Reality is a Corporate-sponsored Victimhood Narrative:

At some point, reality has to be faced. For reality will force its way into reality on account of being god-damned reality. One can claim reality to be nothing but subjective; based solely on lived experience or some calamity that happened twenty-seven bloody years ago that now, now, now has got to be dealt with with swift and immediate social media justice; thirteen homespun steps to reach the gallows head and the peak of the noose. No evidence needed, merely the swift and quick and easy execution of the goon-squad, the blood-frenzied sharks that never see any qualms in deeming someone guilty for being named and shamed and blamed through the might and awesome influence of queen Neoteny and her mighty state of hysteria.

At the end of the day and at the end of the rope, reality will come spinning and deliver a swift and brutal kick to the teeth and the senses that will leave those with chronic emotional diarrhoea reeling and spinning head first into the drain and communal sewers of the grand and glorious brave blue world.

Reality is Chaotic Neutral, you see – it cares and it does not give a flying fuck in equal measures. It is equal rights and it is equal lefts and no-one is left any the wiser for trying to shave reality or trim its mighty beard to fit the mould of miniature tyrants who decide that reality is whatever the hell they say that it is; that reality is subjected to the whim and flightless fancy of brainlet birds that pick and peck and grasp at straws to tip-toe around the facts of the matter which are simple facts that can not be wiped away by brutal displays of emotional manipulation from those that suffer emotional castrations at the mere sight of a disputed word they have decided is offensive in the abstract haze of emotional reasoning that is the dry-heaving hysteria of our new and easily offended aristocracy.

…And that is an aristocracy that can not stand dissenting views or opinions that go against the grain and holy doctrine of their chosen saviour of the hour – a saviour that changes every hour, at the hour as the clock strikes doom and gloom and boom and guides the merry hands of society into its allotted 24 hours of reality-avoidant temper-tantrums thrown for realizing that not everyone agrees with each and every sudden call to arms to fight the bloody power of the bloody oppressors that are, at this point in time, anything and anyone as long as one of the supposedly oppressed decide that these are the oppressors, these are the tyrants and wielders of magicians words that magically marginalize those that are apparently marginalized by the might and influence of the marginalizers that appear ferociously in the dreams of those that are one the margins of society – supposedly.

The linguistic tendencies of our societies is non-inclusive to the core; it marginalizes the trembling trunks of the vibrato-mafiosos. You are no longer allowed to say “Hey guys”. For, you see, women are so weak and frail that they can not succeed if anyone says “guys” in their presence, and they are so fearful and tearful and so eloquently in denial of reality that reality must bend its knee and kiss their nimble finger-things and gizmo-rings and fungus-feet and pledge allegiance to their alterations of language and the structures of our brains. More frightening, of course, is the simple fact that these highly offended fighters of shadows and ghosts have absolutely no problems with admitting to partaking in social engineering; that they see no issues with stating, quite bluntly, that they wish to remodel our brains. This is terrifying.

There is no shame in social engineering, see, no dreary dead-eyed jabberwock too mighty yet to slay. We have moved beyond the looking-glass, gone straight into the serpents ass. For in this elegant serpent-rectum we shall rebuild society and mould it on the fancy and the whim and wallowed misery of those who have decided that they are the ones to tell us how to live and breathe and think and eat and speak and fuck and move around.

We do not live in reality any more.

We are locked within the jaws of chaos, trapped in a never-ending spiral that spiral ever downwards into the worst and most grotesque of orifices. And playing nice will get us nowhere. And playing hard-ball will get us nowhere. And nothing will get us anywhere as we left the land of reason and set foot upon the shores of insanity where insanity looms at every corner to grasp and shake the trembling minds of aristocratic revolutionaries that do not understand the context of anything but their own cold and staring eyes that gaze ever and anon into the distance, never seeing what is right in front of their eyes. Which is reality as reality is, not reality as reality is wished to be by those who never see anything but blues sung from blue toes and frostbitten blue balls in the blue winter of our blue bloody societies.

Reality is a non-existent figment of fantasy in these end-days of ours. A crumbling and decaying civilization that suffers the end-result of good times and high-flying fancies. The revolution will not be televised. It will be corporatised, syndicalised, sanitized and sanctified. It will be modelled, painted, sculpted and moulded by the hands of those that should never be close to anything resembling power, might or influence. It will be authorised, tyrannized, totalitarianised by rhetorical beasts of punctured lungs and intelligence-dysmorphia, believing themselves not only cleverer than every-man and every-woman, but cleverer than they, in reality, are. It will be a garbled mess of word-salad gibberish, saying nothing but using all the buzz-words and trendy linguistic tricks needed to make themselves sound relevant, hip, cool, down to earth and moving with the beat of the revolutionaries. Proudly proclaiming profound insights into reality as reality is by referring to reality as solipsist in nature; as my reality trumps all other realities in the reality of realities. Nothing can possibly exist outside of my sphere of existence, nothing can possibly exist that goes against my lived and experienced reality. And all that I say is truth and all that I do is truth and all that I experience is truth, even if I lie. For lie is but a facet of truth and of reality as it is a tool used to make those that do not understand my reality understand my reality. Get it?

