We who fell from Grace/Alphabet-soup/Being but boys

Venlafaxine blues 1

Illustration: «Venlafaxine Blues», Moiret Allegiere, 2017

We, who so lovingly devolved and fell from grace; who longed to be devoured by the rush and the filth and the harshly whispered words…
who so quickly succumbed to illness, to tribal despotism and despair; who saw sudden surges of revenge pondered in school-yards a-flame…

…who so slowly broke down and fell apart on streets lined with gold…
who so openly announced our departure from our selves for all to hear…
who so honestly drank slow-burning ruination from chalices offered by silver-tongued Succubi speaking soft nothings in our ears…

who so truthfully believed belittling tattle-tales and nursery-rhymes, timid and scared and frozen in the headlights…
who so freakishly, annoyingly, self-devouringly swallowed the hook and line and sinker of preposterous tongue-tied dogmatism…
who so very much longed to prove our worthiness in shaded temples overrun by smog and asbestos by the light of her countenance…
who so dramatically disowned our inner-most being for the flicker of her shanty-town eyes and trash-heap domestication…
who so simple-mindedly tore our beating hearts from our chests through our throats and shattered jaws to present as tokens of our love…
who so lonely in nights beneath concrete-breasts, betwixt asphalt-thighs slick as weapons-grade plutonium, cursed ourselves just for being…
We, who so longed for love that we became a self-mutilating spectacle burning with desires deemed demonic, satanic, beast-like…
who so longed to be loved that we fell from our heads and minds and souls into caricatures resembling anything but ourselves…
who so believed the foul things we were told in classrooms steeped in ideology that our souls, our spirits, died by slight-of-hand suicide…
who so fell for the tranquil war-cry of dogmatic serpents, ideologically blinded by pins and needles, that we waged war upon ourselves…

We, who made ourselves disposable, expendable, throw-away-able..
who made necklaces from our own teeth and presented them as gifts…
who made solemn vows to never be the ones we were…
who made promises to sacrifice and to protect and to serve…

We, who were told we were – by our mere presence – dangerous…
who were told we were – by our very nature – fiends…
who were told we were – by testosterone itself – immature…
who were told we were – by birth – untrustworthy…

We, who were made to make amends for the sins of our fathers…
who were made to take a pledge of inferiority…
who were made to mimic serfdom from infancy…
who were stoned by popular vote…
who were put in laughingstocks for speaking up…
who were hung, drawn and quartered when we drew a line in the sand…

Where are we now?

…lost in opiate-daze, body-outlines drawn in charcoal upon streets of yesteryear, heads resting on pillows of impenetrable street-trash, sleeping rough beneath lonely midnight-clouds, being spat upon by passers-by whom we, in the prime of our youth, swore we should protect?

…lost in manic labyrinthine chores and demands with vision clouded by push-and-prod-and-pulls infinite, minds ensnared by senses of righteous indignation at the here-to, here-now, come-here-boy, slaving away at the rat-race in indebted servitude to make amends for the sins of our fathers?

…lost sleepless between lead-sheets where our groins are slowly eaten away by bedbugs crawling through our shameful erections, working to do what the constant buzz and drone and hum of puerile, infantile, prepubescent publications tell us that we must do in order to be men?

…lost in fulfilling a barrage of incoherent societal demands levied at us for being us; a disastrous crack-haven voice calling for our responsibilities, our self-sacrifice, for us to do better and to be better so that women and children shall be safe and free and be safe to be free and be free to be safe?

…from us…

…lost in alleyways, brutally beaten and kicked to the curb, shot between the eyes and mugged, robbed, ripped apart by violence gratuitous and grandiose, crawling our way through broken bottles and puddles of piss to be told, at the end of the line, that we must end violence against women?

…lost between the spread legs of time, shadows floating by, unseen and unheard, unnoticed and unwanted, vague bodies crippled from stress and melting minds, double-narratives told constantly, double standards imposed upon us, heart, soul, mind, body now lost in time and space?

Where are we now?

…free-falling with arms flailing impotently into some dread future-scape, numbed by cogwheels ticking away, by machinery, by mechanical contraptions brutally burying into our skin and bones, our skulls and minds, our hearts and souls.

…free-falling with temperaments doomed to die, with judgements passed on the monstrous cock, the savage balls, the passage of time from mirrors mirroring history viewed through period-blood, menstruated heavily from high-and-mighty academes who never once tasted truth.

…free-falling into delirious neglect from a society whose whispers maniacally conjure grins and glee toxic and nauseous through perpetual lies and misrepresentations, through hit-pieces a-plenty and the everlasting tide of self-assured cock-shamed shaming of the cock.

…free-falling maddeningly into spirals of deceit where once stood truth atop the shoulders of giants, now ground into spastic broken shards of glass doubtlessly preaching dubious equality handcrafted marvellously from uncertain rustling behind the shower curtains.

…free-falling, lambasted and ridiculed for standing up where once we fell down, delving ever deeper into the solemn solitude of cathedrals erected to honour the death of potent masculinity; the culling of young minds seeing young boys led to the slaughter viciously, maliciously.

…free-falling into chemical castrations; blood and chalk on blackboards coveted by legions of pedagogues armed with orthodox new-truth, pale and pasteurized, homogenized and swollen with lies of a dogmatic nature, dominatrix school-mistress with fell venomous fangs.

We, whose wings were cut, whose fangs were pulled, whose claws were trimmed…
we, whose thoughts were silenced, whose tongues were amputated, whose throats were slit…
we, whose heroism was dubbed toxicity, whose playful banter was labelled hateful, whose sexuality was considered primitive at best…

We of the conveniently neutered generation,
of the conventionally tortured generation,
of the chronically tormented generation…

Who are we now?

…A generation of boys and young men shamed into silence, into servitude, into self-flagellating microcosm misanthropy aimed squarely at our sex and gender…
…A generation of boys and young men whipped into the deserts and the tundra to be food for the vultures and the buzzards and the demons; to feed the roar of the moving dunes, like waves…
…A generation of boys and young men lost within the manifested reality of grim-faced bespectacled poet laureates of fame and befuddled fortune in feudal-systems crafted from narrative convenience in academic stupidity…
…A generation of boys and young men ripped from the arms of their fathers and thrown into dungeons to suffer and then be crushed beneath the weight of the wickedness of the world…
…A generation of boys and young men scarred from a thousand strokes of the whip; the cat of nine tails poignantly expressing the societal dissolution of our very nature…
…A generation of boys and young men being told that they are at fault for the demons in the wilderness, the ghosts at the door, the past, present and future atrocities of humanity…
…A generation of boys and young men who never witnessed the rod being spared; who were spoilt with the tongue-lashings of a million studiously inept traumatized graduate students of brainwashed notoriety…
…A generation of boys and young men lost within the vortex of a de-constructed society, within whose arms and upon whose bosom we were never wanted, wished or welcomed…
…A generation of boys and young men who have been socialized into sacrifice, who have had their sexuality scrutinized, their essence demonized, their eyelids sewn shut with barbed wire…
…A generation of boys and young men raised into self-loathing and cold despair, losing ridiculous societal games by their mere presence considered harmful to all within line of sight…

And we were promised that our problems also mattered.
And we were promised that all should be treated equally under the sun.
And we were promised, were we only to open up, we would be saved.

And we were told the problems of boys and men were of their own making.
And we were told the problems of girls and women were also of men’s making.

…then we were told that boys and men have no problems, but that we are boys and men.
…then we were told to shut up…
…then we were told that we were the problem.

…then we became the problem…

*

Agencies devoid of reason chase us out of bed in stone-cold mornings.

Belated birthday-wishes for the dream that was the child within,
Choked out at the corner of bedlam and squalor,
Delirious and dripping with fright-night splendour,
Eternally seeking empathetic connections – salvation through society.

Fear being what they taught us in our ruptured barnyard-schools,
Gullible as only small children could be,
Hated and shamed for nothing but our crucified cocks,
Illuminated by the rudimentary petticoat-philosophy of nincompoops.

Jealousy reigned supreme in the bloodshot eyes of low-gear thinkers;
KKK-lynchings emulated in child’s play: boys are inferior.

Lying is the path towards miss-understanding,
Maddeningly hiding truth for sake of ideological convenience.

