Illustration: «In Memory of a Whisky-Hangover», A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere
If you close your eyes and listen intently, you can hear a soft murmur on the wind, a rustling in the leaves and in the bushes.
It is a superb monosyllabic drool and dribble, so softly whispered that you can not be entirely sure you heard it. Yet, it is there, on the wind and the breeze and the affluent autumn leaves as they make ready to fuck off and leave.
Somewhere in time, sometime in space, a sheltered and shameless feminist flapped her bingo-wings, and the resulting push of air from the flapping created vast ripples in time and in space, reaching you now hundreds of years later. The bingo-wings flapped. Now, here come the storm, here come the chaos, unfiltered and unhampered by such things as reason and thorough thought.
It is a perplexing hallucination sent our way, carried on a storm of immense magnitude, and yet, subdued, as if designed and manufactured in such a way that no-one shall be able to see it for what it is. Intelligent design, fantastic world-and-mythology building so complex as to be completely and complexly stupid. Unchallenged, it rises, caught in the headlights of immediate gratification, in the deification and monetization of victimhood, in the current currency of our psychotic state of being.
Her voice, whispered on the wind, on the quiet storm, electrifying the air with spunk and splendour, tells us quietly, in trembling vibrato, that women are oppressed, that women are treated as cattle.
It tells us that women are led to the slaughter, silent and subdued. And, of course, that their voices are never heard above the constant chattering, the drone and background hum, of the voices of men.
Men, she claims, are herding the herd, leading the cattle to their imminent destruction through no ill will of their own, but yet through ill will of grand patriarchs of forgotten times, their viscousness and evil imprinted in their chromosomes and wicked testicles. Mad cowboys let loose to roam the ranch.
Men suffer from an inherited wickedness says she, so inherent and hard-coded, in fact, that men do not see it and women do not see it. Unless, that is, the wickedness is brought to light through the wonderful saints and prophets of the holy church of feminism, whose unbalanced mad cow musings have awakened and enlightened these saints and prophets.
Through their awakening the world shall be woke through the word of their holy spectrometer phantasm fantastic.
Slow and steady come the storm, then settles, then – it never leaves. The whispered voice, the beckoning call to save her and all other women like her from the conspiracy of gender which would see women sold in slave-auctions to the highest bidder were it not for her courage and bravery through victimhood fostered and from the mud of slavery grown.
Such nightmarish visions, such horrible and absolute displays of slave-race tendencies and slave-master dichotomy which all but the awakened martyred victims fail to see.
Soft and tortured voices, hardly more than whispers, rise in fantasies and lies grander than impermanence, weaker than their frail philosophical underpinnings; no longer herded, but heard, a whisper becoming a roar, the silent storm raging now, yet claiming submission, suppression, oppression, severe gendered suffering.
Oh, the heart weeps at how horribly oppressed they are. Oppressed despite the roaring of this so-called herd of cattle heard around the world; the shrill banshee shriek and woollen cry which all and one are forced to hear even through the veil of silence laid across the mouths and noses of these manic, desperate slaves.
How strange it is that this oppressed group is heard so loud and celebrated so openly, so obviously, so blatantly across the world…
How strange it is to hear the murmur, roars and rages of these oppressed slaves and herded cattle; to see it trample underfoot all opposition through tactical bullying, ballistic assault shaming and unbelievable blame-games based on nothing but a concept of original sin rivalling even the wildest and most self-flagellating fantasies of the tiniest Christian sects.
How strange it is to see the tantrums of the supposed slaves be taken seriously, despite the childishness, the lack of verbal communication skills, the lack of adult constraints which one would assume should be present in adulthood. Poor children, let us protect you from the realities of the world.
Far be it from me to mansplain the atrocities of this horrid patriarchy, but one should think that any group so oppressed as to be virtually slaves and literally cattle, should not be heard, would not and could not be heard through being subdued and whipped into silence by their grand patriarchal overlords.
Far be it from me to manterrupt their tantric tantrum tendencies, but it seems to me that their horrid oppressors would do all they could to suppress their voices and push them back into their pens and prisons; back into the nights Plutonian shore, as it were. Take thy beak from out my heart!
Far be it from me to manslam their docile rampant rage to bring a noble truth or two from the eightfold path of universal harmony to the subconscious dissolution of their collectivized egos, but one should believe that, were this group so oppressed, all would be done that could be done to herd them back to the ranch, to bull-whip them into blind and unthinking submission instead of letting their frenzied banshee screams be heard so loud and clear by all and one.