It is a death-trip, a swollen road towards extermination. Bought and sold by the pound and bulk, corporate sponsored punk-brewed travesties from corporations glimmering with crows-nest silver, elitist finger-painting manufacturing dissent and poisoning the well, steering our attention towards non-issues so that we are bogged down with muscle-tension and chronic eye-strain making it impossible to see anything but the miniscule and laughable, the ridiculous and absurd, the first-world problems of frail and fragile ferocious fuel-for-the-fire-twats. Forcefed mass-hysteria deserving of a hysteria-ectomy, the economy of the silver-spooned ones who decided victimhood and victim mentality to be the best, the greatest, the most brilliant currency there is, was, ever has been. For no-one in their right mind will ever consider a victim of anything to be someone with whom one should disagree; that would not be considerate, would not be compassionate, would not be anything but terrible. As long as the victim inhabits certain superficial characteristics that turn their saliva to streams of silver in the eyes of those who do not wish to offend. And fuck everyone else, of course. Let them eat cake.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 25.09.2019

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Soliciting Solitude

Portrait artists two dogs after bath lowres

Illustration: «A portrait of the artists two dogs post-bath», A3, Moiret Allegiere, 2019

Are we ever truly alone in this age of social media? I would dare propose that we are not. Ever and always, there is the pressing and thumping of the mob. Society is constantly beckoning, pounding at our doors and at our windows, demanding our attention. And we get suckered in, dragged down into the very pits of despair, into the fires of hell, by an unruly mob that jabbers on and on and on and on infinitely, without ever shutting up.

Or, for that matter, thinking about what they are saying.

…Or how they are saying it.

Demanding split-second reaction to any and all murmured drone that makes itself heard above the constant commotion, shouted from high and impenetrable fortresses of moral decay and ineptitude. We have reached a point where social media is a necessity more than it is a fun and fancy past-time activity. It is no longer a tool to stay in touch with friends and family. It is a tool vital to our survival in society, if we are to keep on playing this silly game of society. If one chooses to tap out of the constant hum and buzz, one is a freak, an outcast, a weird and frightful spectacle, a bed-time story whispered to children to teach them of the horrors of checking out and not participating. Soon, the pyres will be erected. The outcasts shall be burnt and cleansed of their social sins and ills, saving us all from their presence in the present.

For sooth, sire, he is surely a witch; he did not even like my status update!”

Goodness gracious me, squire, never have I ever heard tell of such a horrible transgression on the rules and law of the land! By my neck, such heresy can not be tolerated! Burn him!”

The reality of the situation is dire. For all our connectedness, our constant mass-chattering, clittering, clattering and goings-on, there is precious little room to think. There is more than enough room to absorb information, though. Albeit in a puff of smoke and a quick and frantic inhalation.

No room to move, no time to digest the information. It must be absorbed and reacted to within a split second of chronic cerebral indigestion; straight from this and onto the next. Information has become a consumable item; now here, now gone, onto the next. In a frantic search, in a hysterically stressed-out manner, seeking constantly that next tid-bit of information gleamed from some loud-mouthed inebriated freak shouting his or hers lungs out in the middle of the town-square, proudly proclaiming their truth as the one truth, the only truth, the holy truth of the holy trinity of our day and age; the Information, the Reaction and the Holy Outrage! God bless, and good night. And you must react, you must stay on top of it, for all time, for ever and ever, lest you fall from grace in the infinitesimal patience of the muddled nest that is social media madness and rapture.

Only a true freak, a pervert, an obscene vagrant, a derelict hermit, would stop to think and consider and ponder the information delivered before reacting in a manner most suitable for this particular piece of the information-pudding! Do not dare to delve too deeply into the mud and ground and blood and bones of the issue. That would mean halting the outrage for about two seconds; that would stop everyone and their moral grandstanding straight in their tracks and leave them flabbergasted and cotton-mouthed in desperate need for their next fix of anti-psychotics, anti-depressant and intravenously injected benzodiazepine. Anything to keep from getting to insane and anxious from the mere thought of thinking things through; or even worse: to feel alone, separated from the hive-mind and the constant buzz and drone of brilliant madness. There is no longer a concept known as “being alone”. There is no room for it. And we don’t need it any way, by golly!

The worst doom laid upon a man or woman; the worst punishment bestowed upon anyone in this disenfranchised enlightened era of the information age, is the doom of being alone, the doom of solitude. There is a tremendous undercurrent of fear and loathing. Merely the word, the thought, the perceived punishment of being cut off from the constant hub-bub, the clattering from the wheels of the information machine, the hive-mind pompously screeching and screaming, one wanting to be heard above all else, or else, but wanting to be heard delivering the same lines as the hive-mind in their deliciously frosted cake-and-nursery-rhymes; separate, but as one, is enough to cause a nuclear melt-down and cosmic-scale freak-out in all and one.

