Truth in the age of Deceit:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this by any means.

And that is the truth.

For that is the nature of deceit.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 14.09.2019

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Limited not to escape:

Lonely parkbench blues lowres

Illustration: «Lonely parkbench blues», A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere

Limited not to escape are these dreams of complete liberty. Free-form expressions are denied by hands twisting and churning in feigned anguish, whose mere presence do nothing but waste time over disagreements regarding words judged to be not suitable for use by any but the twisters of hands themselves.

Aghast with sudden pain and thought-pattern-demise and blinking in the bright light of imprisonment, this sheltered spiritual decay of ours cry out in harmonious whispered whimpers, labelling as forces of liberty the same forces that lock the cage, that throw away the key.

Painting with broad strokes across the trembling sky, in black ink resembling soot and smog, a grand unifying manifesto calling the unburdened masses to arms, to fight, to feud, to fracture and dissolve what is, was and always have been through clinically insane trials of men whose only spoken crime is being men.

This manifesto adorn the walls and wails of bedsit-boudoirs under which roof sit fancy-free conformists claiming nonconformity, establishment pawns supposedly pawning the establishment, bound by unparalleled duty to spread the words and deeds and unthinking hate of this new morning of our mourning; a mutually assured suicide on part of both man and woman, on part of the feminine and masculine. Shaded, mumbled, jumbled, words thrown to the plasticine walls of society in a quest for sovereign ownership of the word and words hidden in and around the irrefutable, yet never understood term “equality”.

Smog-induced brain-fever is freely available, delivered with state-sanctioned gratification, with diaphragms vibrating with smug, superior glee. Dutiful neglect of responsibility. It was we who burnt the seas, who scorched the forest to spite the trees, who brought the mirage to the forefront, you see, thus removing any sense of truth and of justice and of liberty for all. Liberty is a pipe-bomb-dream, a long sought and forgotten treasure, a fragment of ages past standing in the way of this new sharp and shining razor-blade utopia.

To speak in tongues and gargled pseudo-intellectual cabbage-talk is divinity. Exhaustion and anxiety now revered by fragile nimble fingers seeking something to do. Drained by her sudden swollen body-odour and shaving her tongue with whiplash-cream, she turns to the camera obscura, proudly proposing personal hygiene to be a patriarchal conspiracy. It is her freedom to be just as fat, sloppy, stupid, sweaty, disgusting as men are.

Muttered words of some hardship or other spread like winged slimy eels beneath the slutwalk-moon and iron skies within this shallow and ridiculous opium-dream of hers. She thinks in terms of his and hers. Yet, surely, surely, surely, his and hers do not exist as anything but societal distractions from the radiant core, the essence that is all of humanity; the blank slate onto which all obnoxious behaviour on part of men is poured, all wondrous behaviour on part of women dripped and dribbled?

What, then, pray tell, is the doom and subsequent judgement of man? To be fat, sloppy, stupid, sweaty and disgusting? To have these shambled cornerstones of voluptuous ideology poured into our ears to ease the suffering and lamentation of the women, upon whose backs the chores and chains of the world left their mark as charred scars of some half-digested slavery?

Slavery making it so that she, now, carried on wings of affluent emotional labour, may soar like a vacuous eagle into the thin night of maladaptive malcontent. For her beak to spread this vile infection, this bubonic plague through spittle draining from her canker-sore eyes into the hearts and guts and golden cocks of men, onto these flat-chested streets paved with gold and oppressive affronts through words and deeds not proper etiquette in the presence of a lady such as herself.

Our illusion of liberty lying sprawled on the ground in some mockery of Christ, one thinks; crucified to die for our sins of masculinity and be buried in the gelatinous blob of intersectional feminism, transcendent academia throwing shade on history and on truth and on culture and on beauty.

Limited not to dreams of cowardly escape are these dreams of freedom and of liberty – to be allowed to speak and utter sentences and structured thoughts that go against the grain, the dominant cultural narrative of these decadent decades of socially engineered gender-blueprint-nonsense. This without the vile and violent milkshake-assaults from haggard street-thugs, soft and frail and weak and meek in the media limelight painting the assaulter as the assaulted, thusly blaming the victim and celebrating the victimizer, with no clarity of vision, focus, truth or sense of reason. Poor victims; fighting the establishment when the establishment is on their side. Detached from reality, pandered too and pampered still, delusions somehow given credence in this poorly painted plagiarized society of ours.

Should these labourers of self-induced coma ever harbour thoughts of more substance and more sense than grandiose hedonistic whispers of affront from some imagined ailment of the sexual interplay, I fear their caged minds would rupture and their spinal fluid leak out through their flaring nostrils.

The twitterati tweet and twatter with all the obscene and obfuscated flirt and flutter of a brilliant raven, perched atop the flaccid bust of a moral high horse just above their chamber door, speaking words that make less sense than “never-nevermore”.

Succulent whimpers from infant-like adults veiled as brave and heroic calls for censorship of hate-speech and thought-and-syllable-and-breath-hate abound in this spectacularly grim shell-shocked utopia. All hate-speech controlled by an unparalleled unified singularity; a cosmological universality deemed singularity by the chosen frozen few who consider it absurd that their calls to kill all men should be considered hateful speech and conduct, not proposed equality in luscious bullshit-peddling. Snake-oil is what it is, was and always will be. A fantastic cure for any and all, no matter the functionality of the thing. It is piss. Piss and ink. Call it what it is, and carry the fuck on.

Freedom does not equal freedom in the minds of so-called freedom fighters fighting for fragile freedom to be free from their own self-imposed frail fragility, bottled by operatic, dramatic, coagulated upper-middle-class snobs as heroic bravery. It equals freedom for them and theirs and their ideological equals, not for the likes of me and you and they and them who dare to disagree with the pussywillow-masses, shaking profusely and profoundly in glass-shoes and silk undergarments, donning battle-helmets of pink pussy-lips so empowering and fantastic; reducing women to their vulva, their vagina, their urinary tract infection and fungal-coated thighs and Venus fly-trap charm. Courage is being weak no matter what. Weakness is being courageous no matter what.

Are there any vaginas in the room?”, she says, to jaundiced cheers and mindless glee and thunderous applause. “Are there any vagina-friendly men in the room?” she carries on, to the same mind-numbing hum-drum, banal as only a room full of drools and dribbles may be; then complain that men reduce women to their vaginas, then complain about objectification, even when referring to women in a room full of women as “vaginas”. Woe unto the weirdness of it all. This is the age of instantaneous insanity, of moral decay through decadence and hedonism; we have it so good that we must have it bad. We have it so good that all must be bad, and we are bored and we are dull and we are nothing but a snake-pit floating out to see, sinking to the bottom, not realising that the only thing we need to do to stay alive is stay afloat. Or, perhaps, perchance, ride the currents of life and calm the fuck down for a moment or two.

Criticism is not tolerated by the equality-brigade, whose understanding of equality is not equality as one should think it is, but equality for those who are of equal opinion as the equality-brigade, engineering equality in equal measures to the equal opportunity destruction of society. All speech to the contrary of their definition of equality is akin to the clenched fist of a neo-nazi Obersturmbannführer wishing each and all a grand day and a free speech, thank you very much. A Nazi, a fascist, a true scum-fuck, is anyone who wishes that everyone should be allowed to speak and to listen. Whilst the true liberal view of liberty and truth and justice for all is the denial of the right to speak and listen for those who do not think as the equality-brigade and their vacuum-cleansed sense think. Hell hath no fury as a feminist scorned by someone disagreeing in a civil manner.

It is so painful, this lack of diverse thought in the dawning of our age of diversity; a clouded muddled mind shared by thousands upon thousands, the same thoughts and meaning and feeling and sensation, a shared experience, mutual as mutual may be, sound of mind and sound of heart and sound of body, yet hard of hearing, hard of seeing, hard of thinking anything but the buzz of the hive, the drudgery of the colony the beep and bloop of the collective.

This present-era diversity is doubtlessly good. As long as the immediate knee-jerk reaction of the eyeballs see representations of women and minorities, the rest do not matter. A superficial brilliant diversity in this dawning of diversity, diversified in appearance but not in thought by the might and power and influence of clawhammer-feminism, whose wisdom veiled the truth behind incoherent moutwash-gibberish, exposing cleft palates of distinguished beauty within their salty attack-wombs and sagging choke-hazard breasts.

This present-era hypocrisy is doubtlessly of the good and for the good. As long as no-one speaks out in disagreement against the salty brigades or the bonesaw-brutality of their rhetoric, dripping with venom re-named champagne, all shall be well and all shall be good and all shall praise the miraculous coming of the Christess from beyond the slutwalk-moon, from beyond the iron-labia sky, whose reign on this earth shall be the best and also the last, the finale, the end.

There is more at play and more at stake than anyone could have guessed. There is no path nor plan nor ploy nor play more distinguished in their brilliant stupidity than this force now sweeping across the world in a fantastically morbid dance.

This assault on basic liberties – to speak, to think, to express oneself – somehow wormed and wiggled and sucked enough cock to get all the way to the top of the elusive pyramid-hierarchy. A trail of dust and broken shields behind. Free speech is hate-speech. Thusly, hate-speech is not free speech. And those who control the language control the world. Those who control speech control thoughts, control patterns of behaviour, control the domesticated primates in their cages, in their cosy comfort-zone never seen as cages. Now repeat after me: I am free. Must be free. I can not see the bars and chains, now can I? Nor can I see the door closing shut, the roof falling in, the walls closing in around me. Individual freedom dies slowly. Bit by bit. So slow, that we do not see it go.