One should think that feminism, were their garbled conspiracy-theory whiplash assault on truth and reason in fact true and built on reason, would not have this stranglehold on everything, would not hold the monopoly on all things gender, would not be defended constantly from every side of everything when facing any kind of opposition and objection to their nonsense and vampiric behaviour. In fact: one should think that feminism would be forced underground, that it would be naught but a silent and silenced underground-movement, were their assertions and stupidity and assertive stupidity true.
One should think that they would not, under any circumstances, be given all this might, money, power, influence and unthinking support. Were feminism founded on facts, we would not hear the banshee scream as loudly as we do. They would not shriek and shiver and roar and rage and be so bold and arrogant as they are. Were women as oppressed as feminism claims, each and every feminist alive would be in jail. Instead, feminist fury forces shutdowns, shut-ups and severe social – and legal – punishment on those who disagree with feminism.
I think they’ve got the skinwalker-blues; they sound human, they look human, but underneath their skin and frazzled hair, the sounds from their mouth-holes manifest gut-wrenching horrors, their shapeless forms hide terrors from folk-lore and legends, old warnings, old truths, old manifestations of the evil that lurks beneath the skin of all and one.
It is the weirdest oppression I think I have ever seen. The weirdest and strangest slavery there ever was, where the voices of the slaves hold more sway than that of their supposed masters, wicked and cruel as they are. It has to be the dumbest fucking slave-owners in the history of slavery – which, by the way, is not limited to Africa and the wicked Europeans you nincompoops – who have forgotten how to master properly, who have forgotten the core tenets of slave-ownership – to put the slaves in their rightful place. That is: to not allow their slaves to write bestselling books about their oppression, elevating them from the depths of slave-poverty to the ranks of the rich and the famous. To not let their slaves create and control a vast global industry, where their chattering voices are heard constantly, albeit somewhat muted by the clinking clank of them counting money! And, of course: to not grant their slaves the power to change the letter of the law to their god-damned, seat-splitting, fat-assed benefit and theirs and their fat-shamed voluptuous shapes only.
Gentlemen, we are doing a terrible job at this patriarchy-business. I move that we discuss this, and possible solutions to this, at our next bi-weekly meeting of the patriarchy. I would also like to inform you – on a personal note – that I have yet to receive my certificate of membership in the patriarchy. I would very much like to see this remedied, as I can not participate in the furthering of the patriarchy without being a card-carrying member of said patriarchy. Thank you in advance. We sure have a lot of cleaning up to do. We’ll have to take it up with Dave from accounting.
The beast of feminism spawned an industry. It gave birth to an industrial complex of self-congratulatory whimpers and whispers, constantly generating money, wealth, power and control through the most brutal means available to them; through preying on our very emotions and our very humanity. To protect and to provide for women.
And never mind the men.
To sacrifice the men.
To count on the self-sacrificial nature of men to protect women to such an extent that they are elevated above men, to be viewed as an unerring aristocracy whose social and moral purity is undeniable and as such the guiding light, shining ever-and-always into the future.
To not have men and women on equal footing, but to have women far above men and claim that it is equality.
To not build upon the different strengths and weaknesses of men and of women, but to claim there is no differences between men and woman and that any difference in outcome is nothing but a product of sexism inherent in the patriarchy, designed to keep women down and keep men up.
To not understand that biological truth trumps socialization, despite playing this biological nature of the thing and things like a fiddle to get exactly what they want.
To not cooperate, but compete, constantly and chronically and claim that anytime a woman does anything for her man, she is oppressed and anytime a man does something for his woman, he needs to do more for her and expect nothing in return.
Through a brilliant play of smoke and mirrors, by creating a reflection of itself as some poor and oppressed creature, our sympathies, our empathies, our love and compassion, protection and pampering go to the rabid beast that is feminism. With all our love and heart-felt apologies, we cave and we do all we can to ease the beasts burden of life.
Pictures of female victimhood sells books by the millions; vivid and vivacious displays of victimhood, whether real or no, whether manufactured or no, sells books and generates money, which in turn generates wealth, which in turn generates power, which in turn generates influence, which in turn generates societal change based on their totalitarian stance of this-is-it and all-or-nothing.
The strange power of feminist-infused female victimhood is such that all will do all we can to stop and to hinder further victimisation of the poor victim, victimized by the brutality of the world around it and the oppressive nature of the system which it inhabits, designed to hurt it as much as it possibly can and – simultaneously – doing all it can so that it shall no longer be a victim.