The grand machine of society must move forward, ever and always, no matter the road or the direction. It must progress. Even when it does not know the way forward. In creating this mould, this tremendous cookie-cutter slice-and-dice machine of social media, social media has become the grand machine of society and societal discourse. Society will ever and always show its wrath and trembling ire beneath its succulent and delicately whispered words of tangled information to set us all free from the bondage of solitude.

You are either in, or you are out.

And if you are out, you shall damned well know the meaning of being out.

…The grand machine, caught in a feverish display of moral virtue and socially approved dignified behaviour, show no qualms in exacting its grandiose vengeance upon you, horrid freak of nature, daring to mull things over and thinking before reacting. Imagine breaking the eternal circle-jerk by seeing things from a differing perspective; namely – the perspective that is thought out and mulled over in the sobriety only true solitude can bring.

When there is no room to think, no time to think, no place to think, there is only and ever room, time and place to react. Immediately. And the immediate act of reacting is formed and shaped by the formless and shapeless blob of the mob. And the mob… well, the mob is a foul and bloodthirsty beast acting on pure instinct. Not thinking, but reacting to the slightest and tiniest perceived threat to its continued survival. Any and all will be devoured by the mob, should it come to that. So best to stay on top of the mob, to take part in the unthinking and unfeeling assault on the threat; the outsider doomed to carry on an existence devoid of dignity, devoid of understanding, devoid of anything but the roar and rage and rampage of the mob, fuelled by madness harvested from the souls of a million mutants whose greatest fear is loneliness, is being alone, is not having their virtue and their swollen feet firmly placed within the beautiful mass of worms and tentacles that is society. So that they shall be free to be dragged down, and to drag others down with them into the wicked nest of tentacled madness and self-devouring progression, diving head first into a future built upon ash and skulls broken by bike-lock-extravaganzas, swimming in a sea of spilt milkshakes over which spilt contents one should not weep.

You do not weep over spilt milkshakes, nor do you weep over the spilt blood of a hundred crypto-fascist Neo-Nazi scumbags marching the streets to demand any and all have the right to speak freely, you hate-fuck-machine bastard!

…Now shut the hell up, fuck-face, and leave the progression to the infantile herd. What the hell has this society come to, anyway, when people are not free to bash each-other over the head with bike-locks over differences of opinion? Jesus Christ, it is as though these freaks, weirdos and social outcasts are actual human beings! Hah! That will be the day, you transgressive arsehole. Now, where the hell is my self-serving selfie-machine? Gotta update Twitter and Facebook about this glorious bike-lock punch against tyranny and fascism I just done did. What, me, a miniature tyrant; a tin-box dictator? Well, I never! Upon my oath, I am not a violent people-kin, nor am I opposed to freedom of any kind. I just don’t wish for bastards who disagree with me to be free to speak their disagreements. You saw him. He had a gun, and he was coming straight for me! I swear officer, nothing happened. Nothing happened, officer. Stop filming me, you free-speech extremist crypto-fascist fuck-face-kin!

…Now, why in the hell would anyone willingly subject themselves to this roaring pit of madness and childish despotism? Why in the hell would anyone partake honestly in this social game, when the price for going against the grain is a padded bike-lock through ones skull?

You tell me.

I don’t get it, man.

But then again, I am a weird and oddly bearded fellow; a pseudo-hermit in my own right, with more need for solitude than most and an understanding of human nature bordering on pop-psychobabble of the most popular and oafish kind.

And upon my oath and honour, I am not a social man. There is very little, I believe, that can be stated with absolute certainty when it comes to social dynamics of any kind.

Never understood it myself to be honest, being an introvert to the extreme, much more in tune with the buzz of my own mind and my own company than the constant buzz and drone of the tumultuous streets out there. It is, quite simply, getting far too crowded and weird out there.

One thing, I believe, is an absolute certainty: We are pushed and prodded into never being alone, into never seeking solitude of any kind. We are moulded, from an early age, into partaking in the social game. To take part in the power-play, the laborious process of being in, not being out. To not go against the grain, but do what is done by the majority. And what is being done now by the majority is the constant need for social validation; a constant grip-and-shake-and-bake of popular opinions cooked up in some meth-lab somewhere and served with absolute certainty of belief, even when it has not been tried and tested through critical thought.

Even when it has not been run through the mind-mill of thought and speculation. Even when it has not been mulled over in solitude, with no distractions and no constant whining background noise. Even when it is easily disproven with facts presented by those who are weird and freakish enough to do something so horrendous as take time out to think, research, ponder and provide evidence.

I struggle to understand why people are so willing to react and so unwilling to think. I mean; I think I know the reason for it. The game of social acceptance, the long-running and never-ending treadmill of being in and never being out. The immediate piling-on to whatever some high-and-mighty merchant of supreme morality say in regards to some fragmented bit of information becomes ever so important if one wishes to stay in tune and rhythm with the disharmonious beat of the funeral drum.