Limited not to escape is this dream of freedom; of emancipation from tyranny. To wish all and one the same freedoms as one wishes for oneself is the basic humanitarian approach. Not to curtail someone else’s freedom to elevate ones own, but to allow for the possibility that people dance to different tunes, and tread different paths than oneself, and that this truly is no problem, no matter how vehemently one might disagree. That this is cause for celebration: the diversity of ideas and of opinion; the battlefield upon which they are tested and tried and trialled.

In this evening of our society, this autumn of our civilization, a boot is stomping on a human face, forever. And the ones who are doing the stomping cry to the ones who are being stomped that they are oppressing the boot and foot with their face and head. The face and the head is denying the boot access to the ground, you see. And so the boot must stomp harder, the face be more pliable.

People do not think. people react. people do not consider. people act. Immediately, without pause, without glances, without second chances, without consideration for the fact that denying someone the right to express their views for fear of hate or fear of hurt feelings does not reflect kindly upon those who wish to suppress the basic liberty of speech and thought and expression of someone else. And who defines hate, and who defines truth, and who defines sanity in our mass-deceived societies? To the victor go the spoils.

People do not think further than the tips of their noses; do not have the self-awareness and introspective power to realize that they might be wrong. That these calls for the limitation of speech and expression should never hit them in the backs of their heads or in their drooling moron-mouths for they – they – they themselves are never in the wrong; self-obsessed and vain modern-era narcissists are they; gazing in the mirror admiring their own beauty, gazing at their mind-mirrors and marvelling at the beauty grasped from minds and thoughts that never stray from the trodden path, the accepted path of societal discourse where white men are bad, women are good, and minorities are stomped under the heel of the ever-affluent patriarchy, sometimes known as the kyriarchy, omni-present and elusive as fog, as mist, as smoke and mirrors.

Always present, yet never seen or pointed to as something concrete. Just a vague rumour, a susurrus, a rustling of the leaves and breeches of highly offended maidens of integrity and honour.

This patriarchy, who honours men and dishonours women, who elevates men and oppress women, is the same patriarchy that allows for calls to kill all men; that allows any critique of any women saying that all men should be killed to be labelled as hatred of women. For wanting to kill all men is not hate-speech. Attacking the harpies who shout from pedestals of translucent morality that all men should be killed is hate-speech. Under the reign and thumb and crushing weight of the cock and balls of the patriarchy, women shall never be criticized no matter what they say. And men shall have no say in any matter, no matter the matter at hand. This patriarchy who absolutely hates women, this society in which women are treated so poorly, allows for a movement for women and women only to speak on behalf of women and men as genders and as sexes, simultaneously denying a movement for men to speak on behalf of men.

You kerfluffled yet?

Limited not to escape from society is this dream of freedom. It is a dream of values and responsibilities. A future shared in co-operation, where diversity of thought and of opinion is valued, not diversity of shallow superficial traits. Where thoughts and thinking and ideas hold more sway than sex, than gender, than racial traits and characteristics. Where people are judged on the content of their character, not on the colour of their skin or the lack of a cunt between their legs.

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 – Moiret Allegiere, 05.06.2019

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We still remember laughter

A rose by any other name A4 lowres

Illustration: «A rose by any other name would still give you a hangover», A4, 2019, Moiret Allegiere

 
We still remember laughter, we, who once felt alive beneath the blue and slightly shimmering skies of never-ending summer vacations, we who spent our teenaged years poking fun at the absurdities and oddities of it all, we who were alive in this fantastic past; in the summers that seemed to stretch into infinity and then beyond infinity, transcending invisible barriers seen and felt by none and all.

We still remember laughter, we who used to hang upside down by our legs from the street-lamps, bottle in hand, roaring with laughter as midnight came crawling in. We still remember laughter.
We who came to grips with reality through the very simple understanding that we should not, would not, could not take this weird and wacky ride of life too seriously, lest we lose our minds and marbles in the abyss right below our feet.

We still remember fundamental humour – the fantastic sensation of being able to detach from and, through heartfelt and bellowing laughter, transcend, comprehend and come to terms with the grimmer aspects of life – to get to grips with the shadow side of humanity through humour blacker and gloomier than the goth-infused melodramatic doom metal of our formative years.

We still remember being able to laugh at ourselves, to have that shining spark of self-awareness, of self-reflection, of self-irony that made it possible to simplify the process of bettering the aspects of our selves worth bettering through self-deprecating humour; all in jest, and yet serious behind the mask and glowing veils of laughter hitting us all in the chest and mouth and face and ears with joy exuberant and bountiful, telling us in sensual whispers that the most important aspect of humanity is to laugh at oneself first and foremost; that laughter is the one unifying force of the universe.

We, who processed death and suffering just as much as we processed life and pleasure through the same fantastic metaphysical optics of laughter and humour as rejuvenating as the fountain of youth – we still remember laughter.
We, who accepted and came to terms with the grim and horrid spectacle of death, of depravity, of despair, of torture, of tragedy and of terror through laughter and morbid, grim humour, bringing tears to our eyes both serious and simple, making us able to find pleasure and solace in one simple fact of this absurdist theatre that is life: life makes fools of us all, and laughter separates the enlightened fools from the fools living in perpetual denial.

We still remember laughter.

We, whose sense of fun and of humour and of laughter even in the face of personal tragedy were enough to get us labelled as strict nihilists, even in our teenaged years, as depraved, jaded cynics, as unfeeling, uncaring sociopaths with no empathy for, nor understanding of, the plight and pain of others – even when the opposite is, was and always will be the truth.

We still remember laughter.

We who knew, without even having to think about it, that humour and laughter is, was and always will be the greatest weapon humanity has ever had – the greatest tool in existence to tear down the walls between us and the vast empty void of existence – to separate us from the empty black pit of despair that lies lurking just behind us in times of trials and of tribulations. We still remember laughter.

Oh yes: we still remember laughter, we who dwell in the realms of unsolicited giggles, sniggers, snorts and various ululations of merriment and joy.
We who still remember giggling in principals offices when, having been caught in some trespass of authority or other, the hammer of judgement was coming down and we cleared our nervous system of nervous trepidations through barely contained humour, perceived, perhaps, as lack of respect, but being quite clearly a mechanism to detach and deal and cope.
Oh, yes: we still remember laughing at the absurdity of it all, at the great abyss that awaits us all at the end of our life. How should one – no – how could one come to grips with the finality of death without being able to laugh at it? How does one keep the joy of life alive when faced with the absolute inevitability of death?

Remember laughter.

We still remember humour.
We still remember laughter.

And we still remember the hushed voices, the looks of discontent, of disbelief, of quit-it-you-punks from those who did not see, nor care to understand, the amount of elation and salvation lying hidden in the simple act of laughing and seeing the light shining through the darkness which seemed to be coming down in full fucking force – to laugh, to laugh, to laugh and as such to understand, comprehend, process and become whole once again after tragedy struck and then be prepared for when tragedy will strike again. A coping mechanism for the enlightened individual, who has realised how laughter is used and at what – or at whom – it is aimed, when and where and how it actually works, a fantastic ability to find something to laugh at, even in the grimmer moments of life, even when the entire world crumbles and falls to the ground around oneself – this one core strength of humanity stands unbeaten still, in the era of censorship and hurt fee-fees.

Still we will remember laughter.

We remember still, in nightmares fuelled by grim spectres floating by and atop and underneath us all, the voices telling us to not laugh, to not crack jokes, to not bring our sense of despair to a fantastic boil-and-let-the-steam-go through bursts of unhinged, unbridled, unstopped emotions, bellowing at the top of our lungs, roaring with magnificent laughter, grim as grim may be maybe, but turning the grim realities of whichever topic was at hand on its head and making us understand and come to terms with it. And the cultural fever-dream we inhabit dare make the claim that men do not deal with their emotions properly! Maybe it is them who do not deal, but choose to hide neuroticism and inabilities to cope with difficulties behind a mask of severe offence; telling others to not cope as they see fit because they themselves are unable to deal with their emotions in a functional and healthy manner; making others submit to their will and whims and flights of fancy instead of learning how to deal with things themselves.

We still remember laughter – Even when displeased looks from teachers or from parents or from passers-by made it clear that this was not suitable, this was not the proper way of dealing with things – that it was, in fact, better to keep the mask of silent subjugation in place and not to laugh, never laugh, never crack jokes darker than the dried up chambers of a politicians heart to lighten the mood and turn it upside-down and inside-out for our benefit and for the great and grand and glorious lightening of the mood.
There are plenty out there who do not deal with life, who take life far too seriously and as such are unable to comprehend the extreme pleasure, the fantastic catch-and-release of emotion that laughter, humour, merriment and dark, morbid grim and final jokes make possible.
Those who cling to suffering like the last few drops of wine cling to the side of the bottle, refusing to come out and play.
Those who are scared, who are trapped within a prison of their own design, who will not, can not, dare not transcend difficulties through laughter and as such refuse others the joy of transcending, understanding and coping through laughter.
Those who wish to subjugate others to their will instead of appreciating the perspectives and coping-mechanisms of others, those who impose their will and lack of humour and understanding and remembrance of laughter upon others because they deem themselves to be above those who transcend the realms of suffering for subconsciously wanting to stay trapped within suffering.

Those who do not gaze into the darkness will never see the light shining within. Those who are unable to laugh or to let others laugh for lack of understanding and of comprehension of the very human urge to transcend tragedies, travesties, torture and terror will never understand and will never fully see the full release of terror from themselves, because they refuse to see themselves fully and wholly; they refuse to understand that laughing at suffering is not a mockery of those who suffer, but a mockery of those who make others suffer. That laughing at those who make others suffer turns a tyrant into nothing but a fleeting joke, an effigy that burns just as easily as any other effigy, that laughing at evil acts and deeds is not a laughter aimed at those who are made to suffer from said evil acts and deeds, but a disarming of the evil in and off itself; a way to make the darkness less dark, a fleeting candle in the dark which will light the way and make the darkness easier to get through.
Comprehension of the dark through the shining beacon of laughter is a very real thing, and something that should never be made to disappear.
Why do you think that tyrants always crack down on jokes made at their expense? Why do you think that humour is the first to go in the great purge, and yet the first – maybe even the only – thing that survives and raises its head once again from the remaining ashes of the purge; blowing, as only it can, on the embers of hope?