None who speak truth live long to tell the tale;
Only death await those who dare defend the masculine –
Painting perverse, obscene portraits of we who fell from grace –
Quiet, quaint, devilishly innocent political “truth-seekers”,
Raped by sourced evidence and facts to the contrary,
Silencing us as we advance ever more; crossing the borders of obscurity.

To tear the blindfold away from the inebriated waste-face of society,
Understand that society need to know more than lies and slander.

Vile assaults on men, on boys, on masculinity called us out to war.

We will win through persistence this war of nuclear attrition,
Xeroxed and force-fed to our gutless, gullible generation;
Young and old are all the same, tranquillized and mindless,
Zombiefied by rigorous academic intellectual insanity.

*

Being but boys, we lived vivid summer-evenings entranced in woodland playtime, running wild and free through trees infested with trials and tribulations for us to conquer…
…being but boys, we slew monsters and crossed paths with gods in never-ending summer days where we dazed about in frantic free-form imagination, hopelessly devoted to expressive life and love…
…being but boys, we grabbed every minute, every moment, and shook it endlessly, heedless of time passing through us, ecstatic, burning internally with wild warlock energy…
…being but boys, we stomped the ground beneath our feet until it turned to mud, conquering horrifying demons and fears and sweating like mad, hungry, powerful beasts…
…being but boys, we were shamans and warriors, magnificent playwrights of our own shared destinies, found in the holiest of holies, the inner sanctum of boyhood imagination…
…being but boys, we danced to tunes only we could hear in the soft, warm, murmuring summer air, breathlessly entangled and ensnared in lifesaving, life-affirming explosions of joy…
…being but boys, we were unhinged, burning with rebellion, with piss and vinegar, with breaking the cataclysmic chains that tied us to the daily drudgery of routines like superstition…
…being but boys, we evolved and we grew and we came to be young men, affirmed through fear-mongering parasites in burnt-out messianic lectures at school to be viciousness and lust and rage and ruin…

…being but young men, we were thrown overboard, cast adrift, to float face-down in lost mid-summer dreams where hopelessness gripped our throats as saltwater filled our lungs…
…being but young men, we succumbed to the allure of life-denial, taught haphazardly with veiled words sung from irrational gurus atop pinnacles of forced chemical castrations…
…being but young men, we saw our heads stomped by tender feet preaching liturgies of our foul wickedness through tyranny clothed in excruciating religious fanaticism…
…being but young men, we were made to rebel against our selves in days and nights of self-flagellating dishonesty, disrobing our masculinity to cleanse the palates of tin-foil-hat dictators…
…being but young men, we were made to break the supposed mould of maleness imposed upon us by our tyrannical forefathers, whose words and deeds should trickle down from history and manifest in us as shame…
…being but young men, we were shame incarnate, rebuilt, reborn from aeons of historical dust and mist and mud, disgusting swine of society dribbling with glee at every lash of the whip across our backs…
…being but young men, we fell into despair and never uttered a word in opposition to clinical insanity reigning supreme in miraculous lamplight-plays of smoke and mirrors…
…being but young men, we were castigated, ridiculed and shamed, laid in chains and iron and led towards torture-chambers to be confronted with, to admit to, our sins and seek repentance through pain…

And we saw, as men, our friends fall into catatonic states of unbridled drug-abuse, chained to the bottle and the needle as time wore on and wore them down.

And we saw, as men, the falling-out of our sanity linked to pre-programmed academes interrupting the heartbreak with lectures plentiful of shame and neglect.

And we saw, as men, broken and beaten and crushed by the weight of all our sins, God pass by in miniscule whimpers to lead some other stranger to some other far-away land.

And we saw, as men, summer floating into winter, permanently frost-bitten and trembling with hypothermia and repressed rage, our selves blow chunks of brain across living-room walls and floors.

And we saw, as men, suicidal ideation taking the place in our minds where once we used to stomp the ground to mud, where once we used to laugh to our hearts content.

And we saw, as men, our own deaths mirrored in the eyes of society shining with self-assured mockery and overambitious celebration at the death of we, of us, being nothing but men.

And we saw, as men, a world which passed us by and flew above our heads, daring us to reach out and touch its wings and tender beak, to seek its nurture and its love and compassion and fail, for it to mock and laugh…

And we saw, as men, the dawn of our demise where we were drowned in monsoon-rain, choked by moonlight, thrown from the cliffs onto the lashing, crashing, smothering waves below…

And we saw, as men, our friends and then ourselves checking out and longing for release and, after quick snack-breaks in rudimentary ghettos, finding solace in dropping out…

Where are we now?

No longer lost.
No longer losing.

No further fall from grace.
No further need for grace.

No more mindless dogmatic self-flagellation.
No more mindless pilgrimages of redemption.

No more swollen tongues from shutting up.
No more swollen chests from having to prove our worthiness.

We were mockingly proven to be unwanted, unneeded, unnecessary.
We were mockingly proven to be lecherous, treacherous, syphilitic.

We were told we were violence incarnate; anti-Christ resurgence, war, pestilence, famine and death in one neat package of toxic testosterone and vicious venomous boners.

So that now, to still the beating of your hearts; we’ll stand repeating:
There is no balm in Gilead;
and we who fell from grace
shall play this game
ah
nevermore.

 

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– Moiret Allegiere, 22.06.2019

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Fear and Loathing on the Educational trail:

snackbreak lowres

Illustration: «Snackbreak», A3, Moiret Allegiere, 2019

 

There is a certain level of dangerous absurdity, or absurd danger, in education. Considering the climate in places of education – be that education primary, secondary, or higher – where men are concerned, one would be hard-pressed not to understand why men are dropping out of higher education at alarming rates. When all one is faced with as a male student is hostility directed at ones gender, either covertly or overtly, the easiest path to tread is to burn out, drop out and fade away into obscurity, leaving what could possibly be ones own brilliance in a field to rot in a vacant lot in some hellish ghettoised suburbia.

Higher education was not something that appealed to me in any way, shape or form. Lectures and sitting still and not doing anything for hours on end but listen to some holier-than-thou authority drone on endlessly does not come easy to me. I am far too fidgety. I also happen to be one of those arseholes who believe in autodidacticism in no small way. Chalk that one up to a high level of distrust in authority on my part, I suppose. May be a flaw, may be a strength. It depends on the situation at hand.

Either way – flaw or strength – the path I wished to tread through life was very clear for me from an early age. That path would be the thorny, bushy, broken and difficult path of art. Despite my love of literature and my love of writing, I find visual art to be the most appealing to me, both aesthetically and practically. It gives my nimble fingers and fidgety nature something to do, and provides a fantastic outlet for whatever is going on in my ramshackle psyche at that moment in time.

I believed, with all my thorny-bushy pride and artistic integrity, that studying art would be suitable for my nature; all anti-authoritarian dreamery and eccentric shaman-shape. I honestly thought that this would be a haven for just such a repugnant freak as myself. Now; studying art in any academic sense was out of the question; dry lectures on dry art history in dry halls with dry professors and dry paintings with dry interpretations beneath dry roofs of dry academic arrogance and humourless wisdom accumulated from dry and dusty tomes of prior dry art history did not appeal to me in the slightest.

I wanted the practical approach to art – as I do in most things; a practical and efficient approach to life in general. This is not to say that there is no room for theory – of course there is. I would not be reading and writing as much as I do, if I did not place value on theory. It is, however, the practical approach that appeals the most to me. And a practical approach to art means that I get to create art, which is – excepting writing, bending over in anguished pain, and producing alcoholic beverages – the only thing I’m any good at in life.

And so I applied to, and got accepted into a liberal art school of no ill repute. Judging by the reviews and this schools eloquent and fanciful self-promotional material, it seemed to be a perfect place for me to enter and so expand my nerve-twitching approach to art. I wanted to learn how to create, and also to be free to create. Considering my highly introverted nature and severe social anxiety at the time, I thought this would be a great place where such things as forced socialization so common in education – at least where I’m from – would not be in bountiful supply. I just wanted to be left in relative solitude to tinker with my things and to let others tinker with their things.

This is not, of course, to say that I do not enjoy being social. It means that I enjoy my solitude and enjoy the company of a few like-minded friends. There should not be anything wrong with this. And boy, how wrong I was in thinking this.

