Reproductive Rights for Me, but not for Thee

«Gamers, Rise Up!»

Last year, my wife had an altercation with a feminist on that grand ol’ feminist platform Facebook. There was not much aggression or hostility in the comment my wife left for the feminist to find. Quite the opposite, actually.

A political party in Norway had opened for the possibility of allowing for so-called “paper abortions” for men. That is – the freedom to sign away any responsibility for a potential child within a certain time after a pregnancy has occurred. As most of us who have had our eyes opened to the world as the world actually is, not as it has been presented, will be aware: men have absolutely no reproductive rights.

The feminist in question shared the news-article about this, commenting that “This party must have been smoking their socks”. To which my wife replied that “I actually believe the sexes should have the same rights”.

Which is just about as tame and non-controversial a statement as could possibly be. After all, the fight for so-called gender-equality is the vague thing that is in vogue. It was neither reasonable nor non-controversial to the feminist in question, of course, whose patronizing and staring-down-my-nose-at-thee response was as arrogant as it was condescending.

“That’s good, Moiret’s wife, but let me tell you how this really works”. Which of course translates from feminist speech into the human tongue as “Equality for me, but none for thee”. Equal rights do not mean equal rights to a feminist. It means special rights and privileges to women. It also shows the view feminism holds of women who disagree with them; as stupid, incompetent and brainwashed by the nebulous and nefarious patriarchy… as someone who must be spoken to in the tender and condescending tones of someone educating a wayward child.

Following the comment left by my wife, two guys jumped in agreeing with her on the topic at hand. A big ol’ argument ensued, in which the feminist in question became more and more angry and upset, culminating in her becoming absolutely and completely irrational.

It was very interesting to behold, as every single so-called argument she spouted against the notion that men should be allowed a say in whether or not they want to be a parent was more or less a parroting of pro-life talking points, albeit with the sexes reversed.

Gems such as “People have to be aware that sex can lead to children, and men have to take responsibility for their children” does fall flat on its face when the same people argue that women should be allowed to abort their child whenever and wherever and at any point in the pregnancy.

Women should not be made to deal with the responsibility of their actions and choices, but men do. Not only do men have to deal with the consequences of their own actions and choices, but the actions and choices of the woman as well. He has no say either way. If she wants the child, she keeps it. If she does not want the child, she aborts it. It is completely irrelevant whether he wants to be a father or not, despite the child being a product of them both. This does not seem particularly fair or equal. If women get to decide whether or not they want to be a mother, men should get to decide whether or not they want to be a father. If women shall be allowed to terminate their pregnancy at will, men should be allowed to sign away their parental responsibilities at will. Her choice, her responsibility. Equal treatment means just that. And, oh, my, it is all for the good of the child, they say when the topic of paper-abortions are brought up – think of the child. The child needs a safe and secure upbringing, and so the father must contribute. At least financially.

Strange, then, that the ones who preach free abortions whenever a woman wants one do not consider the safety and security of the child when it comes to abortions. Terminating a pregnancy means killing the child. Not particularly safe and secure. Won’t somebody please think of the children?!?

Any woman that gets pregnant holds a ridiculous amount of power over the man whose child she is carrying, as she is the only one who has any say in what happens with the child. And this is fair enough, as things are – I would never advocate for forcing a woman to go through with either an abortion or a birth. If people in general were a bit more careful and thoughtful about who they fuck and how they fuck, however, this would not be that much of an issue. Which, I believe, allowing for paper-abortions for men would contribute to.

What I am advocating for is allowing men a say in whether or not they want to be a parent. The feminist platoon keep repeating the mantra of “Her Body, Her Choice”. Which is something that could be argued against with the simple, yet supposedly radical and misogynistic, notion that the foetus is not her body, it is its own body. See; that is the pro-life stance – that the foetus is a living human being, not solely an extension of the body of the mother. It is not about controlling the mother, it is about not killing the baby. Whether one agrees with this idea or not, that is what it boils down to. Not killing the baby.

The morality of abortions is not what I aim to ramble about here and now, however – that’ll be for another day and another ramble. I just thought it would be a good idea to point to the fact that the feminist counter-argument to the pro-life people is based on a misrepresentation of the pro-life people’s stance.

It is fairly interesting to see that the feminist horde consider grown women to be more deserving of protection than a child, whether that child is unborn or not. It is, after all, women and children first – not children and women… nor is it children and parents first, which would be a bit more sensible.

Personally, I am neither pro-life nor am I pro-choice, as such. I do not believe abortions should be illegal, as I fear that would inevitably lead to backyard abortions with severe possibilities for infection and death and what-not and what-have-yous. This is not a good thing. On the flipside, though, it could mean that people were a bit more careful and thoughtful about who, how, when and where they fuck. Accidents with birth control stuff do happen. Sometimes on purpose.

I do not believe abortions should be unregulated; that the state should just grant women free abortions up to the moment of birth. Because, like it or not, the foetus is a child, is a human being, that is deserving of life. It is a more complex and complicated issue than the feminist hive-mind chose to present it.

Ultimately, it is all about the unborn child.

Though, of course, to a selfish person it is only and ever about them. And feminism is a rather selfish ideology, as it is ultimately only about her, her, her, and everything – and everyone – else be damned.

This, I find, goes for quite a lot of the social justice-stuff as well; egotism and narcissism hidden behind altruism and compassion.

Anyhow; the argument went on and on, with my wife merely repeating what she had already said – really hammering the point home, as it were.

This did not compute to the feminist in question. She was completely unable to comprehend the fact that men are also human beings that ought to have a say in the direction their life takes. In her world, men exist solely to serve.

“Her body, her choice” could easily be countered with the argument “his wallet, his choice”, as we all know how child-support and custody and all that jazz works in these equality-obsessed societies of ours, where equality means favours to women and no consideration for men.

Women are the default custodial parents. Men need only pay up, having little say in this or in that. Which of course, is presented as a patriarchal trespass on women, viewing women as mothers and nothing but that and so and such and bladi-bladi-blah.

And this is interesting, considering the feminist battle against equally shared parenting rights. It is, after all, the feminist organizations that come protesting whenever a default 50/50 parenting in case of divorce or whatever is proposed and considered.

There are no concrete values and convictions as such, no need for internal consistency or intellectual consistency in the feminist ideology. It is, after all, not a monolith… except when it is a monolitht.

As long as anything can be presented as an attack on or an affront to women, it will be presented as such and used as an argument.

It does not matter if the very same feminist have stated the completely opposite previously. Nothing matters. Only the view that women are victims, men are perpetrators, women are wonderful, men are vicious, women can do everything men can do, except when they can’t, which is whenever a feminist decide that equality would be a burden to women. There are no bad tactics. Only bad targets. So inconsistencies and double-speech and self-contradictions are no problem as long as the battle can be won.

At the end of the argument, the ferociously frantic feminist in question was only able to counter the arguments presented her with a “Blah!”, before claiming that she was not angry and then promptly deleting the entire thread, gently wiping away all proof and evidence of her own imbecility and displays of childish temper-tantrum-throwing.

It is very interesting – and fairly cringe-worthy – to witness such absurdly immature behaviour from someone who is above the age of fifty, but there you have it.

It becomes very clear, whenever one argues with a feminist, that they have never once considered the male condition; that they have never once attempted to view the world from a perspective other than their own. That they have, in fact, been living within an ideological bubble, en echo-chamber, if you will, where their feminist ramblings have seldom – if ever – been challenged.

This movement, this ideology, claims to work on behalf of equality for all – including men. Feminism cares about men too, after all. This does not compute when it becomes self-evident through their words and deeds and actions that they never once consider men in any way but how they can be of service to women – or, more to the point – to feminism. A man is not a human being unto himself; he is a human doing unto her. Either acting for her, or acting upon her, with no say in this or in that. He is either a threat to a woman to be dismissed as such, or a tool for a woman to be used as such. To the eyes of feminism.

Particularly so where children are concerned.

Or, rather, where parenthood is concerned.

Where sex, sexuality, impregnation, conception and birth is concerned.

In recent years, there have been a very concerted effort to attack fathers; to downplay the importance of their contribution to the raising of children. One must be blind and ideologically brainwashed to not notice this.

The nuclear family must be dismantled, they say. For it is yet another tool used in the oppression of women.

That children really do need their fathers – and fathers really need their children – is of no importance to a movement that have decided that any male interference is a negative; that the only contribution he needs to make towards the raising of children is an economic one. He shall pay up and stay away, having no choice, say or sway in anything.

This is not only incredibly unfair. It is dehumanizing. It reduces the father to having no role to play in the life of his child but that of an absent provider; of a walking wallet. Which, of course and given time, is turned around and made to be his fault, thus gifting him the wonderful label of “dead-beat dad”.

Once again, the complexity of human nature is boiled down to “women good, men bad”. Feminism is fighting against equally shared parenting rights as well as the reproductive rights of men whilst at the same time claiming that men are at fault for this. Just as men are at fault for any pregnancy; reducing, in the process of doing so, the woman to nothing but a receptacle for his seed.

I have seen, time and again, feminists on twitter claim that any unwanted pregnancy is solely the fault and the responsibility of the man. After all: he is the one choosing to ejaculate in her.

And this idea makes sense, of course, when seen through the feminist framework. This framework is created in such a way as to say that – given the patriarchal nature of our societies, and the supposed oppression women suffer, and always have suffered, under the rule of men – women can never give meaningful sexual consent to men, thus rendering any sex had as not only being rape by definition, but also of being solely the responsibility of the man. Women are objects being acted upon by men, to the eyes of feminism, and so anything done to a woman by a man is the responsibility of the man. And this includes the woman getting pregnant by him. It is in the phrasing, in our common parlance: “He got her pregnant”. She did not get pregnant. They did not get pregnant. He got her pregnant. Not she, not they, but he.

I remember learning, in school, that the ancient Greeks believed that the sperm and only the sperm was what made a pregnancy possible. The body of the woman only received the sperm, as such contributing nothing but a vessel for the child to grow in. The feminist teacher presented this as being severely misogynistic, as one would expect. Not as a result of them simply not knowing better due to their limited knowledge as well as their limited ability to gather knowledge about the inner workings of the bodies, but as peak misogyny and hatred of women.

Of course.

This is very interesting, considering that pregnancy is considered by a seemingly large part of the hive-mind to be the sole responsibility of the man, with the woman not contributing in any way, despite giving consent to sex and as such to the possibility of pregnancy. Consent to sex does not equate to consent to parenthood. Unless one happens to be a man. Then it does.

