things from as many perspectives as possible, and then letting what makes the most sense guide my own view and opinion on things. Lately, what debates I have read and/or seen have been mainly feminist vs non-feminist/MRA’s. For obvious reasons.

And what is so absurdly and incomprehensibly gobsmacking in these debates – if you would even want to call them that – is the amount of shame and personal attacks ushered forth from the feminist harpies. There is very little argument of any value to be found – if there really are any.

There is a constant flow of shaming and ridicule, and that is more or less that. And these people seem to be absolutely unaware of this. It is funny to watch and to behold how their regular shaming tactics don’t work on men who have woken up to this horrifying fact and facet of life and the social fabric. How they take it all in stride as the frightbat tunes of shame and ridicule fall on deaf ears completely in tune with the harmonious winds of their own mad-genius laughter as they watch these tried-and-true tactics be completely useless in the face and eyes of the enlightened and noble transcendent spirits.

In encountering non-feminist women, the shaming tactics get even worse and more ridiculous.

Cause this is unknown territory – these are uncharted waters, captain, and we don’t have any particular framework to navigate. We can’t seem to shame them for the size of their genitals any more, nor their lack of sexual prowess and/or ability to provide for and protect a woman and children. God-damn, what should we do then? Well, arr, damned if I know, matey. I assume that there can not possibly be women who think like this, and as such it must be a man clothed and disguised as a female internet-persona as a fantastically smart way of bringing shame upon the global sisterhood. Because that is what I would do, god-damnit!

Clearly, no woman could possibly be opposed to the feminist mindset of being an eternal victim and permanently downtrodden; of being constantly so beat down by the world that she could not possibly be expected to navigate it on her own without breaking into hives, sweaty panic and full frontal feral nudity and madness in protest of the sexualization of her voluptuous body-rolls and ginormous foot-impact on the soil.

It is either a man, or a woman so desperate for intimacy with a man that she is willing to lie in order to get a foot within the door of his provider-protector shack. A “Pick-me” I believe is the terminology of choice to these people, so up their own ass and addicted to sniffing their own farts that they are completely incapable of comprehending the simple fact that sex and gender is not a unifying ideal; that neither sex is a homogeneous mass of drones doing and thinking the exact same thing in perpetuity. So foreign is the notion of women opposing feminism that there has to be some nefarious reason for them doing so; either an MRA – as of course are only men – posing as a woman, or a woman who can not find love and so must pretend to be opposed to the sexual inequality and infantilizing of women which feminism so clearly crafts and creates wherever they spread their filthy wings and period-blood, all hysterical and ovary-acting to anything not deemed suitable conduct for a woman. And what is suitable conduct for a woman? Anything feminism dictates. Anything feminism does not dictate is not suitable for a woman. Even if women can do whatever the hell they want. As long as they do what feminism wants, which is not what women in general want, but what feminism wants. Rinse and repeat.

The shaming of men who are opposed to feminism is much the same as the shaming of any man, whether they are opposed to feminism or not. Just another fucking Tuesday for those of us who grew up in the era of feminism. Nothing much changes there, to be frank and perfectly honest. It is the same old rhetoric of feminism when faced with the tragic horror of men and masculinity which they have always spewed from their gibbering jaws of wanton death and destruction; a constant stream of shame for men being men and doing whatever it is that men do.

And, to the eyes and fatty tissue of feminism – whatever it is that men do and are is exactly what feminism is opposed to. And this is subject to change at any moment of any day. Depends on if the moon is in the seventh house or not; if Jupiter is aligned with Mars and if the demented Moon-goddess Luna is on the rag or not.

Usually, an attempted debate devolves quickly into insinuations of a less-than-satisfactory genital size, a lack of sexual partners and sexual prowess, lack of income or ability to protect and to provide for a woman and for a family. Oddly gender-traditional, I always think, as I watch this train wreck occur in front of my eyes in slow motion. I swear to high heavens that feminism is the most gender-traditional set of entitled bastards you will see this side of a medieval romance novel. Both male and female feminists.