Opening the doors into this school was a learning experience in no small way. I ascended the stairs and in so doing descended into hell. This was prior to my red-pilling. At this point in time, through years of – quite literally – indoctrination and brainwashing from prior incarcerations in schools, I was a feminist. Why wouldn’t I be, considering the hardships and horrors women had to face whilst men had it so easy through life that we literally had no issues, and if we had issues it was due to other men and due to being men ourselves, which could easily be remedied by not acting like a man all the time. No easy task, to be honest, when one is born a man.

Now, this self-defeating philosophy of feminism instilled into me a self-defeating self-loathing which I could not name at the time for the simple reason that I did not know it at the time. It is a weird thing to ponder, considering my current stance on the cosmic horror that is feminism. I was blinded by the light and so did not understand that the light was only put in place to mask the darkness behind, beneath and above, engulfing all of the light. It was presented in schools from teachers not the least bit ashamed nor afraid to present their own personal political beliefs as the grand truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me Jezebel.

Feminism had been intravenously injected into our very young and eager minds as the only path to equality between the genders; a steady drip-drop of arsenic concealed behind blissful morphine telling us that women had all the issues, men had none of the issues and so boys must do all they can to make the lives of girls easier. There is no gendered discrimination in treating girls better on a systemic level, we were told for years uncounted. Because that is nothing but levelling the playing field, dont’cha know, and that is all there is to it.

I feel stupid, falling for it and being ensnared by it for so many years, despite the evidence to the contrary of the claims of feminism being so prominent, so obvious and so right-in-your-fucking-face as to be impossible to not see unless one chooses willingly not to see it. But that is the power of indoctrination, that is the power of allowing one ideology to become so powerful as to be virtually untouchable, that is the power of being able to hide the dark, evil, bloodstained beast behind the inscrutable saying; the holy no-true-scotsman-fallacy of “not real feminism”.

As we all should know by now, there is no real communism, and there is no real feminism. “But that’s not real communism.” “But that’s not real feminism”. Spouted as sucker-punch jargon all the while the world burns and people die and nothing is done about it due to ideologues being completely blinded by the light fantastic. It is a frantic wilful blindness to the vapid insanity of ideology slowly becoming dogmatic religion; cult-like in thinking and so infused with either-or pictograms that it crossed the bridge of fanaticism aeons ago.

In this school of art, I might as well have studied feminist dance therapy. I might as well have studied the eradication of masculinity. I might as well have studied shit under a microscope. Come to think of it; studying shit would have given me a far better understanding of art than my two years of art-school ever would or could. For one very simple reason: art was not the important topic in this school of art. Feminism, political correctness and what would later be dubbed social justice warriors were. The very simple pleasures of doing art took the back-seat as a sledgehammer approach to feminism took the front-seat, riding shotgun with all the radical feminist theory one could ever hope to have dripped in ones ears and forced down ones throat, or up any other orifice of ill repute.

Obvious disclaimer time; this is anecdotal. This is personal experience. I have no evidence to show for what I experienced but a re-telling of what I experienced. Looking to the stats, numbers and so-and-such in any area of education, excepting only a few, will prove without a shadow of a doubt that men are dropping out of education. Looking even further beyond the rainbow-coloured lenses of feminism and into the environment created on schools all across the western world by the forces of feminism, and one will quickly come to the realization that my personal experience is an experience shared by many a man bold enough as to believe that studying a field will mean that they get to study in that field, give or take some details.

Now, imagine if the world gave a damn about the experiences of men, be that one man as an individual or men as a whole. If that were the case, this blatant hatred of men would not be tolerated, would not be accepted and would not be celebrated. And yet it is, and the furious forces that be have the gall to claim, have the auspicious audacity to claim, that we live in a world where only the voices of men are heard, to the detriment of women!

What a wonderful, topsy-turvy, grand collapse of sanity one must celebrate and gather around to believe in this abhorrent nonsense when the evidence to the contrary is so obvious. That is what happens, I suppose, when one instils into impressionable young minds the damsel in distress trope and the chivalrous knight needed to save her.

…All the while complaining about the damsel in distress trope and the chivalrous knight needed to save her…

And then daring to brand this as something new, when it is nothing but the same-old-same-old expectations of gallant chivalry and male self-sacrifice we are so accustomed to seeing; demands placed on men to help women at the sacrifice of themselves. Demands placed on women to help themselves and other women at the expense and detriment and social de-valuing of men.

There is expected responsibilities for men to carry all the burdens of the world, and then some. There is expected freedom for women to place all the burdens of the world, and then some, on the tense and fractured shoulders of men.

Instead of responsibilities and liberties being shared.

All this granted by the holy goblin-ghost of feminism, whose stout and stalwart onwards march into the midst of our civilization have made them able to cease the means of production and create a global mythology that sees them – and only them – as the only force striving for equality, even when that equality means female supremacy; the hoisting up of one on the shoulders of the other. This trickling down into our schools and then into the minds of pupils and of students, is incredibly dangerous. It leaves no room for nuance, teaching only the absolutist thinking of feminism and portraying not only men, but masculinity as a whole, as the one destructive force in our world – the only negative and the core reason for all our woes and terrors. No Pandora’s box here; no multitude of reasons and complex complexities of humanity to contend with and to ponder and to consider. Nope. Only men as the problem. This it is, and nothing more.

But I digress.

The first six months or so in this school went fairly well. All fanciful introductions and clever displays of “look how free-form and free we are; how open-minded and so-and-such.” Of course, the feminist rage and hatred was very prominent, constantly boiling beneath the surface and the layer of scum, popping ever so often to the surface in swift and fell swoops designed to shame the men therein for being men, evidenced by needless meandering and monologues from the teachers – not labelled “teachers”, but “educators” for some reason – when they were to showcase their art, all ferocious feminist fancies and ill-conceived vapid silliness brought on by what I can only deem a wish and a longing to be oppressed and persecuted for their gender were they female, or a longing to prove themselves worthy men were they male.

After a while it became obvious that the progressive stack was in full fucking force within the walls and sheltered halls of this institution of indoctrination. Or, that is to say, it would have been had I the words to explain the situation and the madness at the time. I did not, and though it felt wrong at some visceral gut-level, I could do nothing but nod in dumb-struck agreement; to go with the flow of cerebral nothingness shown in so-called art and in so-called introductions to art where they – as feminist virtue-signallers are known to do – could not shut up about gender for more than three seconds at a time, using gender and political leanings as the basis for their judgement of art and not the work of art in and off itself.

I am doing my best not to reveal the identity of anyone. My gripe is with ideology and with bad ideas, not with individuals. As a general rule, I am not interested in going after individuals. I am interested in going after the ideas and the ideology, as that seems to me to be the best path to tread. Keeps me out of trouble, and keeps others out of trouble as well.

I find myself hard-pressed, however, in this instance. As revealing the position of certain teachers within this school might also reveal their identity. Thus, I stay away from revealing their positions as well. I think that is only fair.

Things turned on their head at around the six month mark, and the hostility towards men became more tangible, an electric buzz tasted at the tip of my tongue and in the back of my throat as the blood rose and the fever worsened. A madness seemed to descend upon the school; all gripped in the holier-than-thou attitude of being untouchable, and as such allowed to say and to spew whatever they wished, as long as it was said and spewed towards men, capitalism and some perceived beast of right-wing leanings.

I think one anecdote is good enough to paint a decent picture of the goings-on. My art tend to be fairly personal. This is usually done to battle personal demons. Of course, I do my best to make the art look beautiful and be relatable to those who view it as well. Beauty is of no importance when it comes to art – as we all know, who have seen modern art devolve into a piece of shit within a glass-container.

I had done some drawing or other of a personal nature, drawing on my experiences with severe insomnia, only to be met with the judgement from one of the teachers that it was so personal that she felt sick looking at it.

Now, criticism is criticism. I did not expect to study art and not meet negative criticism of my art. That would be absurd. And so I did not think about this too much, until the very same teacher praised to high heavens a piece of art done by a female student, just as personal as the art I had done – albeit coarser and more, I would say, in-your-face than mine. If memory serves, it was not a bad piece of art at all. But that is not the point. The point is that she was touted as being brave and strong and courageous for creating something this personal and sharing it like she did. So; my personal art made the teacher in question feel “sick”, as she put it. A female student’s personal art, however, was praiseworthy for her courage in doing exactly what I did to make this teacher sick through my art. You get my point.