As I learned when watching the aforementioned argument unfold: men have to be aware of the possibility of pregnancy and take responsibility should it happen. Women do not, as they shall have any-and-all possibility to opt out of parenthood. It is her body and so it is her choice. His body and his life is not his choice, and should she get pregnant he has to take responsibility.

Men have absolutely no reproductive rights. And very few options for protection. Vasectomy, condoms and abstinence are the only options available. Compare this to the plethora of options available to women, and one begins to wonder why the burden of responsibility for a woman’s pregnancy is placed solely in the lap and drained testicles of a man.

There was a case in Norway some time back where a man was tricked into parenthood by a one night stand. She claimed she was on the pill. She was not. She tricked him into impregnating her because she wanted to have a child. He went public with this, stating that he did not consent to parenthood. She lied about being on the pill, and got pregnant on purpose. And so he tried to sign away his parental responsibilities. To which he was met with severe hostility from most of society, stating – just as the aforementioned argumentative feminist did – that he had to be aware of the possibility of pregnancy when having sex.

Despite this being a case of the woman deceiving him.

Now, were I him I would have insisted on the use of a condom as well. I would not trust a stranger blindly, and so his own naivety – or stupidity – is to blame for that.

Yet, her blatantly lying to him and tricking him into impregnating her, furthermore to be financially responsible for a child he did not want is not to blame for that. He has to take responsibility for her deception, and she does not.

This is a terrifying state of things.

What irks me even more than this particular case, however, is that only a week after this case blowing up and this man being shamed and ridiculed and whatnot… I saw article after article popping up, stating that it was rape of the woman if a man removed the condom during sex without informing her… without her consent to do so.

This is absolutely un-fucking-believable.

This is the exact same thing, yet the treatment of it is the exact opposite. She lies about birth-control and this is his responsibility and not rape of the man. He lies about wearing a condom and this is his responsibility as well as being rape of the woman.

Following the same logic, her act ought to be considered rape as well and judgement be passed on her. But this did not happen, nor does it happen now.

Women, it seems, are very happy to place the burden of responsibility for their own actions on men.

And why should they not? They are free to do so under the law of the land.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 21.03.2020

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And it was never truth:

«Quick Impressions of a Move»

The glass ceilings have all been busted. The window-widows all in tatters, glass-holes in the walls smashed open using crowbar-aesthetics. Our far-out sisters labelled the day as night, the night as day, the morning as mourning. And they dubbed the sun the rain.

“The whispered fracture”, the whisperers rejoice, clothed in fully nurtured climate-change absurdity.

And it was never truth.

Stories bottled up and stored by simpering simpletons that smell of pussy-hounds, canonized past grievance tales flow and fly into the minds and frumpy eyes of legendary professorial rats, churned and burned and high-and-mighty, stinging once and singing twice, never to be stung.

“Clean them out”, the cleaners whine, dressed in a stained and muddied garb of funky nuclear fusion.

And it was never truth.

Stories passed from lips to lips in grand ol’ oral traditions; straight from the horses mouth unto the riders mouth and ears, whose shining teeth atop his pussy-beggars throne willingly would close about the jugular, viciously pinch and twist and rip and tear to bleed the bulging bastard dry and dead.

“Pinch the nerve”, the pinchers sing, fully naked in the streets despite their lucid fear of the male and his hypnotic gaze.

And it was never truth.

Grim and ghastly stand the statues in defiance to whatever-next. Genocidal hubris on the glasshouse-agenda, nostrils flared and muscle called for, strong oratory warriors; powerful yet powerless amazing amazon women called to sing from behind their casting couch deals.

“Me too me too me too”, the pack-happy trend-hopping outrage-consumers shriek, drained of colour and of light.

And it was never truth.

Funded and fanged, clawed and hissed and throwing hissy-fits atop the podium, atop the pungent stares that line the walls of brown-nosed social media, the mass-media savvy organizers organize and leave their frenzied shrieks echoing in our ears for all eternity—claiming they are never heard.

“We are being silenced”, the voiceless scream into the lingering lime-light; there for them and only them, for they are never heard.

And it was never truth.

Nibbled minds obscured by clouds, deluded and delusional and trapped within the victim-gates of some strange lock-and-key rage inside the shelters of the safe-and-sane; a gated community for all whose echo-voices will forever echo back at them in nights of drooling ecstasy.

“Believe women”, the believers quack, needing neither evidence nor due process in this dawning of the word before the truth.

And it was never truth.

One can not default to believing women without defaulting to disbelieving men. Such a strange precedence this sets, that sex shall be believed and not the truth believed instead. Such a strange world this is indeed, where one is seen to never lie and one to always lie.

“Gobble gobble gobble”, say the ruling class, the venomous intellectual elite, the academic nincompoops. The masses follow, never thinking.

And it was never truth.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 11.03.2020

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
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Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
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Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
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Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

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Why I am an Anti-feminist, part 11

«Mid-day Greetings»

One of my most favourite memes of all time is one in which there is a picture of a Barbie doll. Above the picture of the Barbie doll are the words “This is Barbie”, followed by the usual inane ramblings from feminism about the negative body-image, the stereotypical whatever and what-not and the negative effect this has on girls… how terrible and oppressive and so and such (and every other buzzword) it is. Next to the image of the Barbie doll is a picture of a He-man action figure. Above that picture, the words read only “this is He-man”.

I don’t believe there is any reason for me to explain what this means, though for the unenlightened ones, I may well do so.

He-man is a bloody hulk; a searing mass of muscle and flesh and brawn. An unreachable body for all but the most roided up of men.

And Barbie is a slim woman.

Both of them also happen to be dolls. Toys meant to amuse children. Not that this matters much, of course. Children do not exist to be amused and to play, they exist to be imprinted with an agenda, to be moulded into beautiful pawns of the gender-neutral purple penguin future. I am not all that familiar with the He-man series or its universe, being a child of the glorious animation of the nineties instead; Animaniacs, Tiny Toons, Freakazoid, Batman the Animated Series, etc.

I am, however, aware enough of the He-man universe to know two things:

1: Skeletor is the spitting image of Joe Biden. There is an uncanny resemblance.

2: He-man has not had as many careers as Barbie has, given that she has been granted almost every possible profession in the world – even McDonald’s employee.

Both the “low-status” and “high-status” professions have been granted her, it seems, bottled and sold to these poor impressionable girls who are ever so oppressed by their dolls and their career-prospects.

Now, I may very well be an absolutely entitled man-splaining moron, but it seems to me that selling the idea of women being able to hold every profession under the sun would be very much welcomed by the feminist platoons. And it probably is. As long as the woman is not a slim woman with an idealized body-type that is unavailable to all but a plastic doll. Which she, as a matter of fact, is.

A plastic doll.

A doll made from plastic.

Not a living, breathing human being with organs and emotions and other such pesky annoyances.

She is, in fact, a plastic doll.

Interesting to note is also that her male counterpart, Ken, functions as little more than arm-candy for Barbie. A status-object which cements her as not only professionally successful, but also socially successful. Ken also just so happen to be completely and utterly neutered, fantastically emasculated, devoid of ham as well as eggs, as it were. Which makes me wonder how in the world Barbie ever managed to get pregnant by him… There is a pregnant Barbie doll, for those of you who are uninitiated. And it is absolutely marvellous. And I say this with sincerity – it is a fantastic toy, all things considered. Don’t “at” me, brah.

Come to think of it: the entirety of the Barbie universe may very well represent the grandest and most fantastic feminist utopia – the ultimate wet dream of the feminist hive-mind; a world in which women dominate every profession, men are castrated at birth, thus serving no purpose but to be yet another success-object for Barbie and her friends – an object upon which the women then may release all their scorn, anger and malcontent when needed, who obligingly crawls back into his cage when the women are done with whatever he is needed to do at the moment… after all, when all the lids are screwed open and the living-room remodelled, what use could he – or any man, for that matter – possibly have?

Due to the emasculated nature of Ken, I can not possibly reach any other conclusion than this: the Barbie universe is a world in which babies are conceived through the use of synthetic sperm, aided by doctor Barbie herself. As such, the Barbie-verse has successfully eliminated the archaic notion that heterosexual intercourse is necessary for procreation. Heterosexual intercourse obviously being – as one should be well aware by now – rape of the woman, no matter what.

In structuring their society in this manner, Barbie and her cohorts have succeeded in eliminating all rape. Excepting stare-rape, fart-rape and all that other stuff. But that is of small consequence within the confines of this universe. For Ken to be blinded at birth is next on the agenda, thus eliminating once and for all the pesky male gaze and any future possibilities of stare-rape.

Through this reasoning, we come to realize that Barbie, as opposed to the claims from feminism, actually represent the pinnacle of flaccid feminist fantasy. Surely it is a wonder that they do not celebrate her. Had she not been slim, they probably would have. Yet, they must have something to complain about, why not? Nothing is more important to feminism than perpetuating feminism, thus the need for something to whinge and whine about. Otherwise, they would have to consider themselves obsolete and find new careers, which for a professional feminist of no ill repute is a hard task indeed. Make no mistake – there is a lot of money and power involved in feminism. And they have to maintain that stream of money and flow of power by any means, any whims and any whines necessary.

The Barbie universe is a feminist utopian fantasy. An ideal society for all but those pesky non-feminists out there, for whom it is a dystopian fantasy. Of course, these people do not matter. For they are not flying the true colours of the searing sisterhood.

The society which Barbie and Ken inhabit is one in which women rule absolutely everything by virtue of nothing but their sex, sexual reproduction does not exist, boys are castrated at birth, growing up to be little more than man-servants… a society in which the lives of men is an existence of absolute slavery and servitude.

Beneath the fluffy pink exterior of the Barbie-verse lies a society of gloom and doom, of chains and whips, neglect and abuse.

See – I can do it too.

And I wrote this “thesis” after a night of poor sleep in the span of ten minutes. Overanalysing something to the point of absurdity is not difficult at all. Why should the feminist interpretation be more accepted? Personally, I think I make a compelling case. Particularly so if I could flesh it out some more… much like the body-positivity Barbie dolls have been fleshed out in recent years. They are highly irregular around the margins, one could say.

Anyway – the roided up action figures made for boys do not damage the self-esteem and body image of boys and young men. I know this to be true, because the feminist hive-mind have told me so. (Now, I tend to believe children in general to be pretty adept at separating fantasy from reality and toys depicting human beings from actual human beings. I have this radical notion that kids are far more clever and far more intelligent than we tend to believe. Also – I really like kids. They are great.)