The more connected we become, the less connected we are. The less connected we become, the more we fear being alone. For those who are not used to being alone, the mind-chatter brought forth from the overwhelming silence surrounding oneself may indeed be very scary. Even disturbing. Because, in solitude, thoughts may surface that have been hidden. Thoughts that have been blocked from sight and vision from lack of clarity of vision. And from lack of wisdom. This might cause some self-reflection, some introspection, some ideas that one is not as perfect and morally clean as one believed. And we can’t have that, now, can we, in this age of unbridled narcissism and holier-than-thou sentiments from the morality-police? Can’t have people trying to fix their own defects and ineptitude, when it is so much easier to blame everyone else for ones own failures in life, coming to the short-handed conclusion that me myself and I do not have any defects, thank you very much. You must fix yourself to suit my needs and desires. I, on the other hand, need not fix anything because I am always right. Always right, even when there is nothing left but a shivering gelatinous blob of barely contained self-righteous rage and childish temper tantrums.

We, as a society, are bid to dance a dance of blatant superficiality; a long and slow and annoyingly short-sighted dance where no-one is sure about the next move because no-one ever bothered to think that far ahead.

Instead of thinking ahead, we are caught in this extraordinary feedback-loop of self-righteous diatribes gaining popular votes through the currents of the social media anthill. Like, share, carry on, straight into the next righteous crusade and obvious hypocrisy from warriors of graceless harmonies and piss-poor coordination who never once bothered to think before reacting. This lack of thought makes these people completely blind to their own hypocrisy, shouting from atop their padded towers, as the cannons roar and fire milkshakes a-plenty down upon the poor huddled masses below; “It’s alright when we do it, but don’t you dare reply in kind. For that would be hateful conduct!”

This lack of thought becomes blatantly obvious the moment one attempts to discuss matters with them. The only thing one can expect to gain from such an endeavour is a regurgitation of points – often previously refuted – which someone else in the midst of all the frenzied social media nonsense have said and spoken as truth divine. It is the same points, the same arguments, rebuked and regurgitated over and over and over again, with no semblance of individual thought and personal agency to be found from within the madness and the gibberish. Blame men, blame the “Nazis”, blame the “fascists”, blame misogyny, blame racism, blame homophobia or transphobia or whatever is the most popular thing to blame; the most popular shaming tactic available at that point in time. And when pressed, when poked and prodded as to what in the everlasting fuck any of this actually means, the replies tend to remain the same: “I am not here to educate you; educate yourself. Read a book.” Or something of that nature.

It is infuriating. Not for any personal reasons – I don’t much care about engaging this nonsense in discussion. I consider it a futile endeavour. I find it infuriating for the pure lack of thought and self-criticism exhibited. I find it infuriating that these vile and hateful cretins point fingers and label me and people with whom I tend to agree purveyors of hate-speech for daring to disagree with the current cultural narrative, flawed and fragmented beyond repair. All the while they themselves cough up bloody chunks of hate-infused vomit and actual fucking calls for, and acts of, violence from their rotten, worm-infested lungs without a seconds pause, consideration and thought. Because everyone else is doing it, so it must be alright, surely. And, as we all know, the ones whom we decide, in our grace and glory, are the “other” are ripe for plucking and ripe for being devoured, skin and flesh and tendons and bone.

If one seeks out solitude on ones own terms… if one engages in solitary thought, in meditations if you will… there is a humongous chance that one will meet one self. And that is frightening in and off itself, as the self is not always what one would like to believe that it is. More often than not, it is nothing like what one would think. When ones faults and flaws makes themselves heard, there is little to do but to change it. Or be devoured by it. And to change something of that nature, of that size, if one has not met it head-on previously is a frightening prospect. As well it ought to be. Nothing worthwhile is easy, as the saying goes.

It makes for far easier living to blame everything else; anything but oneself. Then come the crisis. Then come the sudden forced rush of introspection. At some point in life, things will begin to crumble, one will begin to break down, bit by bit and piece by piece. The biological clock will tick and tock. And if ones entire life up to that point has been built around superficial and immediate reaction; superficial and inconsiderate and egotistical reaction, with no room for self-examination, with no room for introspection, with all the chitter-chatter of the hive taking the place where solitude should have been… castles will crumble and the self will grumble and something resembling pure madness and insanity will emerge.

Then it is either to buckle down and back-pedal like someone possessed, infuriatingly finding something to hold on to in order to keep the illusion of being righteous and justified and this-or-that alive. Or, it brings a sudden rush to rectify what is wrong with the self, quickly and immediately, before time runs out. But if most of life up to that point has been wasted away in superficial grandstanding and virtuous shouts and howls and snarls and grunts… what is there to build upon? How does one go about rectifying something of that nature, if it all comes tumbling down in a short, swift stroke; a brutal blitzkrieg of truth-bombs and sudden maturation of the mind and spirit combined?