Men, being severely privileged by nature, can not have any issues worth anything to the mind of a feminist, and so when men have personal issues, they would rather not know about it. All empathy, understanding and praise must go to the female students, as empathy, understanding and praise is a finite resource to the minds of people who view everything in terms of power-dynamics and not in terms of mutual respect and equal treatment. Balancing their imagined scales by giving praise in the direction of women and scorn in the direction of men.

At around the same time – at the six month mark – I met my future wife in this school; we were in the same class and hit it off almost instantly. Both of us being highly introverted probably contributed a lot to us hitting it off so good. And so we became a couple. This, it seems, is the greatest grievance ever and the worst trespass I could ever have done both to this school and to this poor unfortunate woman who had fallen into my cunningly laid trap and been swayed into my arms and eager mouth, waiting to devour and corrupt her.

The teachers at this haunted mansion, infused with the essence of the feminine divine and the feminist gospel, did all they could to keep us apart and break us up. I wish I were joking. But I am not. I wish I were making this up. But I am not.

Some of our fellow students partook in this as well, which I find to be fairly interesting. Now – to be fair, I do not have any evidence that this was fanned by the teachers, or if they just felt the general direction the winds were blowing and wished to gain favours with the teachers.

Teachers pets are not an uncommon thing, and doubly so, it seemed, at this shack of a school, all Gothic towers and underlying sense of doom rivalling a short story from Edgar Allan Poe.

When teachers go on friendly visits to their students in their past-time, some foul smell of favours and corruption and favourable corruption is not exactly without their merit.

And yet, and of course, it must be mentioned that us both being highly introverted also meant that we kept ourselves to ourselves mostly, and so did not take part in the grand collective too much. This, by default and by definition placed the role of “outsiders” upon us. Which is kinda funny considering the archetypal outsider-role of the artist generally speaking.

When once one is deemed an outsider, it is easy to also earn the wrath and the ire of most. Somewhere, somehow, upon someone, fault must be laid and blame must be placed. It seems very human, in all honesty. It is a tale as old as time. However; when teachers, who are supposed to treat all students equally, misuse their authority and take part in the caning and the shaming of the outsiders, something is lost and broken which should not be lost and broken. And I would dare make the claim that it is not the job of teachers to meddle in the personal life and affairs of students. In particular when those students are of age, and are mature, and so should be left alone to do with their lives as they wish to do with their lives and with their time of study as they wish to do with their time of study. As long as whatever is supposed to be done in study is done, that should be the extent of their meddling.

This was not the case. And the mutual introverted natures of my future wife and myself were enough for the teachers to pass judgement most foul upon me for being a man so horrid and so offensive as to dare be in a loving relationship with someone of the female persuasion.

As time moved on, the hostility became ever more apparent. And so did the attempts to keep my future wife and me apart.

I could go on and on about lectures, supposedly about art, bringing up feminism and male-female power-dynamics, and the horrors of masculinity ad infinitum. I could go on and on about the shaming of men so common now, and so common then. I could mention the feminist seminar which which was taking place, prominently advertised at our school, and the shaming of a male student who wished to attend this by a female teacher who made it very clear that she did not think he had any place there. I could mention the visiting artist supposed to have a presentation showcasing his artistic endeavours being browbeaten by a teacher in the audience for daring to state his support of the state of Israel, halting the entire presentation in order for this teacher to showcase his moral superiority and derailing the entire presentation into a mass-shaming of this poor artist who just wished to talk about his art.

The political correctness ran rampant, and I was stupid enough to take part in the political correctness. I was suckered into the follies of the PC-police, despite being assaulted by it at the same time. It is the powers of indoctrination, of brainwashing, showcasing itself yet again. The horrible, nagging feeling of this being wrong was overshadowed by the glorious sensation of being in the right, of doing something good and proper and true.

I am ashamed to admit it.

But that is the way it was.

Now, in my defence, I did not verbally assault anyone. Nor did I act like we now see the hive-mind social justice warriors do. I did not reach that point of insanity, not by a long stretch. But the foundations were there, laid down after years of schooling showing no nuance and teaching not a semblance of critical analysis of a situation. I had to learn that on myself.

Lucky break of random chance, then, that I am a strong believer in autodidacticism and so read ferociously and feverishly all manner of books and articles critical to the school of thought driven and promoted and – in many ways – owned by the feminist hive-mind.

Lucky break of random chance, then, that I should suffer this horrible treatment by feminism, insisting they work for equality but showing quite the contrary, and so making me doubt the very foundations of my education up to and including that point in time.

Lucky break of random chance, then, that the feminist hive-mind behave the way they do and in the manner they do, so as to make someone like myself who was so ensnared, so shackled and chained by the programming break free from the programming by witnessing them doing exactly the opposite of what they claim to do.

The roots of my eventual red-pilling draw their sustenance from my years studying feminist dance therapy. By which I of course mean art.

At the start of the second year, the teachers at this school quite simply refused to give me any feedback on my art. I received no guidance, no education, no feedback, no nothing. I was – it would seem – un-personed, a non-person, a non-existent nuisance, a blemish on the gigantic arsehole that was this school. My crime was being introverted and having a girlfriend who also happened to be introverted.

This was made very much evident at the six month mark of the second year at this school, in which each and every student were supposed to have the art they had produced during the previous six months evaluated by the masters of indoctrination and feministing. I produced a fairly decent amount of art – some good, some of it not exactly good – but quite a lot to be evaluated nonetheless. And so I brought bags upon bags of my art, as well as some short films I had made into the hall of judgement, prepared to be taken behind the shed and shot like some mongrel dog. What greeted me behind the doors of this elusive hall of judgement were two teachers who, quite obviously, had conspired together and laid plans for their strategic assault on me as a person, not my art, not my output, not my creativity, but me, myself and I.

What followed was a long lecture on how wicked I was in not being social enough, and in not being social enough also forcing my girlfriend to isolate herself from the rest of the school. For sixty minutes, give or take.

It was a completely pre-planned fervent assault on my horrid character: the patriarchal oppressor doing all in my power to oppress my would-be-wife in the most horrible way possible. That is: by refusing her to mingle and be social with the rest of the over-social mad and positively over-acted gleeful scoundrels at this school.

It became obvious after five minutes that they were not in the least bit interested in viewing my art. Not at all. They were there to judge my character. A deeply disturbing act, to be perfectly honest, as I could not for the life of me comprehend where this vacuous hostility, these illogical assumptions, these nonsensical sentiments stemmed from.

In hindsight, I know precisely where they stemmed from, of course: it was the feminist ideology at full force, wherein my would-be wife was viewed as a weak and useless victim of my absolutely fantastic authority – in their fractured hallucinatory fantasy, my would-be wife, by virtue of being a woman, had no agency of her own and so could only do what I commanded her to do. Which is very peculiar, obviously, considering feminism proclaiming to work for the right of women to do what they wish with their lives. This, of course, only ever extend to women doing precisely what feminism wants them to do with their lives. Obviously, my would-be wife did not do what the frantic forces of feminism would have her do; she did not act as they expected a strong, powerful and independent woman to do and so the fault must of course lie with some man or other. This is clear, as feminism perceives women to have no agency of their own; being crushed beneath the weight of the thumb, cock or balls of whichever man they were unlucky enough to have in their lives.

They had not spoken with my would-be wife on this matter. They had just assumed that her lack of social participation was due to me and my introverted nature coupled, of course, with my severe social anxiety at that point in time. A social anxiety, I must add, which I thought would be remedied by forcing myself through studying in some place I believed would be good for my mental health. Obviously, it was not. It made it far worse. At the very least, it laid bare the view feminism hold of both men and women.

As the highly moralistic assault on my very character continued, all I could do was stand there in jaw-dropped silence as these two pre-programmed androids kept lambasting me with this and with that, having no mind or no concern for what they were actually supposed to do. It was clearly pre-planned, wolves circling their prey and slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, closing in for the kill. As the assault neared its end, they suddenly remembered what they were there to do – that is to say – what they were actually receiving fucking pay-checks to do.