You see, these figures for boys are representative of a “Male Power Fantasy”, and as such is negative for girls and women having to endure the terror of the male power fantasy, not for boys and certainly not for men. Unless, of course, the discussion can be whip-lashed about a bit to focus on toxic masculinity. Which is harmful to boys and men, but most of all to girls and women. Because nothing else matters but women and girls.

The only ones allowed to speak on what is damaging to boys and men, or what is good for them, are the followers of feminism.

Because nothing else matters.

And that is all that there is to that.

This is also something the feminist hive-mind have told me. And so it must be true.

Because nothing else matters.

Yet, if I were to make the claim – as I have just done, albeit in more words, that Barbie represents a “Female Power Fantasy”, I would have a feminist fatwa on my head. (Which I probably already have.) It would not be taken seriously. And, I believe, rightly so.

The polls are in, the votes are counted and the deaf, dumb and blind have had their say. Their say is simple: Barbie makes girls feel uncomfortable about their bodies, inadequate and so-and-such. And sop they must either be banned, or altered to fit in with their vision of the world. Because nothing else matters.

Implicit in this line of feminist reasoning, taking into consideration that He-man apparently does not create similar body-issues in boys, is the notion that girls are psychologically weaker than boys – that women are emotionally more fragile than men; that they are much more likely than are boys and men to give in to peer pressure and societal expectations of a negative nature. Girls are far more impressionable than boys. Except when they aren’t. Which is, as it always is, when, whatever, never-mind.

Boys are not affected by unrealistic body-whatevers, nor unreachable beauty-whatevers from their toys. Girls are. Therefore, we must not care about boys because they – as opposed to girls – are completely capable of separating toys from reality, fiction from non-fiction and their power fantasies from their actual day to day life. Excepting video-games, which have the awesome power of turning them into foul misogynists and other such naughty things. This makes no sense, since boys and men are misogynists by default for being moulded into hating women from the moment of birth… but, no mind, little matter. Feminism and its ideas do tend to get very confusing, self-contradictory and strange. Which may very well be by design, creating a simple intellectual “out” for every possible refutation for reasons of being designed in a confusing manner.

“This is true. And so is this other thing, which is the exact opposite to that other thing.” This is because feminism is not a monolith. Except when it is. Despite that it isn’t. All dependent on the whim and fury of the feminist in question, at the moment of questioning. Individualist when it suits them, collectivist when it suits them.

Feminism does not exactly leave us with a good picture of femininity, nor does it grant us any belief in the strength and resilience of girls and women when feminists carry on as they do, is what I’m trying to get at.

All the while, they give us an incredibly telling view into their opinions on the resilience and strength of boys and men when compared to that of girls and women, which is quite simple: Boys and Men can handle anything the world throws at them, Girls and Women can not. Evidenced by #killallmen being considered A-OK, whereas any criticism of a woman – particularly a feminist woman – is enough to render them slaves to PTSD for the rest of their lives, and is more than enough proof of the terrible misogyny of the internet as well as all men everywhere. Men are well suited to endure a constant negative message – up to and including calls for gendercide, even on national fucking television in Australia, as we have recently seen. Mona Eltahawy on the – I believe now infamous – Q&A feminist special.

They removed that segment from the internet after a while. Claiming it to be too “controversial”. I believe to engage in damage control on behalf of feminism. It would be far more damaging to the image and reputation of feminism to keep it up, and so it is removed. Clearing away evidence, as it were.

Or am I being too cynical and overly paranoid? I don’t know. One man’s paranoia is another man’s reason, after all.

One thing is certain, however: all this abuse, and more, men shall endure. For men are expected to endure it. Yet, women are not even suited to endure criticism. Nor do they ever need to. They are to be hoisted way above that. #believewomen does not only refer to nefarious claims of dubious sexual assaults. PTSD from Twitter. Post Twitter Stress Disorder. Social-media-shell-shocked. Poor whamen and their social media shenanigans. They most certainly deserve a safe-space on the internet to spew their #killallmen without being harassed for it. How else would they be able to demonize all men without being reminded that men are, as a matter of fact, actual human beings that may not take kindly to calls for them to be killed solely on the basis of their sex?

Yet the claim from feminism is that men in general view women as weak and incapable? It is not men that claim women to be victims of the air-conditioning and the misogyny of temperature. Or of male flatulence. Or exclamation marks. Just putting that out there for you to chew on.

It is quite telling, I think, that feminism seek to shut down – to cancel and remove – anything they dislike. If failing to cancel it, they attempt to mould it into something they enjoy.

Instead of just accepting that some people enjoy things they themselves do not enjoy and carrying on with their life, they would rather make it so that no-one shall enjoy it. A world in which they have to co-exist with people who knowingly and without a moments hesitation enjoy something they can not stand is a terrible world to exist in. There is a reason for me referring to feminism as totalitarian and tyrannical. If something does not suit their delicate sensibilities, it must be shut down so that no-one can enjoy it. And people oblige. For some odd and peculiar reason, people oblige them in their quest for moral as well as ideological purity.

This man wrote something on a portrait of Stalin in the newspaper! Off to the Gulag with him! Subterfuge and acts of terrorism!

This man made a joke about female lingerie! Off to the Goolag with him! Subterfuge and acts of misogyny!

Imagine the horror of someone enjoying something you do not enjoy!

The horror!

The Horror!

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi.

…Ford Transit Gloria Mundi…

Such is the case with striptease and pornography and grid-girls and Barbie and nude modelling and Fifty Shades of Grey and tit and tat and arse and legs. If the feminist horde do not enjoy it, none shall be allowed to enjoy it. It does not matter what women in these professions say, whether they enjoy their work or not. The feminist hive-mind – that is to say, their moral superiors – have decided that these women are not allowed to enjoy their work, and as such are not allowed to do their work. They are victims of their own choices which are forced on them by the patriarchy, whether they agree with this statement or not. Women can not make their own choices, if those choices contradict the feminist position. Which just about every choice does, since feminism is not a monolith and one feminist’s act of empowerment is another feminist’s act of oppression. In this way, sex-work is both empowering and oppressive to feminism. Which is all about women making their own choices. Except when it isn’t. Which is when it is.

Seemingly and apparently, nothing is more vile and treacherous to these charlatans than a woman choosing to be home-maker, a housewife, a stay-at-home-mother! That is such a terrible affront to the terribly trembling forces that be that they will name, blame and shame any woman who does so, try to convince her that she has not made her own choices but is locked under the spell and awesome influence of the patriarchy and must break free from its chains and instead enjoy what they say she must enjoy. Which is not necessarily what she wants to do, but that does not matter.

Any one individual woman does not exist to an ideology that is collectivist when it suits them and individualist when collectivism does not suit them – no sir, she does not! She is part of the in-group “women”, and as such must do as the sisterhood demands. Otherwise, she is a traitor to the sisterhood as well as the cause. Whatever the cause may be at any given moment. And that cause is as fickle and ever-changing as anything that is fickle and ever-changing could possibly be.

The typical mantra of “We only want equality between the sexes” does not compute very well when feminism opposes equality, such as they do in England where the pension-age has been raised for women to be equal to the pension-age of men. This they can not stand, and so they protest and oppose. Even when men die younger than women, and so ought to have their pension-age lowered for true and proper equality.

It is so obviously not equality they seek that it boils my teeth and grinds my intestines that people still chant this bloody mantra of theirs that it is only about equality. As if that nebulous weasel-term “equality” even means anything any more except whatever a god-damned feminist demand that it means at any given moment. Which is to be opposed by the next feminist. And neither of these are real feminists, nor is their feminism real feminism according to the feminist that oppose the first feminist. Cock me backwards and paint my dogs pink; this whole ideology is so self-contradictory that I cannot fathom why people label themselves as a feminist as though it means anything concrete. Apparently, it means everything and nothing all at once… it is for all the causes in the universe at the same time as being only for the causes of women.

The brilliant Elizabeth Hobson has a saying which I enjoy very much: “Feminism is harmful to children and other living things”. Well put, madam, well put.

If you are a man who enjoy any of the past-time activities mentioned above… if you are a man who simply just want a traditional relationship for whatever reason… may the grand Patriarch Xenu have mercy on your lack of soul!

You are henceforth, and until the end of time, a foul oppressor of women, contributing to the ongoing sexual objectification of women, the subjugation and enslavement of women, the rape, pillage and ruination of women, the body-hysteria of women, the fuck-if-I-know-insert-whatever-here of women.

After all, women were treated as chattel back in the days when they were pampered and protected, as opposed to now, where they are free to do exactly as they wish, as long as they do what feminism wishes them to do.

And as long as men – as well as society overall – pamper and protect them.

Now, I have stated before, that I am not a particular fan of traditionalism… at least not one that is enforced by law or by culture. I believe it removes far too much individual freedom from everyone, be they male or female.

How people chose to delegate responsibilities and roles in their personal relationships – traditional or not – should not be of any worry to anyone but those who are involved. But to claim – as feminism does – that men overwhelmingly emerge victorious in all manner of privilege and what-not when it comes to a traditional relationship is brutally dishonest. At best. No-one lies on their death-bed, whispering “I wish I had spent more time at work”.

Now, I am well aware that feminism makes the claim to care about the plight of men; “Gender Roles Hurt Men Too!”.

Odd, then, that they jabber on and on about men needing to stand up for and protect women. Which is a very traditional gender role, to be sure and to be certain. Protect. And provide.

Provide them with Barbie Dolls and protect them from Barbie Dolls and the negative impact these dolls have on young girls at the same time.

Despite Barbie being created by a woman. This don’t matter much, of course. Celebrating things created by women is only ever done if the things created flows with the orthodoxy. Which it probably did back in the day… However, what self-proclaimed feminists of yesteryear celebrated will not be celebrated by the self-proclaimed feminists of this current year of ours. Except when it is. Which is when it isn’t.

It is almost as though one would be inclined to believe – yet again – that feminism, as it stands, have no end-goals. That it is an ideology and a movement that is created to carry on and carry on and carry on in perpetuity, manufacturing new outrages and terrors and this-that-the-others for every new generation of frail and frantic femininity… even if that means going contrary to the previous generation of frantic feminism and its causes.