Oh yes; we still remember laughter, we who were told that our jokes and our humour was unsuitable, we whose jokes and whose laughter was suppressed by miniature tyrants who themselves were unable to crack a joke or smile a smile at the expense of themselves first and foremost, whose neuroticism enabled them not to have a crack and a go at themselves, but enabled them to crack down on the coping mechanisms of others because the mechanisms of others did not align with the un-lubed mechanism of their selves, all fragility and hopelessness and despair when faced with others who made coping with the dark and the shadow and the abyss a simple matter of catch, release, let go through laughter.

We still remember laughter, even beneath these oppressive skies of do-not-laugh, do-only-weep and do-not-be-humanity.
We still remember laughter, even in the face of those who wish to make fully automated machines of us all, who wish to dictate what is and what is not funny.

We still remember laughter.

And we still remember the class-room saints who proclaimed loudly for one and all that they were offended – highly offended – by our fits of laughter when watching videos or hearing tales read from ancient dusty tomes of wisdom of some tragedy or other, be that tragedy personal or societal, from something that happened and which we, through our laughter and through our cracking of jokes made easily digestible and as such something possible to understand, something whose claws would not dig deep into our shoulders and make a burden of itself and thusly a burden of our life.

We still remember jokes and humour and laughter and – most of all – being happy to be just where we were.

We still remember laughter.

Even in the here-and-now, where it is nigh impossible to laugh and nigh impossible to smile lest the full frenzied fury of the mob comes cracking down.

We still remember laughter.

Even in the here-and-now where the politically correct madness is rampaging through our very humanity, being arrogant enough as to proclaim that our way of coping with difficulties is inappropriate, even when the justice legionaries takes a sledgehammer to our teeth and vibrating diaphragm.

We still remember laughter – even when facing down totalitarianism reaching into the core of our being, cracking down on jokes said to be offensive as if those who are able to laugh in the face of tragedy are the ones at fault, not the ones who are unable to do anything but sneer and frown and grimace with self-aggrandizing dissatisfaction.

We still remember laughter, those of us who were able to, and are able to, come to terms with the very simple fact that we are all going to die, and as such, it is best to enjoy oneself and deal with the suffering and pleasure of life simultaneously, drawing strength from the one fantastic force that we all have in common, the force that ought to unify us and make us see both each other and our selves mirrored in a shining smile, overcoming any-and-all through laughing at the absurdity that is life.

We still remember laughter.

 

  • Moiret Allegiere, 27.03.2019

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Communication Breakdown. Situation FUBAR:

Portarit of the artist with a small dog A4 lowres

Ill: «A Portrait of the Artist with a Small Dog», A4, 2019, Moiret Allegiere

 

It is easy to fall prey to an overwhelming sense of loneliness, hopelessness and despair. An entire generation of boys and young men have been brought up into self-loathing, shame and constant apologetics. This has gone unnoticed and unopposed for decades. Any attempt at opposition is met with rage, hatred, shaming and social ostracising. Because that is peak equality; viewing gender, the discussion on gender and any-and-all to do with sex, gender, sexual relations, violence and so forth and so on solely through the lens of feminism, whilst vilifying and attacking any views to the contrary. Feminism has wormed its way into the collective minds of society as the sole voice of equality, compassion and kindness. To such a degree that it is considered to have a monopoly on the concept of equality itself. Opposing feminism has come to mean opposing the concept of equality, through lies and falsehoods. This can not stand unchallenged.

My generation of boys and young men have been made to stare into the blackboard of revisionist history and have been told the tale of original male sin for which we must all apologize constantly, profusely and profoundly. We have been strapped into spiked seats of learning in classrooms surrounded by, and made to surrender to, the false idea that gender is a social construct solely and that the burdens of the worlds evil must be placed squarely on the shoulders of boys and young men who have done nothing wrong but be born in this time and in this space with this set of genitalia.

We have seen the influx of teachers infused and infected with the holy ghost of feminism; teachers who are incredibly gender biased as a result of this. To such an extent that our schools are made to teach in a manner most suitable for girls and young women whilst giving a split-down-the-middle middle finger to boys and young men who’s testosterone is such that they are bursting with energy boundless and explosive, making them unable to sit still and be quiet for extended periods of time, as opposed to girls. This results in the notion that boys are defective girls, and as such their very nature must be pathological or a symptom of a disease. Fair game, then, for the psycho-pharmaceuticals to be brought forth upon silver trays and delivered to the poor sufferer of testosterone; a holy communion-wafer in the shape of synthetic stimulants to ease the mind, numb the senses and subsequently drug the poor boys senseless so that they sit still, shut up and learn in a way suitable for both genders, social constructs as they of course are.

There is no admission that there is something wrong with the way the schools and teachers teach; that the way schools and teachers teach are heavily bent towards a feminine way of learning. Nope. Of course not. There is nothing wrong with the schools. There is something wrong with the boys. And the incredible wrongful act of being a boisterous boy must be dealt with so that the teachers do not have to deal with the boys, but can focus their energies on boosting the self-esteem and achievements of girls. Strange ideas float around: what if there were more, or lengthier, periods of recess in which boys could burn off all that energy and return to the classrooms fulfilled, calmer and more attentive? Or perhaps a more practical approach to teaching and learning? Seems incredible. Such a simple solution taking the place of dangerous prescription drugs.

Now, should it so happen that girls and women fall behind in some field of study, it is held forth as proof that there is something wrong with our systems of education. That the schools need to be fixed in order to cater to the needs of girls and women so that they do not lag behind the boys. Even when they already overwhelmingly are tailored to a feminine way of learning. Even when boys and men already lag behind in education. No mention there, of course, that there might be some lack of interest in certain fields due to differences in the male and female brain, that there might be differences in the way boys and girls learn. Clearly not. “Differences” have come to be a word that should not be uttered. Because differences infer that one is better than the other, to the minds that claim all things are equal. Instead of viewing differences as a set of both different strengths and different weaknesses, neither good nor bad, merely balanced and unifying, it is seen as a force of divisiveness and horrible, unnecessary competition. All are one and the same, a protoplasmic ooze later moulded solely by societal expectations or lack thereof.

Considering the lack of male teachers, there is little first-hand understanding of the plight of boys in schools. Most teachers are female. In-group preference dictate the behaviour of the teacher regarding both boys and girls. And the boys are taught that they are defective girls and they are told of their inherent privilege and wickedness by a teacher who, more likely than not, grades them worse than she grades the girls (https://mitili.mit.edu/sites/default/files/project-documents/SEII-Discussion-Paper-2016.07-Terrier.pdf) solely due to gender. Furthermore, this is not deemed an example of gendered discrimination, since it has been decided from up-high that you can not possibly discriminate against boys and men on the basis of gender. This is incredibly strange, seeing as gender does not mean women and girls, but encompasses both men and women. But there you have it. Gendered discrimination affects only women and girls. Because the feminists have decided that is the case. And their word is law.

Feminism dictates, the world nods in horrified agreement: gendered discrimination means discrimination against women. Because there exist only one gender – the base level consciousness in us all flowing from the immaculate misconception of our new-found religious path towards salvation – the original gender, O.G. of all human evolution and behaviour – womanhood – the true path towards virtue and proper human conduct – femininity – that which is sanctified and holy – the root of all that is good and true and proper – everything is a social construct, except femininity which is the foundation of all behaviour and humanity prior to the patriarchal designation of gender – of men and women being split squarely down the binary by some vengeful oppressive patriarch of ages past – and reason and dignity be damned.

Thus, one can not discriminate against boys and men on the basis of gender. Even when it is evidently done, time and again. And boys and men lag behind in education in numbers that are frightening to anyone with more than two braincells and the ability to think outside of feminisms frazzled box and smelly shoes. Still there are quotas for women and all manners of aid and help and scholarships and push and push and push to get women into this or that and that or this, at the expense of boys who are already a minority in higher education, or education at all. And yet there are frighteningly few, if any, programs aimed at boys or men to lessen their plight in education and help them make it through. No, no, instead of this, they are met with a barrage of hostility – sometimes covert, often overt, telling them how evil and wicked and tricksy and false they are. Over and over and over again.

Met with this hostility from the educational facilities which purport to give everyone an equal chance at learning, there is no wonder that boys and men fall behind and drop out. We have been told that there is no place for us, that there is no time for us, that our behaviour is wrong and that we – merely by existing – are a threat to women and girls and must do all we can so that women and girls do not feel threatened by our mere presence. We need to change. We need to better ourselves. Women and girls are good the way they are. But men and boys need to change. Men need to help. Men need to be better, get better, always strive to be better, no matter what.

We are told that we must step down, step aside and give women and girls a leg-up so that they are able to reach our level of privilege; that we must do all we can to rush to the aid of girls and women at the expense of ourselves. For the simple reason that we are supposedly given a leg-up already at birth. Odd, then, that we are lagging behind and dropping out and see girls and women be given preferential treatment which, were it aimed at helping boys and men, would be considered a sign of male privilege, a symptom of patriarchy and a product of toxic masculinity and a shining example of sexism by the dogmatic thinking of feminism, unopposed deity and all-natural force of good.