With one swift swing of the sword, with a baring of the teeth, one of the synthetic wolves snarled that I should show some of my art. I showed one piece, which was – with no exaggeration – laughed at. Loudly. Mockingly. Childishly. That is one piece out of probably fifty or so which I had brought with me, expecting to have reviewed and judged on their merit. Now, obviously, this mocking laughter combined with the scorn and the shaming I went through in this hall of judgement, did not exactly fill me with high spirits and some hope for what the morrow would bring.

Quite the contrary.

I do not think it unfair to assume that in a review of ones art, one would expect to have ones art reviewed. I do not think it unfair to expect a level of professionalism from supposed artists posing as supposed teachers at a supposed good school for studying art. I do not think it unfair to assume that the personal and/or romantic life of students should not be scrutinized by moral busybodies with no grasp on reality and no understanding of anything but their own preconceived notions, their own pre-programmed ideological definition of male-female power-dynamics. I do not think it unfair to expect to not meet this level of hostility, to not be met with baseless assumptions in regards to my own romantic relationship, painting me as some horrible oppressor and my would-be wife as some horribly oppressed poor damsel in distress needing the teachers to save her from me and my forcing her not to be social. Especially not when the only thing that was supposed to be reviewed were my art, my work and the sole fucking god-damned reason I was in this hell-hole to begin with.

As this was completely unexpected, I could do nothing but stand there and feel that old sense of dread; that anxiety welling up and coursing through my body and my mind as blasts of misplaced adrenaline ran through my body, numbing my skin and my mind and my senses and clouding my comprehension of the situation at hand. Were I not as anxious as I was back in those days, I would have done something or said something or complained or, well, whatever. As it were, the real nature of this encounter did not sink in until it was too late to do anything about it.

Anxiety is such a weird thing to suffer from, and to explain it is impossible, I think, to anyone who has not experienced it first-hand.

Then, push came to shove. My feeble psyche had withstood all that it could endure during that year and a half within this glorified gulag, this re-education camp for horrid male oppressors and their flaccid and weak-willed victims. I suffered a full and complete nervous breakdown.

Keep in mind that there were several individual instances of similar nonsense which I have not mentioned for the simple reason that this would be a never-ending ramble were I to do that.

Keep also in mind that I had struggled for years at this point with mental health issues of no small impact. This nervous breakdown came complete with dissociation, with a worsening of my insomnia, never-ending nightmares, panic-attacks and wild and vicious exhaustion and fatigue. For which I was given, until the line at the psychiatrist opened so that I could receive mental health “treatment”, as many bottles of Valium as I wanted with the instruction to take up to five pills a day.

Yeah.

That was the level I was at, and the state of the treatment I received prior to the waiting-in-line was done. A full four weeks of medically granted sick-leave was also given me, which was not enough. Of course, I should have quit that god-forsaken place instead of letting it drive me insane. Quitting was not an option, however, as I had dropped out of education previously. For much the same reasons, in fact – not personal attacks on me, as was the case in this school, but the over-reaching feminist indoctrination and control of these schools which constantly vilified men, making it a fucking chore to study when, just around the corner, some cleverly veiled assault on masculinity was waiting and ready to pounce.

I can not, for the life of me, fathom how the ideology of feminism is viewed as such a grandiose and beautiful thing. Its most ardent followers are quite clearly living within a world of their own delusional design, wherein all choices a woman makes, if not done in a manner accepted by feminism, must mean that the woman is oppressed and unaware of it herself, being too weak and too frail and too stupid to be aware of it.

Feminism, it seems, does not exactly have a high opinion of women.

At the same time, I can not fathom the depths of unthinking assumptions being made by feminism wherever men are concerned, painting men as all-powerful and, in being all-powerful, corrupted by their own power to such an extent that they do not see their power for their, well, power. Which, clearly, causes all men everywhere to oppress women, even if they don’t mean to do it. This just lies in the nature of men, according to feminism, and so we must be taught not to act like this just as women must be taught not to act like that.

Feminism, it seems, does not exactly have a high opinion of men.

Feminism does not like anyone or anything, except feminism. And those who do not align with their rigid guidelines are either forced to the fringes of society, metaphorically killed or whipped until they submit to their world-view, their dogma and their ideological and narcissistic drivel. You are either with feminism, or you are free game. Conform, or be killed. To quite the Borg: “Assimilate!”

And it is so odd and it is so strange that, for all their gooble-de-gook about female empowerment, they are completely unable to accept a woman behaving in a manner they do not consider proper. A woman not behaving as feminism would like a woman to behave is oppressed, even if she does what she wants to do. She just does not know it – as stated before.

The only possible explanation that a woman does not behave like feminism would have her do, is one man as an individual or all men as a collective keeping her from doing what she wants to do – that is, what feminism wants her to do. There can be no other reason, and if she does not see this for herself, it is up to the good forces of feminism to do the work for her, to emancipate her from the horrors of a loving would-be husband who is just as introverted as herself.

You see, there were parties at this school which my would-be wife and myself did not attend for wanting to stay at home instead. In a normal world, this would be accepted. This, however, was not a normal world. This was the world according to the gospel of feminism. And so not going to these parties were brought up in my time of judgement as evidence of me keeping her from being social. Which, of course, was an absolutely absurd statement, considering it was my would-be wife who most of the time expressed interest in staying home instead of attending the parties.

Odd, that the assumption was that it was my fault – this lack of gleeful socialization. I wonder if they would have considered it her forcing me not to be social, were they to have been informed of this?

Of course not.

They would probably not have believed it, for the simple reason that their view of the world does not allow for such a thing to occur. Or they would have, by some magical mental gymnastics or other, found a way around it.

Now, to make myself perfectly clear – my would-be wife did not force me to not attend any parties either. It was very much a mutual decision, and it should be respected as a personal choice. To a feminist, however, personal decisions does not seem to matter too much. The personal has to be political. Even when the people involved don’t want I to. It especially does not matter when some victim and victimizer power-play can be manufactured to their hearts content, power-fetishists as they seemingly are. It seems the only thing that brings any form of meaning to their dishevelled lives.

Now, of course, that is just me being mean.

I am sure they find lots of joy in other things. Like for instance filming three women standing on a bridge pissing, forcing us to watch it, and calling it art.

Luckily, my time at this school came to an end and I attended the graduation-ceremony, such as it were, stoned to the max on Valium and being almost unable to complete structured thoughts due to long periods of sleep deprivation and the wonders of Valium turning me into some weird and pervertedly enlightened Benzo-Buddha.

Believe it or not, this usage of Valium was not even me intending to get stoned on them. I just did what the doctors said that I should do. Which, I later learned from another doctor, was highly irresponsible from the other doctor.

The scars ran, and still do run, deep. This school opened the doors for me to venture even further into the whimsical world of mal-practiced psychiatry. A world which I had, prior to attending this school, all but quit for feeling better, getting better and wanting to cope with life without the aid of mental speech-bubbles labelled therapeutic help.

It is the sole reason I was put on so many psycho-pharmaceutical drugs that I can not even remember the names of half of them. Shortly after this school ended, I completely lost faith in art. Not only art, but in my own ability to create art. By extension, I also lost complete faith in myself. This, in turn, caused more need – or perceived need – for psychiatric help, which fanned the flames of the feral drug-industry of the mental health services, prompting ever more drugs to be thrown in my general direction. These drugs were thrown my way along with diagnosis of various and sundry, each more dangerous, clinical and serious than the rest, prompting more drugs, and so forth and so on. That is, of course, another story waiting to be told. And I am writing a book – believe it or not – on this particular branch of madness, this weird halting of my life for six years, abruptly ending by an abrupt ending of the drugs. Well, the book is more focused on the quitting of the drugs than what led up to it.

It was very clear through the madness of psychiatry that the core reason for my eventual breakdown, the root cause of it all, was of no interest. Any mention of the negatives of feminism was shooed away, and it was clear that this was not a topic to be discussed. At the very least not in any depth or detail. Just throw drugs at the problem, and it will all go away.