Everything, you have to understand, is a women’s issue first and foremost, no matter what it is. Even the things that are not women’s issues first and foremost has to be a women’s issue first and foremost. Which is interesting in itself. Men are victims of violence far more than women are. Yet women are most affected, and are the ones who must be protected. Men are completely capable of fending for themselves. Women are not. And so women must be provided for and protected from men by men, despite all men being terrible and despite men being the main victims of violence. This could well be applied to anything. Meteor hits earth, women most affected. Barbie hits stores, women most affected. Girls enjoy Barbie-dolls, and this is terrible.

Buy a fucking He-man doll then, and stop yer whinin’!

And that is it for this ramble. Join me next week for more Tales From the Crypt, as I attempt to channel the awesome might and energy of my intoxicatingly masculine beard into words once again.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 07.12.2019

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

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Wake Me Up Before You’re Woke, Bro

«Lost Years», 2019, Moiret Allegiere

Wake me up, before you go-go.

Or hang there suspended in the air, like a yo-yo.

Doomed to reach forever for the floor or roof, never grasping either.

Wake me up before you’re woke, bro.

(I don’t really care. I’m cooler than you will ever be.)

Flabbergast me with peculiar readings from thy hallowed book of woke, credited to some unknown author, some manufactured grievance-monger, a strange peddler of rare woes and stranger virtues, exotic neurosis and fabled ills.

Sing me soulful songs and mournful ballads half whispered with Pestilence and War in mind, with vague visions of worried threefold cuckoldry floating in amygdala-butter-cream betwixt your eyes and bottom-heavy dreams.

Bruise my wretched sinner-mind with your lack of impulse control moulded and later on perplexed in stoned and strange beatnik-rhymes with Famine and Death crawling slow and low behind your visions of transgressive bottom-falling pegging.

Pin your dreams to these walls you built to enshrine the sanctity – and scarcity – of maidens fair and fairer maidens still to come whom, distressed and dutifully dishevelled, damsel so profoundly as to leave a tailored stretch-mark on your jeans and late-stage nightmare rape-scenario cream-dreams in lonely nights yet to come.

Tell me once again of your boyhood period; your male menstruation malady wherein float all the worries lovingly attached to your manly vulva and peculiar brain-drain testicular cellulite-stain that sought to erase all trace of toxic masculinity from your self-loathing male shadow side.

A shadow-side that wholly swallowed and devoured the nursery-rhymes to an extreme extent – there’s no difference whatsoever between a lady and a man – meaning, thus, of course and clearly, that a man may menstruate and ladies may have cock and balls and even more transgressive non-gender-specific fluid fog-horn things.

Wake me up before you’re woke, bro.

(I don’t really care.

You’ll never be as woke as me.)

Yes, xir, I do deem it imbecilic and inconsiderate that you stand and sit and then proclaim, all high-and-mighty and mightily insane, that I am a bigot of the highest order for my refusal to put a ladies succulent and delicate penis in my mouth.

I should not have to write these silly verses, rhyming as I do with little rhyme and even lesser reason – but you see, you silly bugger, I am stranded in this weary world as much as you – and the world and weary woo now harbour even less rhyme and reason than these verses inadvertently do.

Yes, xadam, I deem it inconsistent and inappropriate that you sing your flaccid two-faced sin-song meant to shame me for not wishing to seek carnal knowledge of the flesh I do not find particularly titillating, be that titillation purely primal lust or no… particularly so when that flesh I deem so unappealing to my deviant and bigoted sexual appetite stand to attention at six inches, or more.

When last I checked, ladies did not sport pornstar-style erections threatening to poke your eyes out should you have too much fun and games, nor did gentlemen ever fall prey to the flooding of the red river running rampant, raw and raging, hormonal imbalance or no.

Never did I ever think that any long-standing dating game should ever need to be so scrutinized as your whims and woozy marbles now demand.

Imagine that!

The bleary-eyed world have now become so cunt-fused that any potential date need to be transvestigated so as not to end in penitent disaster… or in claims of bigotry and sexual frustration and despair, rendering one then effectively socially ostracised and dead.

See, the thing, the point, the electric buzz-and-drone poking at your guts and derp-pegged prolapse is this: none can make demands of what anyone else should find alluring, appealing, sexy and fulfilling of their various carnal desires.

The thing, the point, the bone-saw juggling in your ears and eyes is this: you do not get to dictate, through shame and ridicule, what or whom people find sexually appealing. As long as it is between consenting adults, obviously and clearly and so and such – I fail to see why anyone but those whose genitalia is oddly tangled and entwined in trance and dance should have a say or two.

Of course, I understand, you three-pronged stain of disaster, to your dead-eyed panic-stare, I am a cynical misanthrope; a transphobic bigot steeped in male chauvinism and patriarchal decay… an old school *insert every whatever-phobe you wish to label me as* whom you may dismiss for whatever wishy-washy reason you so wish.

Of course, you in turn have got to understand that whatever label or assertions and assumptions of -isms or of phobic or of -ists you lay upon my worried brow and broken muscle-ghost does not matter for simply not being true in any sense of the wretched word or words or wordly woe and worry.

Nor do any label or asserted assumption you conjure forth from your sacred basket of phobia-invoking dementia and dread despair change or alter any thing except the words, the labels, the supposed phobias themselves – rendering them effectively obsolete, pointless and meaningless through their exerted overuse.

Of course, I have come to understand, this does not matter any way or where or when or how and howdy-doo.

I do.

Yet you are the one – and this one thing you must never forget – who are labelling people as bigots and shaming them for not wanting to fuck someone whose genitalia do not match with their desired mate.

You are the ones who – through shame and ridicule – attempt to force people into fucking someone whom they do not wish to fuck.

You see, in days of yore and days long past and gone, we used to have a word for someone fucking someone else against their will.

I wonder what that ancient word once was?

Oh yeah.

Rape.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 20.11.2019

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
Vol 1 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/107571074X
Vol 1 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZTPDPR
Vol 2 Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075714184
Vol 2 Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TZR25NL
Vol 1 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075717094
Vol 2 Illustrated Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1075723078

Other links:
Redbubble shop: https://www.redbubble.com/people/Moiret/shop
Blog: https://moiretallegiere.wordpress.com/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC3IaCxAXE3pQd7PCdvHoaaA
Bitchute: https://www.bitchute.com/channel/EvbGZyTZSraY/
twatter: https://twitter.com/MAllegiere
Gab: https://gab.com/Moiret_Allegiere
Minds: https://www.minds.com/Moiret
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Why I am an Anti-feminist, part 7

«Selfportrait as a jester, a rogue and a bit of a bastard»

This wilful misunderstanding of the social game as well as the sexual game tuned us onto a frighteningly forceful application of new rules and guidelines that don’t really work in accordance with how human beings interact.

Quite a lot of our interaction and our communication is non-verbal, based on body-language… subtle hints and movements and changes in tone and mannerisms.

Which is why, for example, sarcasm is so difficult to read that Redditors tend to use that “/s” to indicate smart-ass sarcasm. Otherwise, it is taken as serious. For lack of body-language and tone of voice. Given that our communication these days tend to be more written than it is spoken, more digital than it is physical… I wonder if we have not removed ourselves too quickly and too hastily from physicality, confusing ourselves to believe that the rules of face-to-face communication need to mirror that of written communication, instead of the other way around?

Or – more frightening – that the lack of physicality, the lack of body-language has created a generation incapable of reading, using and comprehending body-language? To such an extent that a friendly touching of the arm or the shoulder can be interpreted as some terrible affront, something akin to assault – or sexual assault. As we have seen at least one dude – young, shy, awkward teen – be sentenced to a fine of 250 GBP and five fucking years on the sex offender registry for touching a girl on the arm and the waist on two separate occasions. What used to be normal human interaction is now considered a terrible trespass on someone else’s bodily autonomy…

This should be terrifying. It should be a sign that we – that is the western world – are declining rapidly into our own undoing. When someone can be judged and sentenced – by law – for something so minor, so petty, so insignificant, we are not on the right track. Not as a society, not as a civilization and not as a people. If we have become so frail that we can not handle normal human interaction without breaking down in hysterics, spending social resources… no, wasting social resources and time, we are manufacturing our own doom and demise. Now, of course, it is only women who are allowed to be so frail – men still have to put up with just about anything this shambling mess of a society can throw our way. Any complaints will bring shame and ridicule our way, and loads of non-arguments, stupidity and personal attacks from arrogant imbeciles floating in the steaming pile of their own hubris. That hubris has the same aroma and texture as grade-A Bullshit, by the way.

On Friday, the 25th of October, I was out walking my dogs. I was approached by a cute lil’ old lady. She seemed to be in her mid-to-late seventies, though she might have been older. This lil’ old lady was all smiles and laughter, complimented me on my beard – actually touched it, then proceeded to touch my arm and told me that she enjoyed seeing men having beards nowadays. On account of masculinity. We then chit-chatted for a little while, before we parted ways with a “good-bye” and a friendly waving of the hands. Body-language again.

This small chance encounter made my day, if I am to be perfectly honest. It was one of those slightly surreal every-day happenings that don’t mean all that much, but can bring about quite a lot of joy. It is those small things that make a difference. That is what ought to be cherished. And remembered.

Such small things – such tiny compliments – I believe, is particularly important to men who seldom – if ever – receive compliments on their appearance. Or compliments at all, for that matter. Which is a sad state of affairs all on its own. It says a lot about our societies, though I can not possibly comment on that without the inevitable “male tears” and “fragile male ego” nonsense from the very empathetic feminist squads hiding in the bushes and believing themselves to be above any form of criticism.

Such small gestures of kindness is just that – small gestures of kindness – unless you are caught in the throes of hysterics, lured into the belief that everyone is out to get you. Which is what feminism has managed to lure women into believing – that all men are out to get them, preferably for rape – with or without given consent (heh) – but quite possibly and probably also for violence and murder.

This is nothing but fear-mongering, akin to psychological terrorism, for all I care.

This fear-mongering is perpetrated to such an extent that what used to be normal human interaction – light touches, friendly gestures of intimacy, trust and bonding – or a friendly invitation to intimacy, trust and bonding – is now considered threatening, is now considered violence, is now considered assault or sexual assault… if it is a man doing it. And, no, intimacy does not equal sex.

