Why I am an Anti-feminist, part 2:

Growing up in a culture that has got feminism running through its veins and its putrid sewage systems is a dreadful thing. This dominant ideology, this serpent cult, has infiltrated and demanded control of just about every facet of society. It slithered and wormed and crawled into our collective consciousness; a viral infection – an inflammation of the braincells – presenting itself as the noble truth, as the one and as the only. In so doing, it allowed no other voices to speak on behalf of equality, nor did it allow any other voices to speak on behalf of sex and on behalf of gender. It demanded, and it were delivered, the monopoly on the topic. To such an extent that we who grew up with this dominant cultural narrative, this deified ideology, were forced to have its message tattooed on the inside of our eyelids. So that we should never forget but always repeat its perverse mating call.

Throughout all my life, this ideology has been there, running wild and unchallenged. It was not until I got older, until I suffered a medicinally induced psychosis that tore my entire being apart, that I managed to gaze above and beyond the lies and see the beast for what it is. That is the power of political indoctrination, that is the power of allowing one set of beliefs to be told and taught and re-taught as truth and fact, unchallenged. I remember being told in school that sex, that gender, was nothing but a social construct.

I also remember being told that there were something wrong with men, and therefore by extension myself. All the flaws and all the faults of the world was the doing of men, not of women. I write about this sometimes. It is not popular, and it is often dismissed as lies and bullshit by the voices that say we must #believewomen without a sliver of a doubt.

That it is dismissed is fair enough, I suppose, as that which is asserted without evidence can be dismissed without evidence. This dismissal is also the reason I don’t write about it all that often. It is difficult to write about due to the gravity of the situation and the impact this shit has had on me on a deeply personal, psychological level. And it is even more difficult when I know it to be nothing but a cunt-hair away from dismissal and ridicule from the feminist forces that claim to care for the sexes equally. Childhood damage is as childhood damage does, and to experience this being dismissed offhand as lies and bullshit is not exactly easy. Though it is to be expected. Feminism does not take prisoners. And it sure as all hell does not take criticism.

The notion that women are completely innocent and incapable of wrongdoing lies at the beating, festering cankersore that is feminism. As do the notion that men are absolutely guilty and mainly capable of doing wrong. Strange that, if there are no differences between the genders and gender does not exist. Of course – the feminist hive-mind has got some manner of mumbo-jumbo to explain this away.

It has got all to do with socialisation and all that jazz, ya know. Which means that men must unlearn being masculine, boys need to be untaught their boy-ness. Social engineering, in other words. The feminine is the state of nature one should aspire to, not the masculine. Despite both being social constructs. Strange, weird and peculiar. Try this with any other group in society, and see how far you get. To put it another way; we must unteach the homosexuals their homosexuality. Which have been tried, and, luckily, found to be complete and utter insanity. Well, for most of society. Some stupidity still linger.

If a man – any one individual man – does something wrong and winds up in the news, this is a shining example from feminism that there is something wrong with men. And the might and awful feminist influencers see no qualms in using a tragedy to further their narrative, never-minding those that suffered as a result of this tragedy. As long as it is a man that done did something horrendous, scoring cheap political points on his actions and his victims is quite alright.

After yet another tragic Islamic terror-attack over here in Europe-land some years back, the national broadcasting media-machine of Norway (it functions much the same as the BBC) saw fit to publish an article wherein men and masculinity were to blame for these Islamic terror-attacks. Not the ideology of Islam, but men and masculinity were to blame. Strange. One would believe that blaming characteristics one are born with and can not do anything about – that is ones sex – would be worse than blaming a set of ideas which one choose to follow. One would think to label it sexist that a sex is blamed instead of the ideology. But that is not how it works in the topsy-turvy blubber-mouths of feminist stupidity. For in their mumbo-jumbo voodoo, they have decided that one can only ever be sexist towards women. Something something power something something bullshit. Any criticism of Islam as an ideology or as a religion is met with harsh calls of racism and islamophobia and other such nonsense. That criticism of Islam is racist is pure absurd nonsense, of course, considering that Islam is not a race nor a genetic population but a set of ideas. Nothing should be above criticism. And Islam is included in this. Yet, feminism, or “intersectional feminism”, in its infinite wisdom, has seen fit to take Islam under its wing and protect it from criticism. So blaming the ideology of Islam for making Islamist extremists commit acts of terrorism in the name of Jihad and Islam is Xenophobic, horribly bigoted, racist and so forth and so on. Blaming men – the entire god-damned sex – for these terror-attacks that are done not in the name of men but in the name of Islam is quite alright, of course. There is nothing bigoted nor hateful for blaming an entire sex for the actions of someone who is driven by an ideology and not his sex. It astonishes me, the hoops and mental loops.