And I find myself thinking, all these years later, after clawing my way through hell from medications and from quitting medications, through piss-poor treatment at school and from teachers supposedly there for my benefit, being there solely for their benefit and the benefit of feminism and the perceived benefit of my poor and oppressed wife-to-be…

I find myself thinking that there really is no wonder why men are dropping out of education, failing to launch and failing to live.

There is no wonder in this at all, as the places of higher indoctrination do all they can to make sure that no man shall feel safe or feel fulfilled or feel anything but a deep-seated sense of shame, regret and remorse for being born male.

Feminism has dug its claws so deep into the skin and neural interface of education that they can not be removed without tearing the skin, ripping the flesh and damaging the nerves.

Without tearing it all down and rebuilding it without the political indoctrination, the call for ideological purity, the unopposed forces of feminism so prevalent in any-and-all corner of this throat-tearing silliness called education, it can not be saved. At the moment, it is only men paying the price. In just a few years, however, it will be all of society paying the price.

I paid a not insignificant amount of money to attend this school. This, I think, is akin to having to pay for the rope to be used when one is sentenced to death by hanging. It is having to pay for the toxins in ones lethal injection. This school did, directly and indirectly, mess up the trajectory of my life in no small way. It brought me six years of complete and utter drugged-out apathy. Why should any man wish to do this? Why should any man be forced to do this; to pay in order to be told that they are evil incarnate, that they are doing nothing but causing distress to all the women around them? Why should any man pay to go to a place of learning dominated by women to be told that more must be done to get women into higher education, despite women making up a severe majority of students in higher education?

Why should any man pay to be – in short and in essence – discriminated against for their gender?

It does not make any sense.

And the senseless, heedless, needless downplaying of the needs of men is only surpassed by the severe display of lack of compassion and lack of empathy; the clear and blatant hatred and shaming of all things masculine, of all men in all areas of education. And this is labelled as a quest for equality! It makes me sick to my twisted stomach and trembling oesophagus.

It makes for a better grasp of oneself and ones sanity, such as it is, to not partake. It is a survival tactic, this, to not study, to not attend higher education, to not attend education at all, but to fade away and burn out – a flame being snuffed before it managed to burn.

A candle that burns twice as bright may very well only burn half as long. A candle that is snuffed before it is allowed to burn does, at the very least, not stain the carpet with melted wax.

 – Please like, share and subscribe.

 – Moiret Allegiere, 11.05.2019

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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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What makes a man suicide? Rambling on traditional expectations and suicide.

Portrait artist cofee lowres

Ill: «Selfportrait with morning coffee», A3, 2019

What makes a man?

Is a man naught but muscles, tendons, organs and primal lust vibrating within a shell clumsily assembled to resemble a human being; an imitation of humanity manspreading viciously beneath a monochromatic sky, nervously anticipating his next oppressive conquest?

Is a man naught but an unfeeling automaton, completely and utterly devoid of basic human emotion, empathy and intimacy; a mass-manufactured cybernetic organism slowly gaining sentience and self-awareness and, in so doing, coming to realise his might, strength and ability to subjugate others to fulfil his own selfish needs?

Is a man naught but a replicant, an android created specifically to do the hard, uninspiring and menial labour society deems to be the low-status jobs; the hard and monotonous, the filthy, dirty, sweaty, dangerous professions filled only by those whom we – in our weird and dissociative state of being – consider to be of less importance, those whom we consider to be disposable, expendable, nameless, faceless, those who move the world?

Is a man naught but a nervous, trembling mass of violent impulses and barely contained rape; a sexually deviant beast, malformed, shapeless, barely cogent in his guttural ululations resembling language and emotive expressions consisting of mere primal urges; to fornicate, procreate, expand his territory, conquer his enemies and then exterminate them?

Is a man naught but a perpetual work-horse, the doer for others, a vibrant shade of history, of his story; to do for others, to sacrifice and to do for others, existing within the frame of mind of those for whom he is expected to sacrifice as nothing but the protector/provider, to be is to do, to do is to be, toodle-do… Does he then disregard his own state of being in order to be locked down in a state of doing so he is not disregarded by others as a being of less value from his lack of doing?

Is this state of being really and truly the state of privilege? Is the bogged down, simplified, dehumanizing view of a man as a human-doing, not a human-being an example of gender-privilege?

To put it in other terms: if a man is killed in war, does anyone hear him scream?

Even more bluntly: when a man is killed in this nonsensical gender-war, why won’t anyone hear him scream?

Why do we refuse to see the suffering of men and of boys in this shivering mass of tentacles and cosmic horrors we have allowed our societies to devolve into?

There is something to be said for traditionalism, apparently, as traditional values is still the expected state of being for a man: to sacrifice himself for the benefit of those around him, disregarding his own well-being, be that well-being psychological or physiological. In a very strict sense, I am not a traditionalist. The simple reason for this is that it chains both man and woman to pre-determined destinies, removing a degree of individual freedom which I would rather not see be removed. In a biological sense, however, it seems the traditional path is the path upon which we all thread, subconsciously, led by the hands of our very nature; our state of being being such that women and children must be protected to ensure the continuation of our species. And if that means the self-sacrifice of men, so be it. Or so the story goes. It does make sense, from a biological perspective. We are, however, in a state of being in which we are able to transcend the purely biological.

This state of being is very clearly reflected in the gender argumentation; the feminist assault on all things traditional whenever a traditional path involves women. Women shall be freed from the constraints of traditionalism. OK.

That I think, is more than fair.

I have no qualms with this.

I believe everyone should be free to follow their own path and do with their lives as they wish to do. And when I say everyone, I actually mean everyone – man and woman alike. And when I say do with their lives as they wish, I mean exactly that – as they wish. As long as no-one does anything against anyone against their wishes, I don’t care what people do with their lives. Thread whichever path you wish. Just remember that your rights end where the rights of someone else begins. In simple terms.

This, of course, does not mean that I will not judge people on their actions. Nor does it mean that I will not comment on these actions. It means, quite simply, that I see absolutely no reason why I should force someone to live a certain way, whether I agree with a certain way of life or not.

When the feminist hive-mind of ravenous virtue and vulturous morality raise their screeching voices in opposition to traditionalism, and howl dementedly at the moon-goddess Luna about freedom from gender-roles, they speak only in regards to women. This would all have been fine and dandy, were it not for the fact that they propose to speak on behalf of both man and woman, that the groin-grabbing metal-claw that is their hands have firmly clasped the scrotum of our distorted discord in regards to gender.

When the clearly female-centric ideology of feminism, whose legacy has granted us such vitriolic hatred and contempt for all things masculine as to be completely dismissed when speaking on behalf of men and boys, proposes to speak on behalf of men and boys, we ought to be worried and we ought to protest this. This is one of those things that are truly worrisome and frightening, and one of the main reasons I have launched my own war against feminism: an ideology orbiting one gender is the only voice heard, or allowed to speak, on behalf of both genders. And this is absolutely nonsensical. However, it ties firmly and neatly into all things traditional. Women must be protected and must be granted any-and-all, if we are to carry this human DNA into the future of mutual delusion that seems to be the path we have chosen. And men and boys must be sacrificed, or be called to, forced to, made to sacrifice themselves on behalf of women and children. And here come the he for she, once again, a speech lauded as revolutionary and fantastic, as something profound and something clever whilst being absolutely nothing but a rehashing of what we have already been doing all through the murky haze of our shared collective history. He for she.

Him go hunt big mammoth, him protect mate. Him make sure harm not come to young. Him bring meat and warm skin of mammoth. Him protect, him provide.

Of course, traditionalism was based around a sense of mutual respect, cooperation and – dare I even say – love, with both parts of a relationship doing for the other part, and in turn for the rest of the family unit. All doing their part. Or, that is my understanding of it. I was born far too late to see traditionalism in full fucking swing. I was born into the era of feminism, within whose auditorium I was told relentlessly and repetitiously about my own wickedness and the sins of my father and my fathers father and my fathers fathers father, for whose sins I must pay with my self-respect, my well-being and my blood, if need be. And in front of the shining and shimmering altar of feminist revisionist history, beneath her fragile goddess-form, I was made to kneel and told to do all I could for whichever woman was unlucky enough to cross my path; whose mere countenance I was lucky to behold and whose footprints and whispering voice should be the be-all, end-all of my life. He for she.