To my eyes, this is nothing more than an extension, the natural end-game and only possible outcome of the old tattle-tale that men have only one thing on their minds. And that one thing is sex, I have been led to believe by scores of women who seem perfectly able to read minds, as well as being perfectly unable to listen to what men have to say on the matter. There can be no other reason for a man to touch a woman than a wish for sex. This despite how or where he touches her – intent be damned, context be damned, everything be damned but the subjective feelings of the woman. It doesn’t matter much what men say in regards to men, the male brain, the male body, male sexuality or what-have-you. It matters what a woman says. Doubly so if it is a feminist woman, and quadruply so if she is a professor of gender studies, feminist basket-weaving and underwater gynocratic ballet. Because this does make perfect sense, you see, in a society in which everyone is entitled to their opinion as long as they are not male, in which case they are not allowed opinions on this, that or the other. Unless they align with feminist thought and fancy, in which case they are almost entitled to their opinion on this, that or the other. Except this thing, that topic and that other thing.

Oddly enough, I doubt the police would be willing to take me seriously if I told them that I felt violated and assaulted by this lil’ old lady touching me without my explicit consent or invitation. On two occasions! Oh, the horror, oh the humanity, and so forth and so on.

This is not to say that I think people should just ignore their own personal boundaries or the personal boundaries of other people. I believe nothing of the sort. Still, there has got to be an understanding that human beings – much like other animals – are physical beings first and foremost.

Our bodies, our stance, our unspoken language, communicate far more than our words ever will. It is easy to spot a liar based on their body-language, for example. Words can say this and they can say that and they can say the other. This does not matter if the language of your body says quite the opposite. And language – such as we have it – is a fairly new invention, all things considered. It is a great tool, to be sure and to be certain – though, admittedly, it may also be a barrier.

Is it not incredible to think that people who do not speak the same language, who do not even speak languages similar to one another may still communicate quite effectively, understand the other person and also make the other person understand them simply through hand-gestures, body-language and things of that nature? It might not make for the most intricate of discussion, but it is still enough to understand the other on small things.

I think it is absolutely incredible. Though I am going off on a bit of a tangent here.

What I am trying to get at is that I believe we have, in many ways, killed – or at the very least effectively subdued – a very normal and human form of interaction and communication through mass-hysteria – and possibly through an over-use of written communication. We replaced body-language with pictograms in the form of emoticons. Because we had to figure out some way to communicate body-language, pose and facial expressions to convey properly the tone and as such the intent of a message, of the written word.

Communication is dead. Oddly enough due to communication becoming more frequent, constant and easy. What a strange world we live in. The smaller the world gets, the more we are in touch with each other, the more we lose touch with each other. Drifting away, as it were, into self-contained bubbles of social media and other such maladies of the modern age where nothing much matters but the image we can present of ourselves – an image that is superficial… which may, at a single word, be shattered and broken like the illusion it is. For we present and reflect only the best of ourselves – or, rather, what we believe to be the best of ourselves, how we would like to be perceived rather than who we are. It is not so much deceiving other people as it is deceiving ourselves, duping ourselves into believing that who we present ourselves to be through social media is who we either are or who we really want to be. Or who we ought to be, empty virtue-signalling and hollow flashing of morals included. This can not possibly be sustainable. The best way – in my honest opinion – to get to know oneself is to seek solitude and meditation, to learn how to be alone, how to enjoy being alone. Which we seem to never be in this age of social media madness, constantly competing with our digital neighbours over petty things… my lawn is greener than yours. And my house is cleaner. And my virtue is greater. And my kids match my sofa. And I was groped twice by a stranger, whereas you were only groped once. I deserve more sympathy, more empathy and more of that sweet victim-cred. Pound me too, you malicious bastard. (Why won’t anyone pound me?)

This avoidance of physical communication is worsened quite a bit through the ridiculous weaponization of female fragility employed so effectively by the frantic forces of feminism, demanding every touch – however small and insignificant – be deemed verboten, considered a horrible affront and assault… if it is a man touching a woman. The same goes for a man merely looking at a woman in a manner she feels is improper. Cue the swooning, the sniffing salts and the whole shebang. I fail to see how this constant state of hysteria… of inner turmoil and frailty is a reflection of strength. But that will have to be as it is, I suppose. There is little personal strength in breaking down over small and insignificant things. Though, as I suspect is the case and the point, there is quite a lot of social power for women to present themselves to be weak and in need of protection. Which is where this weaponization of fragility always ends up; a call to change this and change that so women shall feel safe. With an emphasis on feel.

I am absolutely certain that women are far more touchy-feely than men in general. Where men punch each other on the shoulder in a gesture of trust and camaraderie, women hug. As an example. Not to mention that women tend to complain about men’s lack of intra-sexual intimacy… or intimacy at all… or complain if there is too much of it, for that matter.

Of course, the feminist hordes tend to explain this all away with this nonsensical screech of theirs that men have nothing to fear from women, whereas women have much to fear from men. For men are such terrible, vile and violent creatures that any touch, however slight, is an act of violence and of rape. Therefore, women may touch men and men may not touch women. Mental gymnastics to properly explain away why this call of theirs for equality is ever so lacking in equality. Odd that they fail to mention the scores of white knights that jump into battle to save m’lady from the horrible trespasses of the man, with a good ol’ fashioned arse-whooping of the beastly man the result more often than not. Oh well, never mind, no matter.

As proven, however, through the witch-hunt that is #metoo and other such trite and treacherous social movements, men have much to fear from women utilizing the government, social media and the press as their weapon of choice… in so doing, if there is no punishment by the justice system, there is sure to be social ramifications, rendering the man effectively dead and imprisoned, a social outcast from now until the end of time. It does not matter whether the courts find him innocent or not. The court of social opinion will still remember, will still pass judgement and will still punish. Add to this that the #metoo movement excluded men completely, thus creating the illusion that only women experienced things of this nature – as is, of course, most befitting of a feminist movement hell-bent on portraying men as terribly as possible and women as saintly as possible – and you’ve got yourself a decent firmament to build upon where the re-writing of the social contract is concerned, once again with women up front and centre. Women are victims, men are perpetrators. And so, women must be protected from men through implementations of laws that are anything but gender-neutral, even when feminism claims to wish for complete gender-neutrality. Interesting, is it not? Take a look at the recent alterations of the penal system in the UK, and you will see what I mean. Equality under the law has come to mean that the law favours women… by the letter of the law, not only the bias of any judge or jury in the courtroom. It is frightening. And it is spreading like a cancer.

…For that is sure-as-the-living-breath equal treatment of the sexes; one set of rules for one sex to follow, and a whole other set of rules for the other, be those rules societal or governmental, be those laws unspoken social contracts or written laws. Anything goes. And anything contrary to equal treatment of the sexes is for sure equal treatment of the sexes when seen through the frantic eggshell-frail enlightenment of the feminist hive-mind AD. the current year. Equality means whatever the hell the feminist forces of frail and fragile weaponized femininity say that it means at any given moment. And to hell with objections, logic, reason and other such trite trash from the patriarchal cis-white-heteronormative rape-brigades and their white supremacy, whether those that object be men or women, black or white. One is, after all, either a feminist or a sexist. And this is not totalitarian, nor is it tyrannical. For feminism told me so. It says so in the dictionary, remember.

You can find the definition of feminism directly underneath the word “manipulation” or the phrase “manipulation of language” in the dictionary.

I suggest a popularization of the term “Femipulation”. Because why the hell not? The feminist hive-mind gender terms for the sole purpose of insulting and belittling men and masculinity, so why should they not have a taste of their own medicine?

I am also very fond of “Ovary-acting”, “Cunt-fusing” and “Fem-steria”.

Besides; “Man-ipulation”? “Man”? As in “Men do this”? Bah, humbug – this will not stand. Men don’t femipulate. Only feminism femipulates with all the femcels they can muster.

Obviously, I jest. As much as I enjoy using such words in jest – to shine a light on the stupidity of words such as “mansplaining” and “manspreading”, I am not serious in my usage of them. Nor would I ever use them in any proper discussion or argument… should I ever poke my head out of this hermit-cave of mine to partake in a discussion, which I highly doubt… But see – see how easy it is – to feign outrage… to wilfully perceive something as something other than what it is. History, herstory, humankind, peoplekind, woman, womxn, womyn, whamyns…

We should never have graduated from being apes. We are barely domesticated primates, I think. Particularly so when watching the bars close and people file out drunkenly at night, all screeches, gibbering, roars and shit-flinging; body-language, touching, hugging, intimacy and all that jazz… which we seek to outlaw, eliminate and annihilate until we all live inside bubbles of bloated self-importance or tragic self-segregation, later to blow up from lack of oxygen or from overdosing on sniffing our own farts… until the whole thing goes down the drain in a cosmic gang-bang where only our lack of sense and empathy gets a taste of the good old fashioned willy-wetting and the humpbacked beast of a thousand backs… where mutual respect and co-operation is given a forced double penetration by the terrible beast of the apocalypse, this time wearing the wart-speckled face of political correctness and wielding the double-edged dildo; one dildo named “shame” and the other “ridicule”… And I looked… and beheld an angle…

All the while, the world grows ever more chaotic, society grows ever more confined and controlled and regulated… down to the minutest detail of our day-to-day lives being governed and censored. For the political must be personal and the personal must be political, to such an extent that people prod their noses where they have no justifiable reason to prod their noses, mingling in the affairs of other people and asking “why does she cook dinner, what do you do then?”… ignoring any and all which the man do in a relationship in order to shame him for having a partner that does anything in a relationship.

We are not on the correct path. We are breaking down. Bit by bit, we are eroding and slipping into the sea. Caught in self-aggrandizement, hollow virtue-signalling, petty squabbles and this constant state of confrontation, resentment, anger and self-importance to the point of absolute absurdity. Everything has become vague and wishy-washy, washed out with bleach until nothing means anything and anything can mean everything. Because nothing matters any more. We have had a good run of relative stability. And now it all comes crashing down. With a whimper and a shiver, not a giant explosion, not a gigantic bang.

Here ends part seven. Join me next week for more of this cruel and unusual ramble, lest I fall into the singularity and get swallowed by cocaine-covered clowns. Makes about as much sense as anything, I suppose. Honk. Honk.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 09.11.2019

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
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Why I am an Anti-feminist, part 6

«Projection»

There is absolutely nothing wrong with physical attraction. Nor is there anything wrong with sex… or sexual desire. Quite the contrary, I would dare say, as I fail to see how the human race would have managed without it.

Contrary, perhaps, to all sanity and reason, I have yet to become a misanthrope. There is too much beauty and kindness in the human race still for that to happen, though the mass-media pundits would tell you otherwise. Might be a case of naivety on my part. No doubt, I am a grumpy and cynical bastard… but at the very least I still cling to a tiny floating burrito filled with hope. This keeps me from becoming completely and utterly black-pilled.