See, for all my criticism and blatant attacks on this new web of lies and tangled misinformation that is the social justice warriors and their ilk; for all my rants and rambles and ravings on feminism and their cohorts… there is precious little I am as critical of as my own thoughts, values and opinions. I find myself fact-checking vigorously and researching like mad, to make sure and make certain that when and if I speak on a concrete case, I am presenting truth. I engage in long internal dialogues with myself to see if my opinions on this or on that; if my thoughts on this, that or the other stands up to scrutiny. Or if they are easily torn down. I do this by viewing things from perspectives different from my own. Novel thought, no? To actually lend some credence to differing perspectives and take them into account when making ones mind up on a certain topic. Were I so inclined, I would dub this “empathy”. As it stands, though, I am no longer certain what the word “empathy” even means. That seems to be the case with all words in this day and age; the fantastic dawning of new-speech and thought-control. Now, I would like to state that this does not mean that I consider myself to never be wrong about something. That would be foolish. It simply means that I tend to think before I react.

Due to this, I tend to think very slowly. Which makes for decent enough material in long-winded and hop-scotchy writing, but makes me absolutely useless in debates. It is both a strength and a weakness, depending on how I would like to present it. It is a strength in that I am very sure and certain in my beliefs and opinions, in what I know and in what I think. It is a weakness in that I can not for the life of me enter a debate. It also makes it difficult to write on very recent events with any level of certainty.

What makes this long and slow and deliberate pondering of mine possible is my love and longing for solitude, my seeking it out whenever I can. Of course, it is the same situation that makes debates nigh impossible for me. Now, to be clear, the somewhat extreme levels of solitude which I tend to longingly seek is not the levels of solitude I think most people would enjoy. Or maybe even benefit from.

What I would recommend in regards to solitude, is a balancing-act. Treading a fine, a gorgeous line between the hyper-social madness we see and the extremes of solitude. To put time aside every day to be alone. To shut off, drop out, tune out, do whatever necessary to bar the windows and lock the doors so you have room to think in silence. It does not do for anything but a stressful life, in my opinion, to be constantly tuned in, constantly part of the buzz and the drone, anxiously awaiting the next bite-sized bit of information to react to on gut-instinct, lest you fall from grace and the mob turns on you instead.

Social media may be many things. The technology in itself is neither good nor bad. It just is. This over-use, this dependence we have built around it coupled with the constant need for social validation, creates nothing but a breed of humanity who only ever seeks social validation, who will write and say and agree with just about anything, as long as it is what the hive demands. A breed of humanity that never thinks things through properly, relying instead on hissyfits presented from someone else in the social hierarchy whose opinions, for some reason or other, matter more than the opinions of someone else; then regurgitating these hissyfits, with all their impotent points and immediate knee-jerks to be in, to be part of, to not have to face the shame of being a solitary voice in the wilderness of our concrete jungles and tangled wires like knotted branches.

When news and media report on tweets and twatter immediately, with no pause and no reflection and no research necessary, you know we are going downhill as a society. When the immature chattering of a cancerous mass of social media activists infest and spreads through everything, even when their behaviour and reasoning is obviously not built around thought or solid arguments, but built upon immediate emotional reaction, you know we are going downhill as a society.

When there is no more room in hell, the dead will walk the earth.”

In my more vicious moments of arrogance and spite, I think that we are in the midst of a zombie-apocalypse. Dawn of the dead-style, with zombies mindlessly roaming the halls of social media instead of the halls of a cathedral-like mall, ready to pounce on and devour those who do not act like them; stumbling and fumbling their way through hurdles built from words and from wrong-think, seeking the delicious flesh of the unnecessary, the unwanted, the unseen and unheard.

In other moments, I feel a tremendous sense of sadness and pity. Pity, because I am certain that at some point down the line, some of these people will actually wake up and see the damage they have done to themselves, and to society at large for lack of thinking. I believe that those who are prone to waking up from being drunk, high and stoned on a sense of being right, doing right, being just and doing justice, will sense that what they have done with their life, and the lives of others, have turned them into selfish and petty tyrants for the greater cause of some manufactured war which they have been tricked into fighting through decades of indoctrination bordering on social engineering.

These people will wake up. And they will feel shame and remorse and regret from having to face actual reality, not manufactured reality. And then, all the world around them will crumble. And they will be completely and utterly lost within the ruins of their life.

I have my doubts, however, that enough of them will wake up to undo the damage done, to turn the tide away from tyranny and back towards liberty.

When there is no more room to think, the fools will rule the earth.

And the greatest fools there is are those who believe that having others think for them makes them smart.

…and the ones who believe that thinking and speaking on behalf of others, disregarding what the others may say and think, is a virtue will steer this ship of fools straight into the abyss.

And good god-damned riddance.

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 – Moiret Allegiere, 15.06.2019

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Ideological Purity, white as the driven snow:

Noone there lowres

Ill: «No-one there», A3, 2019, Moiret Allegiere

In a world, in a time, in a place possessed such as we are by the proclaimed virtues of ideological purity, we prove on a global scale that we have not learned anything from our history. We live, and we do not learn. One set of ideas or another; it does not matter to the vacuum that is humanity, or, more to the point – the faulty memory of humanity. For some reason or other, time and again, one set of ideas will rise above all others and settle in our confused cosmic collective consciousness and promptly become the default state of thought and of being for one and all within the anthill we inhabit. If one does not submit to this set of ideas, one will be made to submit to this set of ideas, through shaming, bullying, harassment, misrepresentations, social ostracising, removal of livelihood and more. One set of ideas happy-slapped into our cultural zeitgeist for decades; from one set of young eyes to another in sanctified halls of supposed learning, passed down through generations; a genetic defect presented as the truth, the one truth, the truth fantastic. Only this one path to tread, and none other.