And here come the traditional expectations thrown at men; shackled and chained still in the good old gender-roles which feminism purports to have broken down, disassembled and done away with. To do for women. To do and not to be. To prove himself worthy by virtue of his ability to protect and to provide for her, for the family, for the union of their loins and sweaty groins, or merely for the hope of the unity of their loins and sweaty groins. And all this whilst proclaiming freedom from pre-determined roles for one and all, arguing past oppression as a means to justify the fervent, violent, never-ending assault on all things masculine. Justifying and popularizing hatred and subsequent subjugation of one gender and one gender only through a wilfully hazy recollection of things past.

And just as the future ain’t what it used to be once we grow up and become more cynical and less hopeful, the past ain’t what it used to be once we grow intellectually and are able to critically analyse history and data both, to see that the mirage offered us by feminist historians and pedagogues mirror not history, but wish-tory, a wishy-washy way of pointing to this or to that in order to show how horribly women were treated in ages past; chained to the kitchen and to the home while the men were free to cavort joyously in the wild and gigantic jungles of societies past, swinging from the branches of the trees drunk on their own power with no obligations, no chains and no shackles and no worries, free as free could be in the horrid morning of our modern civilization, prior to the feminist utopia we now see spread-eagled before us on the dusty ground.

If by “free” you mean 14+ hours a day in the coal-mines for incredibly little pay. If by free you mean obligated to provide and to protect for someone who was of far more social worth; of so much worth, in fact, that they could not possibly be expected to sacrifice those hours, days, weeks, months, years of their life and of their safety in dank and horrid caverns, gaining nothing but a barely liveable wage and black lungs from inhaling coal all day, every day, all week, every week.

Strange, that the past is viewed as though it mirrors the present, even when not the case. Childbirth was far more dangerous in those horrible days of yore. For both mother and child. Survival was not guaranteed. Medicine was not what it is today. Our modern miracles of medicine have not always been there, you know. Surely, it makes sense then, in order to keep the woman and the child safe, that they should be at home? That the man should take care of the risky business of making a living – making a living for all, I would add. Life was harder. Things were tougher. One can not look at the past with the lenses of today, claiming that it is like this now, so it was like that then. Things change, times change, progress is made and things do not stay the same, and things have not stayed the same. Sacrifices had to be made, by one and by all. Note, please, that I do not in any way intend to downplay the role of the mother, the wife, the woman in this scenario. Things were surely tough and hard for all. I am simply trying to offer perspective. The past was not hard for women. It was hard for everyone, except the few who wielded power. Yeah, most of those with power were male. This does not mean that men had power. Nor does it mean that now. It does not mean that men in power would benefit men and men only. Nor does it mean that now. That would be the apex-fallacy, gracious xister, wondrous xir. The one percent at the top being this or that does not reflect the 99 percent not at the top, who happen to be this or that.

*

Which brings me to the beginning. What makes a man? Or, to the strangely convoluted point of this ramble: what makes a man suicide? As we can see from the statistics, men are far more at risk of suicide than women. This goes for the entirety of the world, with very few exceptions: ( http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-statistics.html )

This is very clearly a subject with no easy answer, and it is a subject I am somewhat reluctant to tackle. There are many factors and variables at play, and for personal reasons it is a subject which is very near and dear to my heart and gut and balls. It is difficult to write about, because it is a difficult subject.

Speaking from my own personal experience as a thirty-something male, I can not remember one single instance from any school I attended where I heard anything positive and uplifting said in regards to boys and men. Quite the contrary: the focus was always and ever on lifting girls and women up and above, often at the detriment of boys and men. I mention this frequently in my writings, as I consider it to be very important. I don’t think there is anything wrong with lifting girls and women up. Of course there isn’t. There is something wrong with lifting girls and women – and only girls and women – up. Giving positive messages to one gender and one gender only for perceived equality is quite obviously contrary to equality. It is treating one better than the other. And this is happening at schools all the time, across the entire fucking western world.

Not one instance of boys being lifted up and told that they could do whatever they wanted to, be whatever they aspired to be. It was always, from teachers as well as pupils, Girls rule, boys drool. Overt or covert, it did not matter.

Our teachers, infused with feminism and the high-and-mighty flap-jackery of moral virtue, dignity and compassion granted them by the feminine divine, saw no qualms in telling boys that they were the root cause of the evils of the world, as well as telling them – driving the point home with pin-point accuracy as often as possible – that their emotional maturation was far slower than the girls, and as such that the girls were far more mature than the boys. Our very nature was, through this, made out to be wrong, to be of lesser worth and of lesser maturity than the nature of girls. At the same time, we were told that gender was a social construct. Odd then, that emotional maturation in itself was something to be trusted, given the social constructionist bull-shittery of the thing. This of course translated into a covertly – or overtly – hostile environment for the boys.

No mind, never matter, this ain’t no thing, as armies of indoctrinated feminists spouted feminist dogma in their early teens, completely incapable of understanding it or viewing it with any form of critical eye but the severe moral grandstanding of “we – the girls – are oppressed by you – the boys. You owe us.” And there come the entitlement from noxious drones fighting the good cause; a cause into which they had been brainwashed from early days at school, indoctrinated into severe entitlement translating into a distrust and putting-down-off boys, whose lives and value to themselves through the very same indoctrination mattered less and became less than that of the girls; whose aspirations in life mattered little and whose ability to reach, as it were, for the stars had to be put aside and trodden into the ground so that the girls should be lifted up, at the expense of the boys. Boys whom, it must also be mentioned, were diagnosed with ADD or ADHD and put on brain-altering and highly addictive chemicals for the crime of being a boisterous boy trapped in an environment not tailored nor suited to him.

Is there any wonder, then, that suicide is such a big killer of young men? There has never been – in my lifetime – any focus on lifting up boys, on making boys feel good about themselves. Quite the contrary. Boys have been told to make amends for years of so-called oppression carried out by their forefathers. Boys have been told that they are rapists-in-waiting, that any sexual desire they may feel should be a source of shame, that their sexuality is simplistic and primitive.

And this from schools, whose teachers are supposed to be the ones from whom facts and truths about the world shall be made clear. It translates into confusion. Chivalry. Confusion. Girls and boys are of equal worth, we are told. So why shall boys and men sacrifice for the well-being and the up-lifting of girls and women at the expense of themselves? Why shall we then not expect the same standards, the same responsibilities for one self from girls as we do for boys? Shall not girls and boys cooperate? Shall not women and men cooperate? Giving and receiving in equal measures, being told the same so as to lift both up? In this age of equality, why is it only the lives, well-being, future, of girls that matter, and why must the boys be thrown to the wolves?

Revenge.

Revenge and retribution for perceived prior oppression.

Revenge.

Reparations paid by a generation of boys and young men who have done nothing wrong but be born with a set of cock and balls on their battle banner in this manufactured gender war, manufactured by ideologues whose gripe with the world at large translates into psychosis – a dissociative state from whose point of view all is translucent, fleeting and nonsensical, with no values but the emotional knee-jerk reaction of offence taken for the sake of taking offence.

And growing further from this den of indoctrination, young girls grow up to be young women, and still being told the same thing – girls rule the world. You can do anything, you can be anything, boys drool, girls rule. And young boys grow up to be young men, still hearing the same – girls rule, girls can be all, boys and men must help girls and women.

And no-one must help boys and men, not even themselves.

Boys and men are driven into a life of servitude – driven into the same traditional gender-roles which the feminist hive-mind claim to have eradicated. Now, they may claim that they have eradicated it for men as well. But this is simply not true. And this is made evident in the words and actions of feminists themselves, who still demand men do for them, sacrifice for them, giving them their all whilst having no right to demand anything in return. In our secular societies, for lack of God, we have given the position of deity to the exalted state of womanhood – to give to her, to do for her, to make for her, to pray to her so that she may absolve us of our sins and so that we may become – to her eyes and mind and ears and claws – redeemed, cleansed and worthy of the heavenly bliss that is her companionship.