For the virtue of being born with a vagina, doors open which are closed to boys and men.

By the virtue of vulva, we grant thee scholarships and quotas. Verily, we say unto thee, that thou art neither privileged nor preferred, but that thou art oppressed and undesired by thy ailing and ageing pater. Even if thou should receive scholarships merely for thee and even if thou should be placed upon a pedestal and deemed untouchable and eternally clean by all who come within thy sight whom thou should have the power to smite at will, we say unto thee that thou art oppressed; that thou art made to walk in limbo in perpetuity and thusly need all the help thou could possibly receive by the powers that hate thee ever so much to get ahead on the stairway to heaven. Where the boys and the men must walk the regular stairs towards ascension and salvation, thou shall be granted an escalator or an elevator, depending upon thy own inherent privilege by virtue of skin colour. So spake we, the grand matriarchs of the glass-ceiling, we who are known as Thou Art!

One would assume that this incredible strangeness would be seen as the peculiarity that it is. One would assume that, the rules being equally applied since all are supposed to be treated equally, there would be a huge focus on, and effort to, help boys and young men in regards to education. That maybe we should have seen a paradigm-shift in how the schools operate in order to help boys from dropping out.

This is, of course, not the case. Any attempt to help boys suffering in schools are protested by feminists who march in rhythmic pulse-pounding hysterics, jackboot-stilettos and weaponized whining at the ready, in order to show us the error of our ways and tell us how it really is girls who are suffering and that boys need to shut up and step down and throw themselves into the abyss in order to give the girls their breathing space. (https://www.telegraph.co.uk/education/2018/11/16/boys-left-fail-school-attempts-help-earn-wrath-feminists-says/)

And we are caught in their twisted warp-drive, speeding through time and space carried on the mighty wings of gynocentrism who’s evolutionary roots dig so deep into our mutual mud-and-shit-and-blood-spattered development that we do not see it or recognize it for what it is lest we swallow the very bitter red pill. We do not see or recognize it until the blindfolds sewn into our eyes are ripped away following the long and arduous path towards a nuanced and balanced perspective in regards to gendered issues.

*

The bingo wings of the holy ghost of feminism do flap. Every time the bingo wings flap, mighty storms rise and all tremble and all hide in storm shelters built by men, sacrificing all that they may on altars also built by men to appease the deity lest the bingo wings shall flap evermore and the storms never cease. Do you not wish to protect women? Do you not wish to do all you can to provide and protect? Open your eyes and your arms then, and lay down in the ditch at the side of the road so that the path is open to women. And, by women, we mean feminism. All roads shall be opened by force to the rampaging mob of feminist discourse, demonizing and diatribes – all fragrant pools shall be filled to the brim with male tears so that feminists may bathe in them and rub themselves clean of aeons of oppression brought unto them by the Supreme vice Chancellor Grand Dragon Patriarch of the fabled Patriarchy; majestic Oligarch of infinite praise and approval.

The only ones allowed to speak on behalf of gender and gendered issues is feminism. Because the feminists have decided that is the case. Communication breaks down. Any opposition is met with cries of hatred of all women. Even from the ones purporting to love you; friends and family will leave you in the throes of hysterics for daring to oppose feminism, who’s grand virtue is such that they are responsible for all the goods in our societies; who’s grand virtue is such that they invented the sun and the rain, the dew in the morning and the wondrous smell of flowers in full bloom.

All praise due to feminism – for they are the only ones who have brought any form of progress into the decaying and polluted mass-graves of our mutual western history. Oppose it not, lest you be opposed yourself with hysterical cries and misrepresentations of what you are actually saying. Oppose it not, lest you be judged by your peers to be of lesser worth than they are. Oppose it not, lest you be cast from your clan and treated as an unclean pariah for the rest of your days on earth for daring to hold views on gendered issues that are not pre-approved by the dogmatic holiness that is the ghost of feminist revisionist history past. Oppose it not lest you be infiltrated by mind-reading feminists who claim to know more of what opinions you hold than you yourself do. Oppose it not, lest you be stabbed in the heart and left to die by the ones who are supposed to love and support you, while they scream and roar and cry that you are hurting them there you lie, bleeding out on the desolate shores of the empathy-gap. All arrows point toward the holy ghost of feminism; untouchable and above criticism. Oppose it not, lest you trigger someone who’s inability to read and who’s inability to listen to what is actually being said and written takes the form of a vengeful spirit hell bent on your destruction for daring to oppose feminism in all its man-hating glory. Oppose it not, lest the full mad fury of the feminists shall come careening towards you and put words in your mouth which you have never uttered and thoughts in your mind which you have never thought.

Opposing the hatred of men; standing in defiant opposition to the #killallmen or the “Why can’t we hate men” or the #yesallmen, the #menaretrash or the newfound notion that masculinity is pathological is the gravest sin imaginable. Refusing to bend the knee to feminists who gloat about drinking male tears and who consider masculinity to be both incredibly toxic and ridiculously fragile; who consider all men to be rapists bring forth the scorn of society at large. Not surrendering to the notion that male sexuality is predatory and destructive by nature, and that all heterosexual sex is rape means that you hate women and want to chain them to the kitchen for all eternity, to breed children and make sandwiches and do nothing else. Refusing feminism and feminisms claim to be the only ones allowed to speak on behalf of equality between the genders has come to mean that you have no nuance. The only ones with the knowledge and ability, in the current cultural fever-dream, to speak on behalf of both men and women and the struggles they both face are feminists. And if you dare to oppose, you will be assaulted on all sides by rabid foaming-at-the-mouth feminists who have not listened to a word you have said, but have concocted their own meaning from your words and presented their own immediate knee-jerk reaction to your words as the absolute truth of what you are saying, even when you are saying the polar opposite of what they claim you are saying. Nuance is dead. Feminisms paradoxical circular reasoning is born. All hail to feminism; killers of nuance and bringers of immediate light and salvation, who’s words are truth and the only truth allowed to be told, lest you be stripped of any-and-all agency and self-determination. Nuance means nothing, if not viewed through the prism of feminism.

To make myself clear, since what I am saying seems to be impossible to comprehend to minds incapable of listening, reading or understanding: I absolutely believe both women and men face hardships in our faltering societies. I absolutely believe that these hardships are different depending on the gender of whoever is experiencing them. I absolutely believe that issues primarily affecting women should be addressed, just as much as I believe issues primarily affecting men should be addressed. This does not mean that issues primarily affecting women does not also affect men, and that the men affected by this should not be given consideration. Nor does it mean that issues primarily affecting men do not also affect women, and that women affected by it should not be given consideration. That is feminisms way of thinking. Not mine. I hold the contrarian and apparently controversial belief that it is not the job of feminism alone to address these issues as the sole harbingers of truth and justice which they demand to be viewed as. Their history is tainted with the absolute contempt for men so immediate and visceral as to be obscene, if only one were able to open ones eyes to it instead of hiding behind the rose-coloured lenses that show it as only being about equality between the sexes. I also believe that issues predominantly affecting men are tossed aside, to focus on issues predominantly affecting women. Time and again. Or that elected officials consider issues affecting men and boys to be worthy of nothing but a giggle in contempt: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iRWUsn4yyJI&t=27s)

Feminists are not the authorities on equality. They are not the only voice in existence. Feminism do not own the discourse on gender. Feminism do not own the concept of equality. Feminism, just as much as any other ideology, may be critiqued, picked apart and shown as the horrid beast that it is, rotten at the core and so arrogant as to assume to be the only voice able to speak on behalf of gender, be that gender male or female. Any ideology purporting to be the only set of ideas upon which equality may be built shows itself as nothing but vile arrogant authoritarians. The moustache of Stalin is tainted with blood, and so is the braided armpit hair of feminism. I can not imagine our societies accepting any other group highlighting themselves as the only group to speak on a certain topic and not being attacked for the sheer unbridled ridiculous arrogance of their position. And yet, feminism is globally accepted as the sole voice of equality and the eternal saviours of humanity; in their own minds dying for our sins over and over again and repeatedly asking why we hate them so, all the while beating us into submission and telling us how evil we are.

I am not a fan of ideologies as a general rule. Chaining oneself to a pre-manufactured set of ideas claiming to know how the world works immediately sets alarms ringing in my head. It is a narrow and simplistic view of the world, immediately imprisoning oneself between the cast-iron sheets of ideological thinking from which it is difficult to stray without earning the ire and wrath of other followers of that ideology, that set of ideas, that unbridled arrogance claiming to speak on behalf of all, even the ones who do not follow that bundle of pre-approved ideas. Thinking for oneself is a far better alternative to ideological thinking. But then, one must also take responsibility for those thoughts and be prepared to face full frontal assaults as a result of straying from the trodden path of societal discourse.

I know with absolute certainty that nothing I have stated here matters, in the grand scheme and schism of things. I can explain why I oppose feminism. I can point to statistics and quotes, ideas and writings, the foundation upon which feminism rests. I can put all the reason and logic, or even emotional appeals, I want behind my opposition to this ideology. I can point to facts, to obvious injustice, to clear and utter contempt and hatred for boys, men and masculinity. I can showcase misandry in news, in writings, in state funded colleges, schools and universities. I can point out how masculinity is viewed as toxic and pathological, how professors of gender studies teach contempt and hatred for boys and men and masculinity to impressionable young minds in hallowed halls of academia. I can show how male sexuality is demonized and simplified, vilified and seen as impure. And it will not matter much. Because minds that are already made up due to the ideological group-think of feminism, who has deemed feminism the sole saviour of humankind, will only ever see in my writings and in my statements what they have already decided is there: hatred for women and contempt for the mere notion of equality, even when I state time and again that this is not at all what I am preaching, saying, meaning or thinking. And the reason is simple: feminism has decided that feminism is the only voice, the only authority, the only path towards equality. And the world bends its neck and its knees in submissive agreement to such an extent that opposition to feminism will have you whipped out into the deserts as a sacrificial goat to appease the hive-mind of feminism.