It is a peculiar paradox; a loop-de-loop of perplexing mental gymnastics and round-a-bout ways of telling us that it is oppressed, despite sitting on a hoarded wealth of gold and riches, despite being in complete control of the discourse, of the debate, of the narrative. Despite governing and controlling and having vast amounts of influence over any-and-all political process. It punches you in the face with full fucking fury, and complains to you that your face hurt its fists. It reaches into your chest and breaks your ribs, then complains to you that your broken ribs cut their flesh. It eats your heart and complains to you about the taste.
It is nonsense.
It is madness.
It is insanity.
It is completely unhinged, separated from any strand of reality we inhabit.
It is a giant fraud that can not stand up to any kind of scrutiny.
Which, I suspect, is why this cult-like industrial complex and complex industrial cult of feminist-dominated female victimhood do all they can to stop it being scrutinized. By telling the world that all those who object and oppose simply hate women, that they hate the oppressed and wish for nothing more than to oppress them further, all the while hating, shaming, blaming and guilt-tripping men into silent subdued submission by their might, their power and their severe influence.
Nothing shuts down a discussion quicker than a claim of foul misogyny. Which, of course, begs the question: how can one claim to live in a culture that hates women when the mere accusation of hating women is enough to shut down any opposition?
And it is so strange and it is so odd and it is so peculiar that those who are so horribly oppressed are the ones who dominate, who govern and control, who have the power to shut down the opposition at their will and their whim and their fancy.
It is almost as though, one would think, this group is not in the least bit oppressed.
A simple thought strikes the vigilant minds and hearts of vigilant men and women that, hey, now, wait a minute – something isn’t right here.
How did we come to this point, where the supposed oppressed and downtrodden are the only ones allowed to speak on this, on that, on tit and on tat, on all the things and do so, all the time, whether we want them to or not?
How is the oppressed the ones who wield the power?
The whole world’s gone upside down, topsy-turvy, weird and wacky.
This can’t be right, surely?
Surely, this can’t be right, truly?
How, in all the cavernous echoey emptiness that is the cranial cavity of feminism, can people look to feminism, the way feminism behaves, the laws they push in place, the rhetoric they spew, the hatred and absolute insanity, the lies and the slander, the filth and the fury, the violence, the bomb-threats, the shutting down, the harassment they do, all without facing punishment, without facing any consequences for their actions, and say – with a straight face, or believe – with a straight mind – that women are oppressed, and that feminism is the counter-cultural force for good and true truth and justice and equality?
It makes no fucking sense.
It does not stand up to even the slightest bit of scrutiny.
It. Makes. Not. A. Lick. Of. Sense.
Yet, the claim is that it is right, that it is correct, that all men hate all women. That, in hating all women, all men do all they can to belittle and oppress women. Even when women as a group are free to say and spew all their abhorrent hatred of men as a group with no social ramifications and consequence.
When the supposed oppressed class are free to say and to spew all their hatred of their supposed oppressors with no social ramification and no consequences, the narrative of oppression is nothing but a smoke-screen.
When the supposed oppressors can not say anything against those whom they are supposed to oppress, the mirror of reality is broken. We are through the looking-glass here, people. There is nothing but madness and stupidity on the other side. Lets not go there. It is a silly place.
The madness from the whispered banshee shriek has spread, and all the world has fallen to its beckoning call for help and aid. When pointing to clear instances where women are, in fact, advantaged, are in fact privileged, are in fact given opportunities, chances, breaks and treatment far better than what men ever have, or ever will, get, this is used as evidence of oppression of women by the nonsensical wail of feminism. Sour grapes do, in fact, make the best whine.
Women getting shorter jail-sentences than men for the same crimes? Nah, man, that means women are oppressed. Because of course it fucking does. As long as that picture of oppression can be maintained, as long as the victimhood-banner can wave high and proud and mighty, flapping on the wings of the feminist storm, everything is oppression of women. Even that which evidently, clearly, obviously is not. Because, women have it worse. No matter what it is, women have it worse. Of course they fucking do.
We are weak and meek and ever-so-oppressed.
Because pictures of women’s victimhood sells books and magazines and gives us might and gives us money and gives us power and influence and powerful influence through money, wealth and power granted us by our oppression gathered from our oppressors, our slave-masters; these hate-filled foul misogynist patriarchs who hate us so much that we have to hate them in turn based on naught but their gender. That we rationalize and defend our hatred of one gender as them being sexist.