These are the same forces that tell us that stereotyping and generalizing based on sex and gender is wrong. This, however, only ever apply if women are the ones being subjected to the stereotyping. Stereotyping of men is A-OK.

This to such an extent that being a man overrides the guilt of the ideology that man subscribes to where terror-attacks are concerned. A set of extremist ideas that have told a man that he must kill in the name of God is less to blame than him being a man. Which is amazing.

It is constant and chronic double-speak. One rule for me, another for thee. In the world of feminism, men and women are not held to the same standards.

One could argue the case that this is not exclusive to the world of feminism, of course, as women always do, always have and always will be getting excuses for their bad behaviour should they do something bad. Men do something bad, it is because they are men. Women do something bad, it is because of men. Women tend to not be held to account for their behaviour in the same way that men are. This is innate to our nature, it seems. But it is weaponized by feminism.

For example; how many times have you heard anyone claim that the woman must have done something to deserve it when suffering domestic violence? And how openly? Articles about men being abused by their significant other tend to be flooded with these kinds of comments. I remember reading one article about a woman amputating her husbands penis. The comments celebrated her, cheered her on and stated that he must have done something. Others said that it was glorious.

And what is more frightening is that this was not the same incident as the one Sharon Osbourne giggled, ridiculed and celebrated on god-damned daytime fucking television! Separate incidents of genital amputation celebrated by women. And yet, these cretins claim that men do not experience less empathy in society!

It seems that a man being abused by his partner, then, is a source of amusement. To men as well as women, though particularly to women. Especially in cases of genital amputation or mutilation. How strange, that men do not come forward when abused by their partners, eh?

The assumption is that he did something and she retaliated. Deny and reverse victim order. Now, of course, people are incapable of believing women to be abusers and men to be abused. Which is another damned pickle. Despite the insistence that there are no biological differences between men and women, men’s greater strength is given as evidence that women can not abuse men. Which is flat-out ridiculous and a bald-faced lie. And very interesting, coming from the mouths of those that claim that there are no biological differences between men and women… Boys are taught, at a very young age, that they must never-ever under any circumstances hit a girl. Girls are not taught the same. A man hitting a woman in self-defence is a bastard, as viewed through the nonsensical imbecility of society. Granted, I don’t think people should be hitting each other at all. But one should be free to defend oneself when attacked, no matter the sex of the attacker.

I don’t often talk about this. But I will tell this story in short, since it is relevant to this topic. It will, more like than not, be the first and last time I talk about it. I was in a relationship once where I was abused. When I was in my early twenties. It began with severe emotional manipulation, love-bombing and all that stuff. This was followed by fits of extreme jealousy and emotional abuse. To such an extent that she kept track of my every move. No matter what I did, I had to check in with her every ten minutes or so through my cellphone, if I was not in her immediate vicinity.

If I did not, or if I was talking on the phone with someone else, she sent SMS after SMS until I replied. I once was on the telephone with a friend of mine, and when I hung up I saw I had received twenty-something messages from her. This was a relatively short phone-call. Maybe ten-fifteen minutes.

The messages got more and more frantic and accusatory. She believed that I was with some other woman, that I was cheating on her, that I was ignoring her and so forth and so on. If I did not reply quickly enough, there would be hell to pay.

Luckily, we did not live together. The relationship lasted a little more than six months.

After a while, things got physical. And the amount of control she held over my actions were extreme. I ended it after a while when I was out of town. While I was out of town, I attended a party where an ex-girlfriend of mine also happened to be. This was purely coincidental.

As would be expected, I got heaps of text-messages during my being out of town, and particularly during this party. She was wondering who was at the party, and when she learned that my ex was there all hell broke loose. After a good and long while of whining and bitching and moaning and complaining, she managed to convince herself that I had gotten my ex pregnant and flooded me with text-messages about this absolutely nonsensical and hysterical fantasy of hers. The reason? My ex didn’t drink. So of course, this had to mean that she was pregnant, not that she did not like getting drunk. She was absolutely convinced of this. This all happened in the span of an hour or so. And so I ended it. Which led to about a year of stalking, scary fucking harassment, constant phone-calls, text-messages and all manner of vile behaviour that sent me into a spiral of depression and anxiety that was only alleviated when she found another poor bastard to pair up with. She tried to get me jealous a few times after this new victim of hers was found, which of course did not work. Then she stopped.