This is indeed a frightening tendency. Inevitably, it leads to a lack of nuance, a lack of balance, to a one-sided narrative where up is up and down is also up, as long as up and down can be made to be two sides of the same coin. And it will be made to be two sides of the same coin through an incredible display of mental gymnastics designed in just such a way as to show both sides of the coin at the same time. We slip and we slide and then we fall, once again, into the realm of political propaganda and indoctrination. Truth be told, we probably never left.

Voices squawk, speak, and present and all voices present themselves to be the one truth. The true-true, the new-old-truth of aeons past and ages present.

Then one voice presenting viciously one voice, one side, one set of ideas manage to rise above all other voices in the cacophony of cerebral screeching and gutter-mouthed madness that is the battlefield of propaganda. It wins the popular vote through a massive and fantastic manipulation of our very empathetic natures. Twisting and turning words and truths in a manner subtle, sublime, magical and majestic so that the words and meanings resonate wonderfully with our own inner vibrations of what is just and what is right and what is true and what is proper. A fantastic twisting and turning, marvellously engineered so as to make sense when spoken and when read. The surface-narrative surfaces and wins the popular vote. And so, the people are won over to the one side, the one idea, the one ideology deemed by itself to be the only true ideology, the only true path, winning its place through dishonesty or violence or both. And when once the place is won, the power grabbed and the people made subject to the propaganda, the place, the power and the propaganda are not easily done away with. It lingers. It grows. And it festers, infecting safe and sane and healthy tissue all around it.

For the sake of not burning the infected tissue out, for the sake of keeping the infection spreading, the infection needs to make sure we know that it is not, in fact, an infection but a necessary part of our body. Thus; the ideology is presented as fact and as truth from early childhood, and still presented as truth and as fact through all manners and all means in media and in common dialogue, in political nonsense-speech from political nonsense-politicians more interested in their own careers than in speaking truth; babble-mouthed and helpful idiots furthering the cause of the ideology and of the infection, building not upon any system of value within themselves, but a wish to remain popular, elected and in a position of power.

No semblance of critical thought.

No semblance of self-ownership.

No-one wants to be on the outside; all want to be popular, to be part of the in-group, the now, the click and hive and swing of things. And so they pose with T-shirts proudly promoting the one set of ideas as the true path towards equal treatment of one and of all. And do lip-service in front of the altar of the dominant ideology, lest they be purged themselves and relocated to the gulag for re-education.

This is what a feminist looks like, they’ll say with a hollow voice, and I’ll be damned if I don’t wear a T-shirt proudly labelling myself a follower of the church of the latter-day offended, never gazing beneath the surface-narrative of equality and prosperity and truth and beauty, and just as North Korea is the pinnacle of democracy, because it is in the name of the Democratic People’s republic of Korea, feminism is about equality, because it is in the definition of the movement and all evidence to the contrary be damned; the immediate virtue-signal of me being moral and just and right and proper is far better and more important than thinking, seeing and understanding the beast whose cause I am championing. Best to follow the ideology. Showcase myself to be of ideological purity, lest the zealots push me out of my profession and out of society itself!

Questioning the dominant ideology is a sure-fire way to get caught in the crossfires of ideological warfare which, for all intents and purposes where feminism is concerned, mirrors spiritual warfare. Label it as this or as that on the surface, and those who do not gaze beneath the surface will not see the rot for lack of looking, thinking and smelling.

The further into the subconscious this ideology pushes itself, the harder it is to do away with. It has been pushed and pushed for decades, indoctrinated into us in ways that would not have been accepted were it any other set of ideas. Imagine, if you will, Catholicism being pushed and promoted in public schools as the one-and-only truth of our day and age. Or any other religion, for that matter. People would – rightly – be up in arms. And yet, feminism is allowed in our cultural madness, to be taught as the true path towards salvation and enlightenment, to tangle us all, from an early age, within its web of empty words, hollow lies and vacuous moral grandstanding.

An ideology pushed and promoted in schools supposedly free of political indoctrination. What a fantastic time to be alive! A neutral place of learning, excepting where feminism is concerned, because feminism is the truth and nothing but the truth in the eyes and minds of the fervent followers of the victim-cult. So it is not indoctrination, it is not pushing an ideology. It is pushing the truth.

To the ideologically possessed and wilfully blind, truth is whatever the hell they say that it is. Evidence to the contrary need not apply, because they do not believe in it and so it is dismissed out of hand and done away with; out of sight, out of mind. The greatest idea the devil ever had was to convince people that he is not real.