Someone in the wild deserts of the internet compiled a great list of links. I am linking to it here, in archived form: ( https://archive.is/Ik7z3 ). Take a look, when you get the time. It is sure to be eye-opening, if one have eyes willing to open.

What words and what messages are in my writings do not matter in the slightest to a mind that has decided to read what is already written in his or hers mind when met with opposition to feminism. Only the ideological lens matters, and both truth and the original message written, spoken or thought be damned.

All communication breaks down in the shadow of the holy ghost of feminism. Situation is Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. Nuance is dead. And feminists are the ones who killed it, whilst claiming they hold the nuanced view as the only ones allowed to speak, do or think anything in regards to gender and gendered issues. The incredible spectre of nuance shown as a mirage of one-sidedness; both the shadow and the light emanating from the same source: two sides merging to become one side, claiming duality and showcasing singularity.

– Moiret Allegiere, 02.02.2019

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Zero-sum Empathy

nightwatch lowres

Ill: «Nightwatch», A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere

«The torture never stops», Frank Zappa sang, way back in 1976. He weren`t wrong. In this synthetically manufactured drugaddled world we inhabit, empathy has become a zero-sum game to the cultural conversation; a societal good that must only ever benefit women. More often than not at the expense of men. It is as though empathy is a natural resource, limited in its bounty and as such not available in plentiful supply. I find this difficult to comprehend, but there you have it.

Somewhere in a Polish mine, male workers dig and carry empathy out of the ground on their bent backs, burdened by the weight of it crushing down on them. It is then doled out in limited quantities to those most deserving of it. Not women, not men, but the ones which feminism deem deserving of empathy: the ones who work for the cause of feminism according to their ability are given according to their needs. A maddeningly twisting and turning road criss-crossing the whitewashed castles where empathy is accumulated in great stores and delivered in small quantities to those in dire need of this natural resource.

Not everyone can receive empathy. Responses are dead-panned ridiculous. «What, you want empathy? Well, suck on your thumb and go lick a lemon, this empathy is for the whamens!» The weird fractioning of our societies is born from the tainted shivering skeletons of destructive class warfare. Pitting women against men and men against women in a continually escalating war, born from the stinging sensation that men are oppressors by nature. And as such, men are not deserving of empathy, love, care or consideration by their very nature.

The apex-fallacy back at it in full fucking swing. I`ve got them ol` cosmic blues again, mama, my back is bent and troubled and I ain`t got no home and I ain`t got no job and my children are missing in the crossfires of mad divorce, but it don`t matter because I am privileged here I lie in the gutters sucking on a bottle of dubious homebrew in an attempt to keep warm. Can I please receive some empathy?

Nope. You are a patriarchal oppressor. Sorry, brah. Now check your privilege.

Empathy is a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. It is reserved for the plight of womanhood. What? Did you honestly believe that you would garner some empathy and understanding for your troubles? No need to make yourself out to be so pitiful. Are you unaware that somewhere out there are people who actually believe that women should not get statefunded abortions brought to their bedside and delivered by caring hands by the hundreds? How can a privileged male expect empathy and understanding when this atrocity of opinion is unfolding before our very eyes and quivering lips? Get rid of that fedora. Go shave your neckbeard, shitlord.

Expecting society to show empathy for troubled men and boys is misogyny by the bucketload; shit and filth dug up from the trenches of gender warfare. Bullets flying by at ridiculous speeds. Coarse screams of pain. Vivid visions of dismemberment. Death and destruction. Pure filth.

Raising concern for men and boys take away from the concerns raised about women and girls. You have to know this. Empathy is a zero-sum game. And the mining of empathy must stop at some point, the stocks must leave the crippled hands of the Polish mineworkers, all grey of skin and bent of back from the laborious process of extracting empathy from the miraculous beating heart of Gaia herself; the essence of all empathy. To consider both men and women would be a task impossible in scope. There simply is not enough empathy to go around. Please leave your empathy at the door. The door just so happen to open up into a orphanage for girls. Or a battered women`s shelter. That`s where it belongs: with the women and with the girls. Boys and men can go fuck themselves in the gutters and be raped by angry needles. Or was that angry beavers, screaming and drooling madly into their faces as they raise concerns over this unequal doling out of empathy?

I`m talking, fuckface.

Shut the fuck up.

Ok then, you venomous harpy. I`ll shut up. Now, please show me the loving, caring and empathetic nature of womanhood you scream so loudly and passionately about, with spittle flying from your plasticine eyes and insane unblinking contempt vibrating in harmony with your shattered chakras. Ohm Mani Padme Harumph. Bah, humbug.

No?

Did not think so. Denying half of the human race empathy is par for the course when looking for the fabled land of equality, all mad frowns and guttermouth trolls. Sun rise, sun shine, but it shines only for thee, whereas the bells do toll for me. And the trolls don`t turn to stone in the sun. It merely solidifies their scorn and contempt.

See, I have tried and tried again to comprehend how talking about issues disproportionately affecting boys and men somehow detracts from talking about the issues affecting women. And I have failed to reach any level of comprehension in regards to this mad intoxicated whiplash-logic. In particular when feminism claims to work for the wellbeing of boys and men as well as the wellbeing of girls and women. Equality between the sexes. That is what feminism is all about. That is their doctrine. Too bad equality does not mean equality. Equality equals women. It is a one way street in a one horse town with one street.

How exactly does feminism help men and boys? Point me in the right direction, please. Is it by telling them that they are scum for wanting to sit in an audience listening to someone talk about the mental health of boys and men, in order to comprehend the suicide of a near and dear friend? Or by telling them that their nature is pathologic? Is it by being a «nasty woman»?

Fucking authoritarian hypocrites.

It`s like watching a mother who smokes five packs a day berate her son for smoking. The habit is picked up somewhere. If feminism do not want to be attacked as an ideology, perhaps they should not attack men and boys as a gender. See; here`s the major difference: feminism is an ideology. A set of ideas to be followed dogmatically and blindly. No idea is above scrutiny and no idea is above criticism. One choses to wear the labelled blindfold of feminism. In chosing this dubiously transparent label in order to work towards what one perceives as equality, one has chosen to think as the hive thinks. One has chosen the path of least resort, the path that grants the benefit of being able to attack with impunity and immunity all those who oppose. Because, after all, it is only about equality, as the manipulation of discourse dictate.

By being born male, one does not chose to be born male. Men are not an ideology to be attacked and picked apart, even if the feminist gobblesmack-theory theorizes that this is the case. No. Asserts. They assert that this is the case. Women are not under attack when feminism is attacked, even if the feminist douchebaggery deem it so. Feminism is under attack. Feminism may own the discourse and they may own the establishment. However: feminism do not own women and they do not own men, and more and more men and women are waking up to the nonsensical screech that is the choir of the feminist illuminati; the establishment pretending to fight the establishment, all jargon, false statistics and gibberish.

Oh, but feminism is not a monolith! Yeah yeah – fuck that bullshit right up the ear and infected sinus. What a great excuse to ignore and falsely push away the damage done. You know what is not a monolith? Men are not a monolith. And yet, men are treated as such by virtue of birth. The future is female. Men must be reduced to about ten percent of the population. Or placed in concentration camps. That`s how it goes. Welcome to obscurity; picking out, picking apart, hiding the shadow under the light and covering the light in nights of bloodstained satin.

Poisonous fumes are rising from the toxic wasteland following the devastating impact of the estrogen-bomb; talking about mens issues detract from the issues of women. OK, then. Is that a admission from feminists that talking about female issues detracts from male issues? Or are the rules – such as they are – designed in just such a way as to only work one way? The mindnumbing arrogance of it all, the maddening double standards. It is astonishing in its cruelty and belligerent abuse. Dialogues are not designed to be monologues. Feminists would do well to learn this. And if, as feminists loudly proclaim, men have no idea what it is like to be a woman… well, then women have no idea what it is like to be a man. Feminists least of all.

Feminists should not be the ones to speak on issues affecting men. They claim to do so. They claim to be the only ones who should do so. They do not. And they are not. Then they shut down our conferences and shut down screenings of the Red Pill movie, simultaneously claiming that they do not and that the opposite is fact. Even when proveably not so.

The mask is failing. They are in their deathtrows, fighting for dear life. The lies are becoming obvious and the hatred brought to light by their best and brightest shine through the dewy mist of equal mornings, bringing with it droplets of reason and empathy for all trickling slowly down onto the fresh grass of non-feminist discourse in a deafening roar of thunder and a blinding flash of lightning.

Strange how this transparent hatred and contempt have managed to keep its place in the heads and minds and thoughts and feelings of our cultures as the true battle for equality. Absolutely incredible how the doublespeak and doublestandards are not picked apart at a grander scale than it is. How the claim that womens issues are not properly adressed is taken as fact, when it clearly is not fact. It is the issues of men and boys that are not taken seriously. Look to the suicides. Look to the homeless. Look to the funding for shelters for victims of domestic abuse. Look to the statistics on domestic violence to see through the broken prism of feminist doctrine.

Whenever these issues affecting men and boys are raised, the feminists come careening in, screeching and hollering on prime-time television how these men are nothing but a conglomerate of misogynists and foul patriarchs firing cannons of vile abuse at women. Sure, sure, men kill themselves more than women. But women attempt suicide more. So, really, we should be talking about how this affects women. Sure, sure, it is mostly men who are victims of assault and violence. But it is men doing the violence. So, really, we should be talking about how this affects women. If, failing that and being unable to show women suffering more, the conversations twists even more. Then the egalitarian foglights come on, and the feminists say that this is not a gendered issue. That we should show concern for both genders, so why are we only focusing on men. Herp-derp, twist, turn, manipulate and carry on.