Words like “incel” are thrown around willy-nilly, never-minding if the man in question is in a relationship or not. I have seen feminists claim that men who are in a relationship or who are married are lying about it just to deflect from their incelhood. Further establishing the feminist view of men as beings incapable of detaching their selves from their lust to fuck; as if there is – to the poor sight of feminism – nothing more to a man than a throbbing and mutilated cock eternally on the quest for a quick rape or two in some dank alley infested with patriarchal lice and women – pick-me’s – willing to be defiled by the tragedy of male sexuality, begging for a cheap fuck to validate her existence. It is as if feminism sees men as being absolutely nothing without a woman in their life, to defile and subjugate.

Thus pouring the insufferable narcissism of feminism deeply into the cracks of our pavements and the paths on which we walk to our sudden and sullen gloom and doom. How can a man function without a woman in his life? Men, to the eyes of feminism and to society at large, are complete and utter failures if they are incapable of ensnaring some poor woman in their manspread manweb of incessant mansplained mancocks. Men are nothing without women. And women are the moral fabric of society, they shriek and shudder, as they shame men for not finding a woman and shame women for wanting so badly to find a man that they oppose feminism and the divine sisterhood to do so. Then they shame men for wanting to find a woman. And women for not finding a man. Herpityderp.

And of all the horrible things they could find to shame men for, they resolve to involuntary celibacy as the prime force behind their shaming; the core of their unending male shame: the male lack of partnership and sexual as well as emotional fulfilment.

Incels, as is my understanding of it, are often men who have been deeply damaged by society. Or who have some developmental issues, some mental issues, some physical issues that make it very difficult for them to find any meaningful companionship, platonic or not.

Often – but not always – these men have been abused and/or neglected by their parents. They have lacked love and understanding for most of their lives, and they are still incapable of finding love and understanding and so vent their frustrations on the internet, where there at the very least exist other people willing to listen to them and share a bit in their despair.

Most people do want to love and to be loved; to find emotional as well as physical fulfilment in the company of another human being. Physical contact is incredibly important to human beings. In particular in their younger years. Give a child everything but physical contact, and the child will suffer immensely for the lack of physical contact.

A whole hell of a lot of these incels are men who are deeply damaged, scorned and ridiculed by society. Who have been neglected and abused throughout their lives. Who have not found any place where they feel that they fit in or are accepted, and as a result they get angry and frustrated.

This is not to say that I agree with their venting, their anger and frustration. Nor is it to say that I don’t.

This – dear feminist horde of rampant rage and ruin – is what is called being understanding and compassionate; to show empathy. Which the entire world is in dire need of where men are concerned. The empathy-gap is real. Glaringly and obviously so, if one just manage to view men as human beings and not merely human doings; as utilities and a nifty set of tools to get the job done, the lack of empathy where men are concerned becomes really bloody obvious. Especially so the moment one takes a short pause to consider that “incel” is a term now used to shame men.

That incels, men who – more often than not – find themselves at the bottom rungs of society, who are deprived of emotional fulfilment and of physical fulfilment, who are lonely and despairing, are shamed for being just that. Shamed instead of understood and shown empathy and given help. Further hammering the point home in their heads and despairing psyche – that they are not now, nor have they ever been, wanted, loved or needed.

And still this gynocentric, feminist-infested society of ours will claim that the empathy-gap is not real.

It is enough to make me feel sick to the bottom of my soul.

It doesn’t matter what the facts are. It doesn’t matter how many studies and statistics are used in these debates to prove the point against feminism. For these people, feelings are more factual than actual facts are factual. I assume this is because the feelings are immediate and thus take precedence to the ability to stop and think, ponder and consider. If something feels bad, it must be bad. Never mind if it is true or not. Thus, facts counter to the feminist narrative that has been droning on for years uncounted that feel bad can not possibly be true. Cause they feel bad, and that is that.