This ought to prove the grip on our society which this ideology have managed to gain; clear evidence to the contrary of their claims are done away with, and no-one cares about this. And those attempting to showcase this evidence are done away with and stuck with all manners of derogatory and horrible labels; labelled as the enemy of the people by the promoters and propagandists of the ideology, as well as by the public at large, beings who have been indoctrinated into useful idiots and military storm-troopers for the ideology – to do their bidding and their dirty work. To do away with the non-believers, the heretics, the witches and warlocks, the foul free-thinkers of our day and age, the horrible bringers of nuance and balance into the infected discussion. To do away with the apostates.

How can one be against feminism? It is only about equality, you know.

Well, here is evidence to the contrary.

Oh, well, women have it worse, you know.

OK – here is evidence to the contrary.

Fuck you, you misogynist – everyone! Come get the misogynist, he hates and harasses women! I bet he beats his wife as well.

Burn the witch! Kill the non-believer! Destroy his family, destroy his bloodline! He is out of line. Those who oppose feminism is the witches of our age.

And so it goes. Here we sit, we who oppose the feminist dogma, anxiously awaiting the Gulag and our re-education; waiting for one of our close feminist friends or relatives to come into our lives with many a flirt and a flutter, to show us the errors of our ways and bring unto us the light of salvation, pointing to one disproven talking-point after the other of the feminist propaganda-circus. Disregarding any voices in opposition and waving it away as wrong-think, never even considering the voices in opposition or the evidence at hand. Genital mutilation of infant boys being legal, while genital mutilation of girls are illegal being waved away as a non-issue, despite the clear and blatant double-standard of the thing. Domestic violence being painted as men’s violence against women when it need not be viewed through a gendered lens at all, thus causing male victims of domestic violence to be disbelieved and not finding any support, more often than not being painted as the perpetrator of violence despite being the victim?

This does not matter to the mind of the feminist.

Men don’t matter, only women.

Odd that this clear gendered double-standard comes from the voice claiming to be about equal treatment of the genders.

If feminism really believed that the genders should be treated equally, they ought to treat the genders equally. This means offering understanding, sympathy, empathy and aid to men as well as women. This means allowing for the understanding that both men and women are capable of both good and evil, and that the vast majority of both are not guilty of evil. This means considering men and women both as human beings, both able to victimize and be victimized by the other. No one gender has a monopoly on violence, and no one gender has a monopoly on being a victim of violence. And, with men being far more likely to be the victim of violent assault than women are, I find it incredibly interesting how we chose to focus on ending violence against women – the minority of victims. Surely, were we to operate on the basis of equality, the focus should be on ending violence against all? Or, should we allow the funding and the awareness-raising to go such as the feminists make it go – towards the demographic perceived to be suffering the most of the issue – it should be about ending violence against men. Of course, this does not resonate within the feminist mind, since that is a warped and destroyed mind. Men do most of the violence, is their rebuttal, as if that in and off itself, is an argument. So what, I say to that, should we care less about the victim because he happens to share the gender of his victimizer? What manner of moon-logic is this? This only makes sense if you do not treat the genders equally.

Worst fucking patriarchy ever.

Women are so horribly oppressed you know, and feminism is the underdog fighting the top-dog, the anti-establishment factor in our split-down-the-middle societies, where men and women are in constant war by the insistence of feminism. The weird and peculiar instance where the underdog is the top-dog, pretending to be the underdog so as to gain popular vote and sympathy. Because everyone loves an underdog, everyone loves to see the underdog rise to prominence and succeed where it was doomed to fail.

The obvious fact that feminism is the establishment, and has been for decades, matter little to the promoters, followers and believers in the ideology, the cult, the religion, the sect, the madness. Because they want to be the underdog, they want to be the brave warriors for truth and justice, they want to view themselves as fighting the good fight, and they sure as hell do not want to confront themselves and maybe have to change their minds.

Because the stubborn nature of humanity reaches further than our wilful blindness in regards to history and our tendency to repeat every single failure we have ever done ad infinitum. And the cause to champion is the moral and just cause to champion. And it is the moral and just cause to champion because the cause have told them this, time and again, making sure that everyone does nothing but scan the surface by bullying the ones who dare stare into the abyss, by becoming the abyss staring back. It is excruciatingly simple to flock to the banner of the popular cause. One meets little resistance then, and is accepted into the hive and seen as one who plays the game of life proper, not some weird hermit who refuses to play the game of life proper. Our anthill has no need for outcasts – everyone is equally inferior both within and without.

There has to be a war. Otherwise, people might start thinking. So why not make it a gender-war? Why not pit man and woman against each other, and in so doing promoting the idea that A) it was men that started it all through being men and nothing but that, B) feminism is the banner under which all women gather and fight the wickedness of men, and to which banner some men, learning the errors of their ways, flock so as to be allies and worthy of women, C) all men, everywhere, benefit from the oppression of women, and D) any hatred towards men by feminism or women is justified due to the false idea that men started it all.