I absolutely believe that issues affecting both men and women should be taken seriously; that both men and women should be shown the same levels of empathy, understanding and funding. It should, however, mirror reality. Not ideology. The levels of empathy, understanding, funding, what-have-yous are doled out by ideologues sheltered from the reality of the world inside a hugbox handcrafted from diamonds, not by reason or sanity or truth. And any attempt at addressing issues affecting boys and men with state-funded grants of care and compassion are shouted down, disrupted and ripped to shreds by feminists; the choir invincible. Because «What about the whamens?!?», showing their true nature and showing that they believe mens conferences take away from women because they themselves aim to take away from men with their actions and with their calls to action. Psychological projections aimed straight at the cinematic canvas of public discourse. «We do this. Therefore they must do this.» They show themselves time and again completely incapable of comprehending that other people do not think and act like they do. Their mask comes of, showcasing with religious fervor their inability to think outside of group identity. Time and again, this happens, and time and again we are told that it is only a few feminists, that they care about the genders equally.

Well, the lies are rising to the top of the stagnant pool and the masquerade is ending, showcasing the egotistical beast underneath – the spoiled child that never grew up, never reached emotional maturity – the child that enjoyed tormenting others at school, and then ran crying to the teachers that they were attacked when the tormented victim finally struck back; the spoiled child that was believed by the teachers contrary to the evidence at hand, leaving a innocent boy behind, distressed, chewed out by the teacher and crying eternally internally for the obvious lack of empathy which he must now carry with him for the rest of his life, showcased by a society which proves to him over and over again that it does not have the slightest bit of empathy stashed away somewhere for him.

– Moiret Allegiere, 26.01.2019

______________________________________________________________________________________________

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Lashing out, lashing in, let me begin:

transcendence 2 a3 lowres

Ill: «Transcendence #2», A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere

 

This is going to be a relatively long one. Grab a drink, buckle yourself in and get comfortable.

Last night, (14.01.2019) I woke at five in the morning with the horrible sensation of not being able to breathe properly. A reasonable person would probably have taken this as a sign of some difficulties with the heart; a cause for great concern and an immediate evacuation to the halls of healing provided by our health services. Not me, though. I engaged in deep breathing until it passed, and then I fell asleep again, and woke with the mindshattering sound of my alarmclock going of three hours later. A reasonable person would probably consider my actioan in this instance to be of some concern; a sign that I am not taking my health seriously. The truth of the matter is that I am used to waking up like this. There is a lingering subconscious panic and dread somewhere in the dark recesses of my unconscious psyche still; a vague voice whispering that I am not yet, for lack of a better word, fulfilled.

Of course, these nocturnal bouts of panic and doom has lessened immensely over the course of the past two years. Prior to this, it happened every night and was far more severe. Every night for two years, I woke with what can only be described as night-terrors, and could not get back to sleep no matter how much I tried. The confusion and pure panic in those moments made me fear and avoid sleep as much as I could; sometimes not going to bed at all, but clincing to being awake as though my life depended on it. And maybe it did. At the very least, I belive my sanity – or what little was left of it in those fabled days of yore – depended upon it.

Sitting like that, alone at night with nothing for comfort but youtube and my own random, racing thoughts gave me a lot of room to think. Probably too much room to think. It also granted me the ability, over time, to control my thoughts and fracturing mind. Not as good as I would wish, but better than it ever had or has been. Some good came of it, even if I spent three years, give or take, in a state of constant agitation and panic. It put me on a path I desperately needed to be put upon, though I did not know it at the time.

For a multitude of years, I had been going to therapy. And their way of helping me was to put me on drugs, drugs and more drugs. I was given drugs to counteract the sideeffects of the other drugs I was on, and new drugs to combat the effects of those drugs which were meant to combat the effects of the other drugs. An entire, multicoloured galaxy of uppers, downers, screamers and streamers to keep me sane. That is: to keep me numb and burnt out. To keep my mind from being my mind. Due to the amount of drugs, and the relatively young age at which I was given these, they halted my emotional development and put my life dead in its tracks for several years. Nothing happened. I was sitting in stasis – gaining weight and gaining pessimism and gaining an everexpanding sense of frustration in regards to my life – or lack of life. This frustration was very much subconscious, but manifested in several severely selfdestructive ways. Which, of course, made the psychiatrists give me more drugs. The circle was complete. And the damage was done. And the damage still lingers.

At the time, of course, I believed that the fault for my life going absolutely nowhere was that of my own and my mind, fractured and ruined as I had been told that it was, from seeing shrink after shrink since I was fifteen years old and my teenage temperament, all gloomy depression and confused anxiety, was treated as a severe mental illness. Thus, being told half my life that there was something wrong with me meant that there had to be something wrong with me.

In essence, I was brought up into illness by the hum-diddle school of psychology. This is, of course, not to say that I am not responsible for the poor choices I have made. Because of course I am. My actions and choices were and are my own. There are contributing factors, however. And a lot of those contributing factors stemmed from the psychiatric dissolution of my self through drugs supposed to help me along the way, but who at their core halted my core from growing and developing roots which would gain sustenance from myself. Instead of aiding my growth, they halted my growth. Instead of making me better, they made me worse.

Diagnosis after diagnosis was thrown at me, and nothing seemed to stick. No diagnosis was correct, and yet I was given medications to treat the diagnosis which I did not have, time and again. Faulty diagnosis – medication – faulty diagnosis – medication. And then, of course – medication to combat the effects of other medications. Whenever a certain diagnosis was shown to be wrong, they did not halt the drugs given for that diagnosis. They conjured forth a new diagnosis and gave me drugs for that as well. My medical journal is a confusing mess. As was my life at the time; mirroring it perfectly, all jumbled and confused and frustrating. I could go on about this, but I won`t. I think I have gone on for long enough. I plan to expand on this, and my experience in quitting medication and psychology, at some later point. Maybe as a book, maybe as a series of blogposts. Probably both. Suffice it to say; I learned a lot from this experience through clawing my way through hell.

Now, the reason I am bringing all this up is very simple: it has to do with the mental health – or lack thereof – of boys and men. Or, more to the point – the lack of proper mental health services for men and boys. In particular since traditional masculinity – that is to say, masculinity at all – is now considered both pathological and as an ideology, whatever the fuck that means, by the powers that be. How, then, can a man trust to a mental health service when it deems masculinity itself to be at the root of all issues a man face?

What men are told, then, when seeking counseling, is that he is ill for the simple reason that he is a man. That if he only stopped being masculine, as nature has made him, he would be better. I can not conceive of how that would help him in any way, shape or form. Picture this scenario:

Therapist: So, what`s bothering you?

Patient: Well, I am feeling suicidal. My life is going nowhere. I can`t find employment and I can`t find any field of study to enter.

Therapist: Why do you think that is?

Patient: Well, they have these gender qoutas that is favouring women in my chosen field. And due to this, I can not find employment or somewhere to study despite being qualified and having tons of experience.

Therapist: Do you think this is a bad thing?

Patient: well, yes. I think the ones that are the most qualified should get the job.

Therapist: Do you not think women are qualified to work in your field?

Patient: Not when I am more qualified than they are, no.

Therapist: That, I think, is your male privilege speaking. You are so used to getting the world handed to you on a platter due to being a man, and now you are struggling to comprehend this loss of privilege.

Patient: what? No – I don`t think that is…

Therapist: Why are you so scared of gender equality?

Now, of course, this is probably a case of hyperbole on my part. But it drives the point home. Imagine seeking help due to self-loathing and suicidal tendencies, and then being told that your very nature is the cause of your issues. And then being told that it is not even your nature, but a social construct – a supposed ideology of masculinity – that has sown the seeds of your discontent. Now imagine being a young man. Or a boy. Seeking counsel and guidance for the same, impressionable as all hell and confused from the raging tide of hormones which only puberty can bring. This therapy and poor counsel can only breed more confusion. You are not you, they seem to say. Your nature is not in your nature. Moreover – that which is not your nature and which is not you, but which you still cling to and which still defines you – is toxic and destructive at its core and need to change. And this change, it seems, is not to help you grow, but to help the rest of the world grow.

Through counselling you are beat into servitude, one phony concerned sentence at a time, smooth as a serpents hiss, all forked tongue and whispered promises of betterment; if only you would understand your inherent toxicity and privilege, all would be well. Considering that men are the group most at risk for suicide, this does not bode well for the future of men.

This is not science. This is ideology parading around town masquerading as science. It is beautifully crafted; vile hatred of men and masculinity clothed as great concern for boys and men. I can not even begin to fathom how telling a young man who is struggling with suicidal urges – or a grown man, for that matter – that the fundamental reason for his suicidality is, in essence, his fundamental being, his very core. Couple this with the constant reminder – through massmedia, through social media, through schools and education, politics and parliament, through jobs and through parents, siblings, friends and family – that men are inherently bad, that there is something wrong with men, that men need to change for the betterment of all… You`ve got a recipe for disaster. Either individually, personal and private, or socially, public and societal.

Not only is a man told that he needs to change, he is told that he needs to change for the good of all, not for the good of himself. That his own emotional wellbeing takes the backseat to the emotional wellbeing of the world. And that his hurt hurts the world more than it hurts himself. He does not matter. Even when it is his wellbeing that he pays with blood and sweat and tears to be guided towards. What he is supposed to say is quite simple: «Serviam».

I will serve.

At the expense of myself, I will serve.