For the time being, at least, the good tend to outweigh the bad. One just need to look beyond the rage-inducing headlines and constant calls for outrage. It makes more sense to focus on the bad. It stands to reason that the bad is something one would wish to change, whereas the good don’t need to change. Even if the bad often is amplified far beyond how bad it really and truly is. And the following outrage doubly so.

Whenever I experience one of my frequent bouts with insomnia, I tend to wake up in the wee hours of the morning… or the middle of the night, completely incapable of going back to sleep. Physical pain, stress, emotional turmoil, constant pondering, racing thoughts… whatever the reason, I have to get up. And in those moments, I tend to watch dog-rescue videos on YouTube. As corny as that sounds. It restores my faith in the world in no small way. And is one of the few things that bring tears to my eyes, soppy romantic fool that I am. Dogs are way too good for us. At times, I think that we don’t deserve them.

There is so much enmity, so much hostility, so much rage and wrath and ruin everywhere one looks. Everything has to be analysed, broken down and labelled this or that. When that happens, it is left open to attack from those that would say that this is better than that. Or that is better than this.

Nowhere, to my bleeding eyes and foggy winter-mind, is this more evident than in the eternal gender-war. The eternal gender-war, I think, is a manufactured war meant to carry on in perpetuity. It is not meant to end. Its sole purpose lies in creating a great rift between the sexes, manufacturing mutual hostility and distrust where there really ought to be mutual co-operation and trust. Where we ought to fulfil one another, we now do nothing but try and outdo one another. As stated time and again; how we fulfil one another – that is – who does what – should not matter to anyone but those directly or intimately involved. Making the personal political and the political personal is a horrendous thing. Barring abuse, none but the people involved in the personal should have a say in their personal day-to-day lives. Do not meddle in the affairs of other people. Respect the privacy of other people. This should not be all that difficult a concept to grasp, yet it is. Apparently. No-one but those involved should care about who cooks dinner, who does the dishes, and so forth and so on. It is not unreasonable to “allow” people to decide for themselves who does which of the many chores and responsibilities that necessarily come along with an adult relationship. What is unreasonable is for other people to poke and prod and complain and bitch and moan if the chores are split in a manner not suitable to their political or personal sensibilities. And here I am not speaking only on feminism. This goes for whichever preconceived set of ideas about who ought to do what one ascribes to.

My tribe is better than your tribe, here’s ten reasons why. Bog-standard clickbait titles. Men this, women that. One celebrated at the same time that one is scorned by popular voter’s fraud.

People tend to be trend-hoppers. This is not something new. The in-group dominates, the out-group does not.

If one man writes an article about women the way many a feminist woman would write an article about men, the powers that be will truly shake, tremble and come down on it with all the rage, wrath and ruin that could be mustered. Even if nothing but the sex spoken about in the article has changed. The wording may be exactly the same. But substitute “man” for “woman”, and the whole world cries out in pain and in anguish. Try it sometime. Read any feminist article, and replace every instance of “men” with “women”. Does not look that reasonable then. For added emphasis, replace “men” with “Negroes”. Or “Jews”. Or “The Irish”… whatever you wish, really. It works.

Nothing negative may ever be spoken about women. And nothing but negative may ever be spoken about men.

At the end of the day, it seems to me that it all boils down to something as petty as revenge. Nothing more and nothing less. And something that petty ought not to be a proper reason, ought not to be an accepted reason.

Even if one accept the feminist revisionist history, revenge should not be an accepted reason for anything of such magnitude and societal impact as feminism. It is small-minded and petty. Which is what the gender-war is, in my humble and barbaric opinion – small-minded and petty, filled with tiny grievances and vengeance-fuelled tingling feminist-senses… lovingly, inclusively and compassionately informing us that men being broke, destitute and in lack of higher education is a problem for women wanting to marry. And that women have always been the primary victims of war. Because their husbands, fathers and sons die.

In other news; Meteor hits earth, Women most affected.

One of my biggest personal peeves with the gender-war, with the feminist-laced koolaid that has been forced down our gullible throats like so much old vine cyanide, is the constant assault on what men in general find sexually attractive. Men tend to be more immediately attracted to visual appearance; to tits and legs and butt and what have you. This should not be something negative. Yet it is presented as such; presented as superficiality and what-not. Odd I think, as the main reason for this, as far as I have understood it, is healthy mate-selection.

Signifiers of youth, good health and fertility are not negative traits to be attracted to. Quite the contrary, one should think. Yet here we are, lost in this nonsensical poop-flinging. Men in general are not attracted to fat chicks, as obesity is not exactly a signifier of good health. This only goes to show that men are far too superficial of course, never delving beneath the outer appearance to see the beauty hidden within the flabby folds of fat. Here, men must alter their sexual and romantic preference to include fat chicks. Otherwise, they are fat-shaming misogynistic bastards, subscribing to a societal brainwashing about what is and what is not attractive.

…For wanting ones partner to be fit and healthy is a bad thing, a superficial thing. An obese woman losing weight instead of a man altering his sexual and romantic preference is too much work, man. Women need not do anything to fix themselves. It is presented, as it always is presented, as if men are in the wrong. As such, men need to change and alter what they find attractive. For not being attracted to obesity; for not being attracted to poor health and all which that entails of future struggles down the long and winding road to nowhere.

Would the same women that scream about fat-acceptance accept a morbidly obese partner themselves? This is a question I think is very interesting. I have no idea, in all honesty. Still, I have to say that every one of these fat-acceptance comics I have seen depicts an obese woman with a decently built man. This is solely anecdotal, however. And I have not delved deep into that grime and muck, patriarchal misogynistic bastard unable to show empathy and understanding for the plight of (insert supposedly marginalized group) that I undoubtedly am.

Still, and for what it is worth, I would dare say that I absolutely do think men tend to not be critical enough about where they stick their willy. As long as the willy gets wet at a semi-regular basis, it is all worth it in the end. No matter what happens, how it happens or what she does. Or how she does it. There is a reason why there is such a saying as “don’t stick your dick in crazy”, after all.

Contrary to what the current cultural climate would have one believe, this saying is more of a slight against men than it is a slight against women. That is how I hear it, any ways – a cautionary tale in six wondrously crafted words, urging men to think with their big heads and not their willy when it comes to the subject of willy-wetting. There are more important things in the world than fucking. Yet, men are thirsty creatures. To our own demise. And crazy women exist. Just as crazy men exist. The difference lies in what women are told in regards to crazy by society at large, and what men are told. The expectations are not the same, nor is the message delivered. There are few limits to what men are supposed to put up with. Whereas women don’t even need to put up with a lack of attraction from men for reasons of poor health and obesity. Or poor health on account of obesity.

It is still his fault and as such need mending. On his part. His biology must be re-written, his outlook altered and his brain beat into tune so that he plays the fat-acceptance accordion with a painted-on smile and glazed-over eyes, singing along with the ballad of the big beautiful women. These are women who are healthy at any size… and diabetes, infertility, cardiovascular disease and higher risk of certain cancers, etc. etc. be damned. Those diseases are all patriarchal constructs; designed to force a societal ideal of beauty that is as unnatural as it is unobtainable. Being fat is exactly how things should be.

For is it not written that the flab is as the flab does, and any who oppose the fat, the flab or the fold are not of the true roll? Hail to the flab, for it marks the coming of the fold and of the fat and of the roll. From now until the end of time, amen, hallelujah, praise Mickie D’s, all hail the King of the Burgers, and so forth and so on.

I used to be fat. I have lost a little over 30 KG. This was done solely by changing what I ate, what I drank and how much I walked. No strenuous exercise, even… nothing more difficult than self-discipline and adding about 30 minutes of walking to my daily routine. Granted, changing what one eats and drinks is changing habits. And changing habits is fairly difficult. But it is far from the most difficult thing in the world. It is absolutely doable. People do it all the time. It is well worth it.

I must say that losing weight did wonders for my mental health as well as some pretty severe lower back pain I struggled with for quite some time. Not having to carry around 30-something kilos of flab alleviated pain. Who’d have thunk it? It fixed quite a lot of other things of small or big significance, which I do not wish to get into here. Of course, this was before I got hit with this bloody illness of mine which causes me chronic pain and fatigue along with a whole host of other health-issues of varying severity… Bloody genetics, man. This was likely destined to happen. Which would, were I still fat, be even harder on me than it currently is. The only thing you lose when losing weight is weight. But I am getting off track… again.

…It is so strange to see how men are not “allowed” their own romantic or sexual preferences. They are to be shamed for it. Don’t want to fuck a pre-transition transexual lady with a penis? You are as transphobic as the day is bright, sir! How dare you not want your woman to have a penis? Lady-penises are beautiful, I’ll have you know, sir! For added shaming, add the slur “homophobic” and something-something “heteronormative”…

The sexuality of men tend to be viewed as something dangerous, something primitive, something based solely on primal lust with not a smidgeon of emotional connection anywhere to be found. I would dare say that most men quite enjoy there to be an emotional connection as well as a purely physical attraction. At the very least regarding long term relationships. But what the hell do I know – I have only been a man for thirty-some years… it is not as though I have studied intersectional feminism and stalwart gender-studies, after all. As such, I really have no idea about life as a man. That knowledge is reserved for female gender-studies graduates with type 2 diabetes poking its head out of their throats, floating on their radical and righteous acid reflux.

It is such a horrendously arrogant thing.

Feminism knows all about life as a man. And men can not know anything about it, nor can they know anything about life as a woman. If you want to know what life is like as a man, you have to study gender in universities. It is not enough to live your life as a man. This means nothing. Only women have lived experiences. Men need not apply. Particularly women of the gender-studies bent experience lived experiences, with the mark of feminism tattooed on their heads… branded, as it were, by the mark of the beast. To be clear: I do not believe that every man lives the same life and has the same experiences. Nor do I believe this about women.

One-night-stands are another beast altogether where attraction and sex is concerned… but in that regard, there are two people playing on prime-rib primal lust, not only one. With the man labelled an arsehole for leaving the next day, and potentially a rapist were the woman intoxicated. Whether or not he was intoxicated as well plays little part and no matter. He is the instigator and the fornicator, and she is not. An awful gender-traditional view, one would probably be inclined to believe. Yet apparently not.

It is clearly liberating to the extreme; an intoxicated woman is completely incapable of acting on her own accord, whereas an intoxicated man is very much capable of acting on both his own and her accord. Apparently, women turn into children when intoxicated. And men are some horrible paternalistic rape-figure, entrenched in cum-dreams and driven by primeval lust. Both when they are sober and when they have been drinking. For that is the plight of man, mischievous bastards that we are.