Beat this idea into the impressionable minds of kids. And very, very soon, you will see the blatant hatred of men being considered justified. To such an extent that “Misandry don’t real!”, is the words of choice by the gracious feminist hive-mind which is clearly only about equality, yet sees no qualms in labelling all men as guilty and accountable for the bad actions of one man and in so doing pushing for laws and legislations favouring women at the expense of men.

Equality means nothing, when supremacy has become the norm. And supremacy has become the norm through countless years of pure and unopposed propaganda and indoctrination, in which an invisible god-figure bogeyman dubbed “the patriarchy” will be the default scape-goat of everything. Men kill themselves more? Well, that’s the patriarchy for you. Women chose to stay at home? Well, that’s the patriarchy for you. More men die at work than women, by an incredible amount? Well, that’s the patriarchy for you. Women chose to be strippers or grid girls? Well, that’s the patriarchy for you. Men are conscripted and made to go to war? Well, that’s the patriarchy for you.

And so it goes, onwards and ever onwards, creating a figurehead to fight, a free-floating illusionary conspiracy-theory grounded not in reality but in a very human longing for something quick, simple and easy to blame when things go wrong, a quick and easy answer to complex questions: it is the fault of patriarchy, considering men to be of so much more worth than women that men are the disposable and expendable ones, whereas women must be protected. It would have been the worst patriarchy ever, were the propaganda not so engrained in our society that the default answer then is that patriarchy hurts men too, it only helps the men at the top. Then completely disregarding the women at the top, in order to feed their bogeyman-myth. And, through this myth, being able to dismiss and disregard any issues facing men brought up by men as misogyny, wishing to take away from women. Because sharing resources, be those resources material or emotional equally goes completely against the tenets of feminism, seekers of equality that they of course are. All must be treated equally! But women must receive more help, more funding must go towards women’s issues, women must be granted this or that at the expense of men, in the quest for equal treatment of the genders. And men need not receive anything, not even an ear willing to listen or hands willing to help. Men must help, and if men can not help, they are unnecessary men and we have no use for them. Which, of course, is painted as the fault of the patriarchy. Clever.

To my mind, there is little wonder that there is such a disregard for the issues facing men as well as the experiences of men. When the view of both society and of history begins with the idea that men – and only men – have had power and freedom throughout history where women have lacked both, and that men as a group have oppressed women as a group throughout history, it is easy to disregard men.

The black and white thinking of group A good, group B bad echoes down through the ages. There is no need to consider the issues and experiences of the group considered the oppressors, the wielders of power, because their experiences are the only experiences told and considered through the annals of history.

And so, it is time that group A gets considered.

Just a damn shame that things are not as simple as that, but it can easily be made out to be as simple as that. Just drive the ideology home, and the social pressures will do the rest. Crank the handle of purity and make the great machine of society purge the ones who do not conform to the essence of purity that is the dominant ideology, the pure and unbending law of the land. Purge them with the wealthy machine of propaganda, infecting the minds of the hive with the notion that opposition to the ideology is opposition to equality, and that everyone opposing it also opposes the stability and safety of our system, our society, our machine, our hive, and most importantly: our women.

In the feminist utopia, everyone gets bread to eat and wood to feed their ovens. Excepting men, who gets neither bread nor wood – especially not in the mornings. Excepting those who do not subscribe to the dominant ideology of our day and age – they will not participate, and so they deserve neither. The only thing they deserve is assassination of character and loud calls for re-education through the gibbering nonsense that is social media, through the fantastical hell-scape that is the immediate knee-jerk reaction of those who have not delved beneath the surface, who have seen nothing but the tip of the iceberg, who have not felt the frenzied charge and attack of the ideology and its followers upon their mind and their bodies, who are not marked and scarred eternally by the might and claws and teeth of the beast.

We are being governed, watched and – metaphysically – killed by the viral infection; ripples spreading outwards from the centre, great waves beating against us and knocking us down. We who are not ideologically pure will be shamed and ostracised for raising our voices in concern, for daring to think for ourselves and question the dominant narrative of the here-and-now, the ferocious vulgarity preached by the followers of the church of the latter-day offended, whose wilful blindness, stubborn egotism, ideological indoctrination and roars of existential dread and rage whenever opposition is met leads towards a lack of nuanced debate.

There is no debate to be had when the only tactic used against opposing views are lies, slander and guttural roars of disgust; lack of arguments hiding behind moral outrage, lack of insight and lack of thought and lack of rebuttal masked behind the eternal battle-cry of those who do not see that their minds are closed and the key thrown away by the ideologues who fed them lies from childhood on; the battle-cry that says nothing but “This is wrong because it offends me!” Showing nothing but the demand to shut down the debate on grounds of perceived moral wrongs, caring nothing for the truth or for the facts or for anything but the ideology said to be the only ideology caring for equality, the only ideology being moral, the only ideology being just: the ideology of feminism, claiming to be nothing but a movement for human rights, yet being nothing but yet another ideology demanding complete and utter blind submission from every member of society.

As it was yesterday, so it shall be today. Only the names and the seasons change; the tribe remains the same – to follow, to submit, or to be cast out.

– Moiret Allegiere, 16.03.2019

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