Painting period-blood pictures of nonsensical wailing for the sake of wailing nonsensical. Complaining for complaining, so as to be seen as a victim and get them sweet-sweet victim credentials and be taken care of and seen as brave, as clever, as good, as part of all those horribly oppressed who have gone before on the easy path of claiming victimhood so as to gain a foothold here, there and everywhere.
In painting women as weak, powerless, frightened, fearful, anxious and helpless creatures, feminism has created a goldmine.
By their core philosophy, they have manipulated the world and ruined cooperation, ruined the mutuality, the duality, the cooperative nature of man and of woman. The Yin is overshadowed by the Yang, the Yang is eating the Yin, there is not a semblance of balance left in this manufactured wild goose chase that is the war between the genders which is, really, nothing but feminism fighting the concept of gender as-is through emotional manipulation easily summed up as a long and drawn out whine. Funnily enough, they do this by playing on the same gendered archetypes and stereotypes they claim to fight. Men as powerful and dominant, women as weak and submissive.
I can not think of anything more belittling to any group of people than to claim that they are weak and stupid and incapable of doing anything without the help of some external force or other; to claim that they are so small and weak and powerless that they are unable to see that they are oppressed, that hey can not see their own life and lives and value and values, and as such need some other entity to speak on behalf of their life and lives, to decide for them what is or is not their values and their value.
Feminism says, in painted words magically manufactured to make the listener turn aghast with beauty: “Women are so dumb that they need us to speak on their behalf. Women are so dumb that they do not know what they want. But we know. We know what women want, and if women won’t do what we demand, we shall make sure that they do what we demand because, it stands to reason, what we want is what they really want, they are just to stupid to see it.”
Conjure mass-market paperback confusion, in fact, a drug-store book bought to read on the train, the bus, the flight to nowhere from an oppressed class free to spew all the hatred they ever wanted, and then some, against their horrid oppressors. And their horrid oppressors, in turn, do all they can so that the oppressed shall never experience anything even remotely resembling difficulties.
Believe women. Because women never lie. Women are above that, women are not human beings, the feminist hive-mind concedes. Because women are incapable of moral wrong.
If women do something morally wrong, reprehensible and horrible, it is not the fault of the woman, because women are too damn frail, fragile and stupid to take responsibility for their actions and far too meek and weak to act on their own accord. Blame must then be outsourced. And the blame falls on men. It falls on the society that men built all alone on their lonesome, with no input whatsoever from women of course. This despite women always wielding severe social power and influence… “Lips that touch liquor shall never touch ours”, the white feather campaign, and so forth and so on – all social influence, I will add, gained by shaming men into submission. Much the same as now, in fact.
And the beast, the storm, the roaring rage of feminist doctrine forces women to do this or do that. Even when women do exactly what they want. This is the feminist view of women; a stick-figure with no self-ownership, with no agency, incapable of doing anything for herself and by her own design, instead being led and guided by unseen hands because she is too damned stupid to do anything else unless she is awakened to the holy banshee shriek of feminism, who shall blame and shame her until she becomes one of them and takes part in the age old feminine pecking order.
Bow down before the queen-bee, MS. mean girl supreme, the feminist goddess of shrieks and hysteria, of borderline pathology and daddy-issues galore, who tells all other women that they are just as horrible as herself, that they are not at fault for anything, that they are free to blame men – or the society men supposedly built – for anything, and that they shall demand everything without having to give anything in return.
Because women are too damn stupid to know that they are oppressed you know, you see, you feel with all your trembling manufactured anxiety, and men are simply too damn evil to do anything about it.
And women, says feminism, can not understand humour and are too frail to take a joke.
And women, says feminism, do not understand logic and do not understand context.
And women, says feminism, can not make their own choices due to oppression, so feminism must do it for them.
And women, says feminism, must do the work and hold down the jobs that feminism demands of them.
And women, says feminism, are so strong and powerful that they are permanent victims.
And women, says feminism, must live in a state of constant anxiety and fear of men.
And women, says feminism, do not really love their husbands.
And women, says feminism, are stupid and incapable of thinking for themselves.
And women, says feminism, do not know what they want, what they really, really want.
And women, says feminism, are nothing but helpless children.
And women, says feminism, can not handle criticism, can not handle being told that they are wrong. Even when they clearly are.
Because pictures of female victimhood sells books and magazines by the million. Manufacturing victimhood in order to manufacture brave and heroic women standing up in defiance of said manufactured victimhood sells books and magazines by the bucketload, even if the bucket is also filled with shit and piss and puke and period-blood.
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- Moiret Allegiere, 27.04.2019.
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