Which is, honestly and funnily enough, the traditional expectations levvied at men all the way from the beginning of time. What was that about the ideology of masculinity; the toxicity of traditional masculinity? Hah! It seems we have gone full fruitless circle once again. Now, imagine a girl or young woman going into therapeutic sessions and being told this; that her very nature is what is wrong with her. Can you imagine what levels of foaming-at-the-mouth-and-crotch outrage we would have seen then? And, I would like to add – rightly and justly so.

My school of thought is that everyone should be treated equally, regardless of gender or sexuality or colour of skin or what-have-you. This, it would seem, is not the school of thought which these self-proclaimed fighters for equality and justice for all is following.

This is, of course, not to say that people should not strive to be the best they can be. Bettering oneself and growing as a human being is of incredible importance, and gazing ever inwards deeply and labouriously is a important tool in doing just that. Know thy self, as the saying goes. When we have a cultural zeitgeist telling men – and only men – that they are flawed and need to change, however, we are at a loss of balance. Selfimprovement is not gendered. Nor is faults and flaws. Every individual, regardless of gender, has faults and flaws and room for improvement. Letting the faults of the world rest solely on the shoulders of one group is disingenuous at best and pure viscious malice at worst.

The outrage at claiming there is something wrong with the very nature of women would be immense. Of this, I think, there is little doubt. Claiming that there is something wrong with the very nature of men, however, is equality and justice made manifest; a social justice feverdream conjured forth from a mass-brainwashed collective psychosis, enginereed and finely crafted over decades. The genders should be treated equally. And so, we must teach men that there is something wrong with men – we must teach our societies that there is something wrong with men and nothing wrong with women. In the name of equal treatment. Summed up thusly: Men bad, Women good. For equality, for justice, for truth and mad pathology. One for one and all for one.

***

Now picture a young man. Confused by the hormones coursing through his body at the peak of puberty. Confused by a troubled upbringing, perhaps, or the loss of a loved one, or a lack of direction. Maybe only confused by life itself, and in need of some guidance and some help to overcome some obstacle or other. And so he seeks counselling. He seeks therapy. If only to gain some perspective, or to vent his frustrations to someone who`s job it is to understand and lend an empathetic and helpful ear. Someone who gets paid to help someone overcome difficult obstacles. And he vents. He opens up. He tells all. And is told that the reasons he feels like this is that he is conditioned to not feel – that he has been cast in the mold of oppressor and tyrant by a society which, apparently, only has his best interests in mind. That he should cast aside his notions of who he is and replace it with who his therapist thinks he should be. And who his therapist thinks he should be is far detached from the reality of who he, by nature, is. And who his therapist thinks he is – tyrant and oppressor, privileged and pampered – is far detached from the reality of who he, by nature, is.

Now, would not this cause more confusion? Would not this fester in his mind like a tumour; growing and growing more and more the more he is told that he is at fault for his own issues by virtue of his birth? Mix the condemnation levvied at men and masculinity by the educational system which he is forced through into the mix, toss the misandry imposed upon him through the news which he absorbs and the girls in his class into the cauldron, stoke the fires with politicians telling him that he is evil incarnate and that he has no real issues to worry about and that he should bend the knee to help girls and to help women overcome the obstacles which he is directly or indirectly responsible for by privilege inherent from birth. And now, bring it to a boil with a family which tells him the same.

Burnout.

Washout.

Done and dusted.

Cleared, cleaned, clinically insane.

And this is what our culture celebrates – a constant demonizing of men for the perceived benefit of not the men in question, but the world around them. And we dare paint this travesty as being of benefit to boys and men. We dare paint it as a major benefit, which sees boys and young men dropping out and burning out, not participating nor launching, but washing up on the dust-and-cobwebbed-bedecked shores of our cultural wasteland.

Any voices raised – by the boys and men in question, or by others concerned – in opposition to the proposition that boys and men need to be socially enginereed into useful objects, helpful to all but themselves, is shouted down and held forth as a shining example of exactly why we need this misandric turn of page and phrase, this hatred disguised disgustingly as concern. It is a lose-lose situation. For boys and men.

What the claim is is of course: oh, no, it`s not all men. (Excepting, of course, when the same voices shine through the fog with a beacon saying #yesallmen) It`s just the bullies and the rapists, the harassers and the violent carriers of toxicity, of the virus of masculinity. If you should feel offended by the message, it means you are one of them and so you prove the point of the message. Clever. Very clever. It`s that worldwide emotional manipulation poking its bedazzled head out of the sand again, turning the victim into the victimizer. Agree with the message, and you are a good man and it is your job to stop other men behaving toxically. Object to the message, and you are one of the bad men and proof that the message need be told. One man is responsible for the actions of all men, which is to say that all men are responsible for the actions of one man. When that action is bad, that is. Flip the script, and you will learn that one woman is not responsible for the actions of all women and that all women are not responsible for the actions of one women. If they are bad. If they are good, it is a cause for celebration of all women. Women good, men bad. The bad done by one man is proof of the wickedness of all men. The good done by one woman is proof of the kindness of all women. Nuance is dead. Both men and women have the same capacity for both good and evil. This is forgotten in the gender-wars and the propaganda of the language therein.

A man can not win either way. Either we need to change, or we need to make other men change. To serve and to please, to serve and to protect. Or to kill ourselves in the process; to fail at life and withdraw into the nothing, into the ether. To be drugged unconscious and met with naught but disdain in the public and the private sphere, and being met with naught but distrust and blame-and-shame when we seek therapy and understanding from medical professionals who`s very job is to help and aid. And then to be forcefed a multitude of drugs to suppress our nature, quite literally being turned into mindless inactive zombies incapable of participating in any way, shape or form.

The result is a generation of boys and men turned away at the gates of life; denied the respect and compassion, understanding and empathy which they deserve. An entire generation of boys and men being taught from birth that there is something genuinely wrong with who they are at their very core. This, one would assume, is not proper behaviour towards any group of people. And one would be right in assuming this. Such as it is, our societies need their sacrificial goat – their idol to be shouted at and despised and blamed for the ills of the fracturing world we see before us, and simulatenously being told to fix it: both God and Devil. It is a mass communal unleashing of frustration and the Jungian shadow of humanity itself. The evil and vindictive force within us all. Men are the only group in society upon which this vindictiveness, this hatred, this frustration and this perplexing shadow of our souls and psyches may be unleashed with impunity. And they dare label it as compassion and concern for boys and men!

Don`t believe it? Try throwing the same vile abuse and everchanging demands for change at any other group in our splintering culture, and see how far that gets you. Try telling women as a group that they need to change. Or blacks. Or muslims. Or jews. Or homosexuals. Pick and chose, and see how far you get before the armies come marching at you from the virtuous anthill of the chronically concerned and offended.

This hatred and abuse get internalized by the boys and young men in question. Creating ever more need for therapy and psychiatric assessments of their being and of their ruptured psyche. Yet another of those viscious and vacuous circles manufactured by our daycare-societies. And being met with drugs, disbelief and disillusioning tales of their inherent privilege and propensity for oppression and toxicity in therapeutic sessions from beyond the wide-eyed wonder of the massmanufactured concern-trolling of this noxious fume of feminist indoctrination, they come to believe in the evil of their being. And the mood changes, the mood spirals ever downwards and, in lew of understanding, they are given more drugs. Causing the mood to descend further into the abyss. And the abyss opens wide to engulf them and swallow them whole. Perpetually lost boys floating aimlessly in a continuing vacuum; emotionally flatlined by neurotoxins and with a growing rage and resentment for which there is no release, no understanding and no help.

And as men are drawn towards action in times of personal crisis, they reach a breaking point and lash either outwards or inwards. Drawing from the core of their being; the masculine call to action which has been supressed and denied and labelled as inherently toxic. They snap. As one does, who has stared into the abyss for far too long. Manifested most often in selfharm and selfdestruction – or – more visibly destructive to society as a whole, it manifests as them taking others down with them in a blaze of fire and fury. This is where you get your mass-shooters and mass-murderers, your posterboys for toxicity and hatred.

And then, refining and re-engineering the circle once again, this is a call for the media to write articles on what is wrong with masculinity, holding these individuals forth as definite proof of the fact that there is something fundamentally wrong and defective with boys and men; not showing the least bit of concern for the tragedy which happened and having no qualms in using it as a tool to push ever more anti-male sentiments, stoking the fires already burning under the feet of the young boys and men which are doomed to failure and bound to lose in a society who`s blatant hatred of them is veiled as concern for their wellbeing!

Imagine for a moment what would have happened if these young men were shown compassion, understanding and empathy instead of ridicule and scorn. Instead of being labelled as incels or virgin-losers by feminisms doctrine when they voiced their opposition, or being marked by birth with the sign of the devil; a swinging cock and balls eternally flagellating the poor oppressed under their naturally oppressive nature.

Ave, Ave, Feministas.

This doctrine creates men there is something wrong with. Men ruined and broken by a society which claims to care equally for all, but which shows time and again that it cares nothing at all for men and for boys; a society in which men and boys are told to man up in order to help women and to attack their brothers for perceived trespasses on the virtue of women. Men, you need to help women. Women, you need to help other women. Noone needs to help men; they can help themselves by bending the knee and helping women and only women. That is to say, as stated time and again: by helping feminism and only feminism. Not only that; they are also told that manning up is proof of toxic masculinity; the suppression of feelings inherent in the toxicity. So man up and help and don`t man up and help by not manning up. Only express your feelings in a way suitable to feminisms gold standard. Meaning: express our feelings about men and masculinity, and share our emotions.