One-night-stands may be as they may; I fail to see why anyone should care what people do with their genitalia. I do have my own opinions on the matter, but I see no reason to flaunt that opinion here as some sort of bloody moralizing stupidity. Consenting adults can do whatever the hell consenting adults want to do.

The main problem with sexual liberation is that it also carries with it an immense amount of responsibility, not least of which is to take personal responsibility for drunken one-night-stands. Which also includes regretting it the next day, when the lust has passed and a throbbing urge and desire to scream, roar, and hide beneath the covers in shame overcomes one.

Accepting and then living with that regret is part of the game. Falsely crying “rape” – as have happened more than once – for regretting an in-the-heat-of-sudden-passion one-night-stand is not accepting ones own folly and taking responsibility for it. It is pushing responsibilities for ones own actions away, giving one party sole responsibility for something where it really and truly does take two to tango.

I have no doubt, of course, that rape happens. Nor do I have any doubt that both men and women are capable of rape. And of being raped. But claiming rape of the woman every time a drunken hookup happens between a man and a woman is much akin to saying that men are capable of making their own choices and taking responsibilities for their actions when drunk, and women are not. Which does sound awfully patronizing… seems like infantilising women are in vogue at the moment. I happen to believe women are far stronger and much less frail and weak than feminism wants us to believe that they are.

You see; if women can not consent to sex when drunk, whereas men can, what view would you say the ones claiming this have of women? And of men? And of female sexuality? And male sexuality?

It sounds neither equal, nor healthy, nor sane from my point of view. Either both parties are raped and both parties are rapists, or they are both grown-ass adults, capable of making their own decisions. Even when intoxicated. This removal of liability, of personal responsibility from drunk women is removing all manner of personal agency from women and placing it all on men.

#notallwomen.

Though certainly a push from feminism claiming to speak on behalf of all women. Consent can be revoked at any point. Even long after the affair. Which is interesting, obviously, as this necessarily must mean that one can not trust in a woman that gives willing and eager consent, as it may be removed seventeen years later and brand one a rapist. I have no idea how this is supposed to work. Men need to get consent. OK, that is fair enough – do women have to get consent? Or does it not work like that? Did you not think of it in that way? Oh, well, no matter. Consent is gotten. And then it can be removed at any point, even after the damned willy-wetting. How can one possibly trust in the consent given then?

Men are hunters, and women are prey. That is what the sexual tango boils down to through this line of thought… as such, any sexual act is an act perpetrated by the man upon the woman. Sex is something men do to women, which women begrudgingly let men do to them. Giving way to such splendid stupidity as “all heterosexual sex is rape” from many a radical feminist, which is, of course, not real feminism. Because such a thing does not exist. Even when it does for reasons of feminism not being a monolith. Sigh and harumph.

I’ll just retreat into the shadows, twirl my moustaches menacingly and laugh in grim-faced patriarchy.

It is almost as if feminism is created to be confusing, giving neither a yes or a no, but perpetually existing in a state of uncertain flux so as to be invoked at any moment as either this or that, depending on the state of current affairs. We have always been at war with Oceania. Or was it Eurasia? It is so easy to get lost in it. Better to just go with the frantic flow of things. Nod, smile, and pretend to understand.

The cat and mouse game is nothing new. One can hear it in songs as old as time, in tales as old as time. Most elegantly in the quaint and very romantic “Baby, it’s cold outside”… It is such a quaint, cute and romantic song that I can not help but love it. Soppy romantic fool that I am. This ballad really blew up around Christmas of 2017 or 2018 – I can’t really remember… with it being referred to as a date-rape anthem and other such stupidity from people who seem to be frightfully unaware of how human beings interact and all the social games we tend to play which, ultimately, are nothing but a set of invisible rules and borders which we all must exist within and work together within, whether we want to or not.

I really do believe there is something to the cat and mouse game… Women are the gatekeepers of sex. And men must “catch them” by proving themselves worthy in some way or other… must convince them that they are worthy of a good and solid fucking, a chance of procreation, a relationship, and so and such. Him protect, him provide, through this, that or the other. There is nothing wrong with this, as such. If people were willing to at the very least be god-damned honest about it, instead of muddying it and hiding it and pretending it is something other than what it is. For it is a dance, a constant back and forth, older than sin.

When considering that men are the ones who are expected – by and large – to make the first move in any relationship, it becomes even more apparent. At the very least it does so to me. Yet, the rules have changed somewhat… the social contract having been rewritten with mainly women in mind, keeping the rules the same for men in no small way and loosening the rules for women in no small way give rise to a certain sense of confusion. There are still plenty of traditional expectations expected from men, even in regards to simple one-night-stands. These are rules and expectations which women seem to cling too, all the while expecting to be released from these rules and expectations themselves. Rules and expectations is something that happen to other people, after all.

She has been “hunted” all night until she finally relented and gave in, willingly gave consent through many an “Oh, God, Yes!!!” and then removed the consent the following morning for regretting it. Which just beggars the question yet again: how can one possibly trust in this consent, if the consent can be given, the act done and the consent then removed the following morning?

One can not trust in it. And it does not make any sense – the rules are nonsensical.

That is a major problem of this current year. If all responsibility for drunken hook-ups lie squarely on the shoulders of men, never-minding any responsibility from a drunken woman who also was very much into it, up to and including willing and eager consent, there is a problem. With great power comes great responsibility. Great sexual freedom is great power. And one has to take responsibility for ones own actions when enjoying that freedom.

Obviously, this is something that goes for both men and women who enjoy this kind of thing. Yet the blame and the responsibility keep falling primarily in the lap of men. And only men, if the winds keep blowing as they do. Only men have agency in this regard, then. That is the view of things. And the feminist hive-mind host slut-walks to protest the shame they claim women who seek nefarious carnal knowledge of someone else’s flesh are met with on a regular basis, forgetting for sake of convenience, that everyone – be they man or woman – are judged on what they do and how they behave.

I do not believe that this is something every woman does. The power to do so is still there, though. And this society of ours keep telling women that 1+1 equals 5, 6, 7 or even 8. That if she feels wronged, she has been wronged – and to hell with all the facts of the matter, up to and including willing consent given in the moment… or at every subsequent step from the moment.

I could have gone on for ages with this… but I’ll take a break here, considering the length of my ramblings being too lengthy more often than not. …And my mind not being at its best behaviour on account of a particularly rough battle with illness the past few months. Also, the construction work going on outside is distracting, making it even more difficult to think and write. Join me next week for some more cruel and unusual rambling on what is, essentially and apparently, not real feminism. Even when it is. Despite such a thing not existing, except when it does.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 02.11.2019

Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZB6K2JX
Lonely Trainstation Blues – Poetry for the Lost Boys, Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1692495518

Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
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Why I am an Anti-feminist, part 1:

I’ve been doing this blogosphere dance, this YouTube-istan waltz and BitChute tango of mine for round and about a year now. And never once, I believe, have I addressed in simple terms why I bitch and moan about feminism as much as I do. Particularly so since the issues facing men – which are supposed to be my main concern – do in fact stem from things besides feminism. Often things that are biological in nature and re-enforced by culture. More likely than not, it would be somewhat easier to address issues affecting men in society without declaring war on feminism. It would make for less attacks along the lines of “you just hate women”, or similar silly statements which are as ridiculous as they are absurd. I doubt it, though. The preposterous claims of misogyny would come whether one mention feminism or not. For the simple reason that trying to make this society of ours realize that men also struggle somehow takes away from women. Feminism is playing a zero-sum game, where only their voice shall be heard. All must go towards women, nothing need go towards men.

You see – within the coprophilia that is feminism and the way feminism attacks anyone who oppose it lies the answer to my anti-feminism. And I must admit that I have lied to you. I can not possibly address this in simple terms. You will have to be subject to my cruel and unusual rambling yet again.

Feminism is an -ism first and foremost. In my eyes and murky mischievous mind, this alone is enough to raise some alarms. An -ism is a set of ideas and beliefs; an umbrella under whose limited roof one seeks shelter from the rain. Stray but a little beyond its clearly defined borders, and one can not help but get rained on. Feminism, as an -ism, is incredibly totalitarian and tyrannical in its approach. It does not only propose to speak on behalf of all women – no, no, no – it also proposes to have a monopoly on the concept of all things equality. It is not enough to hold the belief that the sexes should be treated equally – you also have to refer to yourself as a feminist. Otherwise, you can not possibly be for equality, according to their flightless feminist fancy. It is incredibly important for feminism that one wears the label of feminist. Were it a movement only for equality, surely it would be enough to state that one believes that the sexes should be treated equally? This is not the case. Feminism demands you wear the label of feminist. To such an extent that they will ignore someone’s wish to not be labelled as such with the wonderful fuckery that is: “Oh, so you believe in equality between the genders? Congratulations: you are a feminist.” Or, of course, claim that you are either a feminist or a sexist. There is no in-between, nothing but either/or. Strange thing to come from a movement that proposes to be nuanced. This is terrifying, no matter which movement, which -ism, which anything. But, OK, fair enough – I’ll play. If you are a feminist, you are a sexist.

It should be enough to frighten people away from feminism to look at how they attack anyone who dares disagree with their infected and ready-to-be-cut-away concept of equality (which is not equality of opportunity but equality of outcome), as haters of women; foul basement dwelling misogynists who just want to maintain the power men have over women in society. Which is odd, of course, considering the fact that the basement-dwelling bozo bogeymen of their patriarchal conspiracy can not possibly wield any manner of influence and power on account of being basement dwelling bozos with no power and no influence. Which is the claim of the feminist hive-mind, of course, when meeting any opposition. Either that or shame for lack of sexual prowess and success with women. As if the most important value a man has is whether or not he is attractive to women. From the mouth and rotting brain of feminism comes the truth…

I would dare argue – as I have done many times before – that any movement that claims to hold the monopoly, that claims to be the only voice to speak on a certain topic, is one not to be trusted. Especially not one to be trusted on to speak on that certain topic. Doubtlessly so when riding under the banner of an -ism. And I don’t care whether this be an -ism I tend to agree with or not. Nothing and no-one should be believed when claiming to be the only one to speak on this or that or tit or tat. Everything can and must be questioned.

This goes for my own convictions as well. See, as critical as I am of feminism and the ideas of feminism, I am even more critical of my own ideas. Which is one of the reasons why I tend to avoid writing on recent news and such. I go through an excruciating amount of self-doubt and hesitation before putting thoughts to digital paper. To see if they hold up. Usually they do.