Through this lens of equality, boys and men are told that their path towards healing is wrong. That we need to open up and talk about our feelings, instead of repressing them. As if the feminine path to healing wherein emotions are discussed is the one and only path towards healing. Men, in general terms, are drawn towards action as a means of healing. Or, failing that, solitude. To mull things over on their own. Whereas women are drawn to social circles, seeking comfort in friends and in family. There is nothing wrong with this. The issue comes when boys and men are told to heal in a manner contrary to their nature, as if their very nature and their natural path towards healing is wrong. As if we only act a certain way, not that we are a certain way. The mere notion that men only act manly is insulting in and off itself. Try telling a woman to stop acting like a woman all the time, and see what results you get. It wouldn’t be accepted. But boys and men are supposed to accept it; the narrative of toxic masculinity being what kills men. As a boy becomes a man, the first thing he realizes, if he listens to this gobsmacking advice, is that there is no-one there willing to listen to his problems. He might open up as much as he may; the best he can get is half-interested nods and blinks. The worst he can get is being told he suffers from fragile masculinity, which is odd considering his apparent toxic masculinity is what causes him to not talk about his issues. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Laying down, as the ground-rules for discourse, that the very nature of men is faulty does contribute, in my view, to the suicide rates in no small way.

Keep in mind that I am writing on feminism, not women. That, although feminism wishes it to be so, feminism does not equal women. And women does not equal feminism. Feminism have become, for all intents and purposes, a religion. It is a cult. It is a dogmatic victim-cult, hell-bent on revenge, fuelled by its own mythology, maintaining a canon of saints and prophets whose words and deeds shall not be taken in vain, or be set upon by arguments. Feminism has become untouchable. And dangerous. And its reach is such that it has infiltrated everything; the medieval catholic church packaged anew. No-one expects the feminist inquisition! Yet, one and all should expect the feminist inquisition, as they come rampaging and roaring and screeching your way the moment you voice opposition to their dogma and their orthodoxy.

Young boys shown feminism as the true path towards equality between the genders from an early age are sure to believe it. Even when experiencing, time and again, that it does not view the genders as equal. Even when experiencing, time and again, that the dogmatic victim-cult treats the genders quite the opposite of equally. All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others. Through indoctrination and through brainwashing, their belief, as well as the belief of the girls, in feminism and feminism only is ground into them from an early age. And experiencing the forked serpentine tongue of feminism upon their soul and their bodies may only breed cognitive dissonance. On the one hand, they are told that we are all equal and that we are all treated equally. On the other, they are shown through actions and words that they are not. And being told, time and again, of the errors of their ways by their very nature, through no fault of their own, confusion breeds within. Confusion and inner turmoil.

Men are overrepresented in all the negative statistics – victims of violence, drug and substance abuse, homelessness, suicide, joblessness, hopelessness, despair and grimness, lower age expectancy and dying more often at work. And what are we doing about this? We are focusing solely on girls and on women, and are told when trying to bring up these facts, that it is not a gendered issue and so we must not view this through the lens of gender. The gendered lens is brought out solely when girls and women are perceived as, or can be made out to be, the sole or main victims of some societal ill or other. Then – and only then – will it be perceived as a gendered issue. But when boys and men fall victim to the horrors of societal ills, it does not need to be treated as a gendered issue. Incredibly strange, is it not? It is a gendered issue whenever women can be made out to be the most affected. It is not a gendered issue whenever men can be made out to be the most affected.

It is the grim sensation of hopelessness settling in our chests and in our stomachs. A grim spectre of purposelessness and a loss of direction. Boys and men are not needed, we are told from a tender age. Because we need to lift the girls and the women up and above. The point is driven home, time and again, through mass-media mass-manufacturing the same vile hatred of boys, men and masculinity due to the mass-media now being infected with the girls and women who grew up with these tall tales of feminism being served them on a silver-platter all through their education, teaching them that they are above reproach and that boys and men are below them and owe them their lives and their servitude. And it has such a stranglehold on our societies that speaking about it like I do gets me labelled a misogynist.

Me, the foul misogynist, wanting the genders to be treated equally and given equal rights under law. Sounds like a horrid hater of women, no? Me, the foul misogynist, wishing for cooperation and balance to the discourse on gender. Imagine what paths we have been made to thread to make it so. Imagine how crooked these paths are, and with so many forks in the road being made necessary in order to justify labelling someone wanting equal treatment of the sexes as a hater of one sex and one sex only.

These talking points that feminism is only about equality, that it is not about hating men, need to be taken away. For they are simply not true. At the rotten heart of feminism lie the blatant hatred of men and of masculinity itself. Which is why I constantly bring up feminism. To get to the root of the rot within our societies, we need to examine feminism. And then we need to dismantle it, remove it from its positions of leadership and get this ridiculous neural imprint of ours that it is only about equality stripped away. To heal the hurt of our societies, we need to remove the rot. And we must bring balance to the discourse. Equal treatment of the genders is not a topic to be discussed by one voice and one voice only. In particular when that one voice has as its sole focus one gender and one gender only. How incredibly authoritarian, how fantastically totalitarian, how astonishingly arrogant, must one be to imagine to be the only set of ideas worth anything, and thus the only voice allowed to speak on behalf of gender? Feminism proves time and again that it knows jack shit about men. So why in the snoot-fuck should we allow them to speak on behalf of men? It is ridiculous, preposterous and ideological. And that is all it is.

I am frightfully aware of the fact that my writings tend to be bleak and hopeless, offering little in the way of solution; perhaps only offering some cathartic release. This is, more like than not, a product of my own bleak hopelessness and despair in regards to how the winds of our societies are blowing.

This despair and hopelessness goes contrary to what I actually wish to achieve with these writings.

I have no intention of staying lost in a pit of hopelessness and despair.

I have no wish to stay trapped within a cage of anger and rage either.

And I do not wish this for others.

The fact of the matter, though, and the pure realistic view of things makes it very easy to justify both feelings of hopelessness and of anger. And detaching from justified anger is as difficult as detaching from hopelessness when once it has settled within oneself.

This hopelessness leads to bleak outlooks, leads to checking out and not returning. And that is not good. Unless one turns it around. Turning ones back on society and becoming the archetypal rebel-character, living by his own rules, may well be a strength within itself; a fantastic picture of self-reliance and individual strength as much as it may be a picture of someone who society has cast aside. Own your self and own your shit.

The message sent to girls and women is a message that should also be sent to boys and to men; that they are strong and able and that one should aspire to live to the best of ones abilities. So why not send it to boys and men as well?

The sensation of hopelessness, the loss of direction, the loss of a sense of purpose and a sense of self all ties into, I think, the view of men as doers of things; as being what we do and defining ourselves from what we do, instead of what we are. Men as utilities, as disposable servants for the greater good (Cue Hot Fuzz – “the Greater Good”) of society. This is an archaic notion of men upheld as much by traditional values as by feminist dogma demanding men do for women – by which they mean, of course, feminism – even when claiming they don’t need no man. Again, I am reminded of He for She, which I think is one of the most insulting speeches I have ever heard. It is the view of men as protectors and providers, of caretakers and chivalrous knights saving the poor maiden wrapped up neatly and nicely in a new package; painting women as helpless victims and objects acted upon by evil men and in need of being saved by good men, even if the view is that all men are wicked and false at heart. Men are being told that we are not needed, by and large, whilst still being expected to rush to the aid of damsels in distress. We are not needed. Except when called upon to help women.

What we need to do is to consider ourselves as human beings first and foremost. To get to know our self. To define ourselves from what and who we are, not from what we do. To consider ourselves as our selves first, and what we do second, so that our humanity comes before our utility. In so doing, the need we feel to prove our usefulness comes second to the strength we have in our sense of self, our belief in our own strength and value as a human being. This, I think, will lessen the stranglehold of feminism in no small way, as there will be no men rushing to the forefront of the gender-war to prove themselves useful and thereby valuable. Because we have already become aware of our selves; we will already know that we have value in and off ourselves. Through this way of thinking, I think, it will all begin and it will all end – beginning with a whisper in the depths of the manosphere, and, given time, ending in a cacophony of vibrant, fantastic, rapturous and celebratory laughter vibrating fantastically throughout our societies.

– Moiret Allegiere, 09.03.2019

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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

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Links:

Visit my blog:

https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/

Check out my youtubechannel:

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Stalk me on social media (as long as it lasts):

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