I have stared into the abyss of selfloathing myself. For years upon years; indoctrinated into the eternal victimcult, being reminded over and over that it is me and only me that is at fault. That my being is wrong, defective, destructive and hateful. I have been told that we live in a society in which women are oppressed, and I have seen time and again how this is not the case. Yet; I could not see through the veil across my eyes nor break away from the chokechain around my neck. I considered qoutas and affirmative action a necessity; proof of womens oppression when it is, in fact, proof of quite the opposite. Preferential treatment is not proof of oppression. One being treated better than the other – at the expense of the other, I might add – is not proof of the other oppressing the one. It is proof of the one being treated far better than the other by the other, which is claimed to treat the one worse. And, yes, the words «One» and «Other» are used with a purpose in mind. We are othering boys and men, turning them into second-class citizens to be treated with mistrust, and if not mistrust, then downright fear and loathing. And we are turning women into the One, a saving force and perpetual grace; an aristocracy which we must never contradict, never oppose, under pain of social death.

As with most boys and men, I lashed inwards as the abyss stared back into me. And as a result of lashing inwards, I was drugged into oblivion, balancing on a razorblade and tiptoeing through existence with no goals, no mind, no motives, no nothing. Psychopharmaceuticals scorched my neural pathways and burnt a hole into my mind who`s damage still lingers with me, running through my mind and my body in white scorching lines manifesting as chronic pain and chronic fatigue. Still burnt out; four years after ending my days as a drug-mule for the pharmaceutical bliss of our un-empathetic psychiatrists offices. And I am pissed off. Rightfully so.

My days of lashing inwards is drawing to an end. I employ the pen and what little energy I still have left to explore ideas and to lash outwards in a more cerebral manner; employing what explosive energy might linger in the core of my being in an attempt to change minds and inspire others to do the same; to partake in the battle of ideas we are caught up in.

We need to show that we deserve respect and understanding, compassion and empathy. And we must stand still and strong in this storm. And in standing still we move ever forwards on our path to make our societies understand that boys and men need to be met with empathy and understanding, not ridiculed, shunned, feared and blamed when opening up. We need to turn this tide and we need to stand together to do so. What differences we may have in our core values – traditional or non-traditional, conservative or liberal, etcetera, etcetera, need to be forgotten and put aside for the moment so that we can focus our energies towards a greater good; showing that masculinity is inherently good and that men are inherently good. Cooperation across the board is what we need.

There is a mass-awakening to be done. Imagine if boys and men were met with empathetic ears and, through action, shown that it is in fact our current cultural zeitgeist that is flawed at it`s core, not them. We would see far less mass-shootings. Far less men snapping. Far less men committing suicide. Feminst doctrine have created a self-fulfilling prophecy in their toxic masculinity narrative. And, I suspect, they are intensely pleased with themselves about this fact. Men and boys need to support other men and boys. And we need to stop internalizing the constant feedback-loop of hostility and negativity we are met with. Make the feminists live by their own rules by stating, quite simply: «If you belive that the genders should be treated equally, then you ought to start treating the genders equally». Or do not engage at all; there is no use in debating someone who has no interest in listening; who`s only concern is to speak and to have their voices heard at the expense of the voices of others.

If something is OK to be said about men in general, then it is OK to be said about women in general. If it is not suitable to be said about women in general, then it is not suitable to be said about men in general. Use their rulebook against them. Do not internalize hatred. Be strong. Be proud. Be yourself. And never let anyone condition you into believing that your masculinity is toxic. Stand still, holding a candle of self-respect to your heart and whisper to yourself: «Non serviam».

I will not serve.

For the sake of myself, I will not serve.

– Moiret Allegiere, 19.01.2019

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Links:

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You can do better: on crybully asphalt rites and peace without peas.

coffee a3 lowres

Ill: «Coffee»,A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere

 

A wild, wandering schoolyard bully comes of age through asphalt rites of gravel, mud and tears. She grows into the festering mold of mad, rupturing mycellium and hides her own insecurities in the safety of her projection that others are just as rotten and useless as she is. And through her veil of tears we are baptized in the gravel of her cottonmouthed words; a lingering foul odour of death and decay from her abysmal baptismal claws and painted cheeks. Grown up lost in the space-time continuum and seeking no solace in the self, solace comes only from reminding others of how she perceives them to be rotten, not seeing that she only recognizes the rot within herself.

Grounded not in reality but in a frantic mirage of her own design, she realizes that her own faults are not faults within herself but without herself. And so, the entire world needs to change to suit her needs. These needs change according to the flight of migrating birds, or according to the position of certain heavenly bodies of astrological significance, for instance the position of the moon, heaving and pulsating within her tremble-mind of virtue lost yet flashed dead-pan to an unsuspecting public.

And never growing past the point where she believed boys to have cooties, she lingers in statefunded institutions to teach others that boys have cooties still. And to teach her insecurities as objective fact, the closeted close-minded bully constructs gargantuan magical diagrams showing as objective fact that there are no objective facts; that only the subjective experience matters. And that is objective fact, no matter what her preaching choir sings about the dissolving of objective fact. All is subjective, except this which is objective by her design and hers alone.

And her disciples grow and flow along the same asphalt rites in which she herself was baptized in blood and tears and snot and snow; a fearful flight from introspection. The blame lies always somewhere else, and if it is not boys, it is a construct which boys created in ol` boys clubs fifteen thousand years ago, in the beginning of recorded time, subjective as the pitter-patter of tears streaming down the crybully-cheeks of her frail and delicate countenance, showing signs of shaming tactics and of shaming tacticians with magicians words that scream unfounded accusations as brilliant truths, hard as melting snow, solid as fog.

Within her own realm where nothing is truth, no truths will ever spring to mind but the truth that she is, in some way, shape or form oppressed terribly by the powerful cooties that be. The same powers that tremble and shake the very forces of the universe itself to make everything tailored to suit her everchanging needs and whims and flights of fancy. A spoiled child evaporating from the lack of the rod; never being told no and thusly never conceiving of the fact that other people have different needs and different opinions and personalities different from her own, spun round the thimbleneedle of her simpering baby-voice and childlike act.

A muttering, stuttering, perplexed and devouring parent stands over her in moonlit madness preparing ever-and-ever her bed and bedroom-stillness, checking every mattress to see if there is no pea underneath to disturb her slumber and much needed rest, frail and weak as she is. There is no pea, and yet she insists the pea is there, bright as day and clear as the bonefragments in her mirror-brain: there is a pea. If she insists, it must be true. Sorry princess, sorry – we shall bring new mattresses for you and we shall move you to a different room with a different view where no peas exist. And so it is done, and still there is a pea, conjured forth from her subjective manic pathology where all specks of dust grow into cobwebbed multitudes of trials and tribulations to be overcome by her and her alone, which she alone must face, and pity her in the grimness of this nightmare world which she must travail in horrid and deplorable whimsical fancies.

And as one, all voices rise to meet her demands, and proclaim that all peas shall be outlawed, lest they disturb her slumber. That some people might prefer to eat peasoup and object to this banning of all things pea-related is proof without doubt that there is a vast conspiracy to ruin her life for her and only her. Clearly, these people are out to get her and clearly they can not possibly like peas. Clearly, this is some madness they have been told to believe by the cootie-riddled boys of ol` boys clubs which she could not enter in the schoolyard years of her growing and developing temperament. Ban all peas: they are hurtful to her and others like her. And the objections to this banning is proof of this. If you like peasoup, you hate her. And by hating her, you hate all women. Liking peas is likened to hating all who do not like peas, and all who do not like peas are only her and those like her; her tribe of clean and sober right-thinking haters of peas, both personal and public. The logic is infallible in its infinite infantile infrastructure.

Orobouros shall be the symbol of the new dawn. Grand peaburnings are afoot. All cheer and marvel at this wild and tribal magic: the peas go up in flame, and now the world shall know peace at last, and our schoolyard bully, ravaged and ruined by the peas, shall be left in perpetual peace in this lack of peas.

That is, of course, until she notices that there are monsters in her closets when she sleeps. These monsters peak in at her while she is sleeping, and they disturb her sleep and her slumber and her peace of pealess mind. And so, they to must be removed by some stroke of some brush or some sledgehammer-justice doled out to crumbled cabinets and closets lurking in the corners of bedrooms world-over. And the whole thing starts over again. Her subjective knowledge trumps the clear objective fact of the matter. There are monsters in her closets, so we must ban closets. All must be banned, all the time, all over the world, to rid the world of monsters and cooties and emptyheaded disturbances infringing on her rights to sleep in her bed in complete and utter peace, with no peas and no monsters and no peace of mind but the piece that left with the peas and the monsters in the closets.

And who would have thunk it; the ol` boys club to which she protests and objects, which she claims hate her and all the others like her, wriggle in their seats in terror at her terror and, with a wish to protect her as much as her doting, overprotective parents did and do, they conspire to rid the world of her grievances as much as humanly possible. Peaburnings and closet-and-cabinet smashings are now written into law, mandated and enforced by violent thugs marching in uniform synchronicity through streets illuminated by the constantly combusting flames fuelled by her internal combusting engine; the burning of all things which offend her delicate bully-sensibilities and the enforcement of her will by the powers to which she object ever so much; the long violent arm of the ol` boys club which also must be torn down for their constant ignoring of her pleas for pealess peace in perpetuity; her clinging to catatonic cravings for a constantly cabinet-and-closet free cosmos.

Through her wishes and through her immaculate visions of peace from her psychologically projected rot, the world turns clinically clean and sterile. A cleanliness maintained through force via the evaporating deathgrip of a crybully choking the life out of everything; a boot stomping on a human face forever and ever, maintaining an illusion of freedom through freedom being gradually eroded by a voice whispering in cold shivers: save us from ourselves: we can not tolerate disagreements.

Moiret Allegiere, 12.01.2019