In my ramblings, in which I will absolutely admit that I am not as good at dropping sources as I should be, there is not a single thing I have stated as fact that can not be backed up by statistics or studies or news-articles or whatever. My lack of dropping sources stems from the fact that I am a writer, not a scholar; an artist, not an academic.

I do my very best to make it obvious when I am talking for myself and when I am referring to some study or statistic or the like.

Believe it or not, given the rambling and hop-scotchy nature of my writing, I happen to chose my words very carefully. The rambling is by choice and by design. And I very often find myself having a hard time writing something if I am just a wee bit uncertain about it. If I have not completed my – admittedly very slow – thinking or research on a certain subject, I falter and my fingers stutter over the keyboard like some drunkard at the bar, searching in vain for that last glimmer of sobriety stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. This is because I want to be as sure as I can be that I am correct in what I write and what I say and what I think. Obviously, this is not to say that I am infallible – that I am always right, like some weird angry God. It is to say that I do my very best to speak truth, even if my style of writing is very much impacted by my emotional state at the moment of writing. My writing may very well be emotional. My reasoning, on the other hand, is not.

For reasons very much unknown to me, but which are probably tied neatly into the obscurity of my blog and of my channel as well as my lack of participation in debates, I have not experienced a lot of shaming and ridicule after I began writing on these topics. Nothing near what I expected. In fact, I have been shamed and ridiculed for my sex and sexuality more before I started writing about these topics than after. I guess it is easier to attack someone who does not speak openly on things of this nature in the holy name of feminism than it is to attack someone who does.

For blue-pilled men are easier prey to various forms of Succubi and harsh siren songs than red-pilled men are. There have been some attempted shaming and personal attacks. Of such grandiose stupidity that I refuse to reply to it. Because I can not understand why in the everlasting blowjob-sunrise I should reply to non-arguments presented as arguments; to self-contradictory statements made within the same paragraph of babbling monologues as each other. I see no reason to counter shaming tactics with anything but the wall of silence which it deserves. Because shaming tactics are not arguments; personal attacks will never be arguments. They are not worthy of a reply. At least not to my eyes. There is really very little to be said to someone who is so possessed by the ghost of feminism that they would claim – without so much as a flicker of regret or doubt – that the only possible conclusion to be had from my opposition to feminism is that I want to be free to abuse my wife however I wish. There is no reasoning with this type of madness, this type of ideological and dogmatic blindness. And I don’t have the time, the energy or the health for it.

Of course; I see that the point in any debate is not so much to sway the opinion of the one with whom one is debating but those who may be looking on. Which is much the reason why I so much enjoy watching debates. Not necessarily to see a feminist PWNED and WRECKED and DESTROYED by FACTS(!!!), however much fun that is, but to see those who may have been on the sidelines getting swayed as much by the behaviour of the feminist or feminists in the debate as by the reasoned arguments by the non-feminist in question. As much as I believe that fighting fire with fire may be worth it (if only for the lolz), as much as I think that holding feminists accountable to their own standard of behaviour and thusly replying to them in kind would be a spectacular display of hypocrisy on their part, there is very little doubt in my mind that the true path towards a society in which feminism does not hold as much sway and power and might and control that they do at the moment of writing is to debate them calmly and succinctly, to disprove their nonsense with actual evidence, with cold and hard facts instead of rambling emotional tirades and ad hominem potshots.

To gently and slowly sway the public opinion.

And to those who are capable of doing just that, I tip my fedora and wriggle my neckbeard in ecstatic glee. For you are the ones fighting. I’m just sitting sheltered in some bunker somewhere, doing what I can on my part, as little as that may very well be.

 – Please like, share and subscribe

 – Moiret Allegiere, 17.07.2019

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon:

Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X

Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR

Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184

Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL

Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094

Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:

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YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA

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twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere

Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere

Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret

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