One of my greatest character flaws as well as one of my greatest character strengths, I think, is my excruciating self-doubt.

Of course, I am just a nobody on the internet, merely a drink or two, that is – some slightly lowered cognitive abilities away – from becoming a good old fashioned anarchist.

I am not a massive movement with fat chunky butts placed in seats of immense power and influence such as feminism undoubtedly is. And within the broader men’s rights movement, or the manosphere, or whatever you want to call it, I am absolutely nothing but a tiny voice whispering into the broken algorithm of the Google-God.

With this in mind, I think it is only fair that a movement of such magnitude as feminism should be scrutinized more than any one individual sucker on the inter-webs. For it is the movement I am attacking, not individual members and hangers-on to that movement. With a few exceptions to this rule, as there always are.

The movement is not understood properly by society at large. This is due to feminism worming its way into the minds and thoughts and zeitgeist of our cultures as the only force fighting for equality between the sexes, and so any opposition to this must mean opposition to equality between the sexes.

This is, at best, dishonest.

Mostly, it is just lies, social engineering and brainwashing.

It seems that most everyone refers to themselves as a feminist by default. For simple reasons; this is what the term “equality” has come to mean in the heads and minds of the populace who don’t have the time or the interest to delve beneath the surface: “feminism”. And the obvious hatred of anyone male, anything masculine, is brushed away as just the ravings of a radical few, not a picture of the movement as a whole. And the obvious push for female supremacy, the obvious rhetoric that states quite clearly that women are not only better than men at doing anything, but women are also superior to men in morality and in understanding and dealing with emotions, as well as everything else, is brushed away with a flick of the wrist and a laughter that it is just building up girls after girls having been thrown under the bus for so long. In order for the sexes to be treated equally, girls and women must be treated far better than boys and men.

This is… ah… obvious, I suppose, to those who believe that preferential treatment equals equal treatment. Or who are daft enough to believe that revenge for perceived prior oppression done by none alive today and likewise suffered by none alive today is equality made manifest in goose-flesh… For equality, boys and men must suffer what imagined hardships girls and women suffered in the past. It is the sins of the father for which the son must pay, seven generations down the lie. Revenge is equality, you see, not pettiness and stupidity.

Feminism has got to be the only movement in the world where the thought-leaders, the founders of the movement, the ones that write the books, who change the laws to be anything but equal, who found gender studies courses, who wield the power of the movement are said to be “not true feminists”. It has got to be the only movement in the world in which the ones that made the movement what it is are not true adherents to its movement.

Take the term “the future is female” for example. This comes from Sally Miller Gearhart. She co-founded Women’s and Gender courses on universities. Which are still taught today. She wrote about reducing and maintaining men to about ten percent of the population. Which is where the term originates. “The future – if there is one – is female”.

This term is printed on t-shirts and proudly worn by those who have drunk the sacred period-blood and eaten the vaginal yeast communal wafer of feminism. And everyone else who believe that girls and women need a leg up, a handout and a pedestal on which to stand because, in being equal, girls are better than boys and women are better than men.

With this knowledge – that “the future is female” has its origins in a fantasy of reducing and maintaining men to about ten percent of the population – would it be inappropriate for me to assume everyone wearing this shirt to hold similar sentiments? If not, why not?

If I wore a T-shirt with a quote from Mein Kampf – taken out of context – for simply enjoying that quote, would that fly? Would it be OK for me to state that Hitlerism is not true Nazism? That the figurehead of the movement had it all wrong and was not a true Nazi? Or would people pelt me with rotten fruits and throw me into the glorious fjords of Norway, to either drift away or drown? Oddly enough, I believe wearing a T-shirt stating that “The future is male” would visit worse worries upon my head than any random quote from Adolf Hitler. That would be hating on women, you see. And that is the worst crime one could possibly commit. Far worse then killing men for the crime of being men, you must understand.

…Lo, and behold, how the herp does derp, how wondrous is this magnificent herping of the derp…

Should I not be allowed some manner of indignation that a term whose origins lie in wanting to reduce men to ten percent of the population – gendercide, in a word – is as marketable and loved as it is? Should I not consider it a bit weird that the thought-leaders of a movement are said to not be true to the movement? All par for the course in the double-think-stink of the feminist hive-mind. All hatred is justified, downplayed and forgotten. The worst I have ever heard in regards to the “men must be reduced” thingamajigger is that she was either not a “real feminist”, or she just had a very bad day.

Wow. I am stunned. That is downplaying it some, no? When I have a bad day, I am a bit grumpy and complain about my grumpiness on Twitter with a biting self-deprecation in regards to my chronic pain. I do not propose we reduce women to ten percent of the population. But, in the feminist utopia, women are never held to account for what they do. In particular feminist women. Even when they are not true feminist women and so should be open to attack by the real feminist women.

… Look how the derpy-herp herpy-derps through the meadow and the fields; how it derps in the herpy depths of the herp-derp stream…

If one believes in the history delivered by feminist revisionist historians, which looks at how women were supposedly treated in societies past, neglecting of course to look at how men were treated, it is easy to believe that women were terribly oppressed.

However: it is never as black and white as feminism pretends.

Women were protected. And men were sacrificed. And still are…

That is about as simple as I can put it, as black and white as I myself can put it. Of course; fighting fire with fire is stupid. And fighting black and white imagery with black and white imagery gives us nothing but a fuzzy black and white picture.

You see, in the dismal cosmic dance of society, for every perceived privilege men had, there were also responsibilities and sacrifices attached. And for every perceived oppression women suffered, there were also privileges and protection attached. The relationship between the sexes have always been a complex and difficult dance.

Neither black nor white nor black and white for either. Suffice it to say that the past was hard for everyone but the elite, but the aristocracy, man and woman alike. Looking only at how one side suffered does not give the whole picture. Yet, that is what is done. Just as it is done now. We look only to how women are doing, and label this equal treatment. We care only for the plight of women, neglecting the plight of men. And we refer to this as equality.

Not only women suffer. Men also suffer. And that is how it has always been. Both sexes experience difficulties within society and within culture that is exclusive to them. Helping one at the cost of neglecting the other – as feminism does – is contrary to treating the sexes equally. Completely and utterly contrary, in fact. For a movement that is supposedly about making the sexes be treated equally, it is damned good at refusing to treat the sexes equally.

I would posit that the world would do better with a human rights movement than one exclusively for men and one exclusively for women.

Were it not for feminism, I would not wear the label of a men’s rights activist. I would, more like than not, wear the label of a human rights activist. That is, if I have to wear these fucking labels at all. See, the older I get, the more I believe that all these labels, all these this-that-and-the-others are nothing but a ridiculously overcomplicated tangled mess of words and wires that only confuse and complicate everything far more than is necessary. But I digress.

…Feminism refuses to view men as complete and complex human beings. Evidenced by their hand-waving away of the various severe issues that our side – that is the manosphere, or whatever – bring up.

Smearing and ad hominem attacks is about all they have when faced with the arguments delivered from the men’s rights movement. Included in this is of course the incredibly stupid and obvious to anyone with half a braincell attempt of theirs to smear it as a white supremacist movement. That is the weirdest one. Misogynist? OK – it’s not true in the least, but at the very least it is somewhat related to the topic at hand. White supremacism, on the other hand… that is so obviously bullshit that I am amazed they get away with it. But, ya know, women are wonderful and all that.

Of course; feminism does not care much for women either. It cares only for feminism. Evidenced by how feminism treats women that do not wear the label of feminist; how they treat women that behave in a manner not accepted by the feminist hive-mind. They are gender-traitors and must be burned at the stake and have their heads put on pikes as a warning to other women that they must tow the party-line, lest the same fate should befall them. Online bullying and harassment is only an issue when it is a feminist that fall victim to it. It is not a problem when it is multiple feminist goons that perpetrate it, targetting a non-feminist traitor. This is the glorious effects of their othering of any-and-all that do not bend the knee and swear fealty to their cause.

And feminism – for all its portrayals of itself as some sort of underdog fighting the power – is not the underdog but the power. They are the establishment. Of course – it wins popular vote merely by its portrayal as an underdog. Because who does not love an underdog? The top dog. That is who. And in portraying men – in the guise of the doubtfully existent ”patriarchy” – as the top dog they have done two things (and more). 1: they have painted and portrayed themselves as the underdog fighting the top dog. 2: they have created a wonderful excuse for their shaming and hatred of men and all things masculine, hiding every instance of obvious hatred of men behind the curtain that “oh no, we are only talking about the patriarchy”. And every critique necessarily must mean that the man critiquing is guilty of being the very man they complain about. Clever.

For, ya know, the oppressed have every right to hate their oppressors. Even if it does not make sense for the oppressors to allow the oppressed such amounts of power and influence as feminism has got in these topsy-turvy worlds of ours. This should be evident to anyone.

Supposing that women are oppressed, how in the fuck are the oppressed allowed as much social influence as women as a group do indeed wield? And have wielded for some time…

Why do the oppressors – as horrible as they apparently are – allow their subjects to spew their vile hatred with impunity? It does not make any sense. And for all their blubbering about dismantling gender stereotypes, the feminist hive-mind are not doing a good job at removing the stereotype of women as irrational, hysterical, overly emotional creatures with little-to-no capacity for reason and logic… To be clear, this is not my view of women. It is, however, my view of feminism as a movement. Well, part of my view of feminism as a movement.

Supposing that feminism is fighting and are oppressed by the establishment, why then do powerful figures within the establishment – that is, political, media, entertainment, you name it – pose with t-shirts proudly stating “this is what a feminist looks like”? Were women so oppressed as feminism claims, a merely whispered accusation about foul misogyny and hatred of women would not be enough of a shutdown to derail any conversation onto the character of the man in question instead of the argument presented.

Mumbling something about “internalized misogyny” would not be enough to shut down any woman who dares move beyond the confines of the umbrella that is feminism. Yet this is what happens. Time and bloody time again. It is the worst case of the Chewbacca defence I have ever seen. It makes no sense. Yet, it works. And it works and more are in the works.

It has been led to my attention that my ramblings tend to become a bit lengthy… too lengthy, in fact. This… well, it is absolutely true. Thus, I am doing this in several parts. Here endeth part 1. Join me next week – if the heathen Gods of old are willing – for part 2.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 28.09.2019

My book – Howling at a Slutwalk Moon, a collection of previous blog posts:
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