Now, were the genders reversed in this, feminism would undoubtedly use this as an excuse for the victim to hate the opposite sex. “Of course she hates and distrusts men – she has had horrible experiences with men”. I had this terrible experience with this one woman. And I do not hate all women on account of it. Nor do I distrust them. Because that would be god-damned foolish. This was the actions of one woman, not all women. Oddly enough, I do not believe I would be given any excuses if I did in fact hate and distrust women based on this one experience. Strange how that works.

Now, I abhor and distrust feminism. But that is not women, that is feminism. I know that I keep repeating this point. I believe and I hope that it will make this fact sink in, that is: feminism does not equal women. It equals feminism, and that is that.

It is this constant downplaying of actions and of responsibility if a woman does something bad; this celebration of male pain and suffering presented as scoring a goal for the sisterhood… This blaming and demonizing of men and masculinity, the inability to understand that men and women both have their shadow, their darkness that is exclusive to them, that manifest in different ways for the simple reason that we are different. The feminine shadow is celebrated. The masculine is not. Women deserve their revenge, as they say. So all manner of disgusting and vile behaviour is, must and always will be expected, respected and tolerated. Otherwise, you just hate women and wish to chain them to the kitchen sink to cook dinner, birth children and whatever and what-not.

Feminism may talk the talk, but it does not walk the walk.

Equal treatment of the sexes would mean acknowledging the capacity of both for good as well as bad. This is something feminism does not do. Feminism acknowledges only the dark where men and masculinity are concerned, and acknowledges only the light where women and femininity are concerned. Worse still; it depends upon the kindness and decency of every-man to help save every women from the horrors of every-man.

Implicit in this call on men to help save women from men is the knowledge that men are, at heart, good. Which will never be acknowledged in words by the hive-mind, of course. But which is shown as the frail and frantic forces of fragile feminist femininity call upon men to fix everything whilst at the same time blaming men for fucking everything up. It is a game where the rules are written in such a way that men can not possibly win. One would not be amiss if one would assume this to be the point of the exercise.

And as long as feminism are the only ones allowed to write the rules, it will not change. We – our societies – allowed this to happen by allowing one ideology to go unchecked. We allowed the smearing of opposition, allowed the lies and filth and fury to become mainstream. We turned our cheeks and looked the other way as boys and men were demonized, pushed out of this and pushed out of that until only the voices of feminism were heard, until only the plight of women – such as feminism saw it – were heard. We allowed a society to claim that a quest for equality begins and ends with only the one, neglecting the other. And that is only the one as seen through the eyes of an -ism that has at the root of its beliefs the idea that men – all men – are wicked oppressors of women; that all men hate all women. Thus allowing feminism to hate men, allowing women to hate men, manufacturing a nonsensical bullshit gender-war that does nothing but ruin cooperation and love and honour and respect that should be there between the sexes and should go both ways. In the land of feminism, gender means women, sex means women, gender-equality means women must get all.

Feminism made it so that the voices of men are not heard when it comes to issues predominantly affecting boys and men. It made it impossible to speak on behalf of boys and men without simultaneously taking girls and women into account. And what is worse; feminism proposes to speak on behalf of boys and men. They decided that their ideas on sex and on gender also include men, that they – by excluding boys and men from the conversation are including boys and men in the conversation. As long as only feminism is allowed to speak on behalf of boys and men, as if they and they alone know what it is like to be a boy, to be a man.

This they do by demanding boys unlearn their boyishness, men unlearn their manliness. Because feminism, according to feminism, help men too. Except when it does not and feminism says that they are for women, not for men. It is that double-speak again, that nonsensical stream of babble. Helping women would help men, and so we should only help women. Trickle-down equality.

And regarding issues where men undoubtedly suffer more – such as suicide, dropping out of education, homelessness, alcohol-and-substance abuse, etc, etc, – feminism says that we must not turn it into a gendered issue, but must help both sexes. Because it does not need to be gendered unless women can be made out to suffer more. If women predominantly suffer something, it is a gendered issue. If men predominantly suffer something, it is not a gendered issue. This comes from the mouths and clucking tongues of those that insist everything has to be a gendered issue.

But more on this later, I think. Here endeth part two of my cruel and unusual rambling – part three comes, lest I be sent to the Gulags for hatespeech most foul, next week.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 05.10.2019

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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:
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:
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Reality is a Corporate-sponsored Victimhood Narrative:

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

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

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

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

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

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

We do not live in reality any more.

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

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

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

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 25.09.2019

My book – 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
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Crucified in Toilet Cubicles; A Tale of Women Pooping:

«At the Feet of Her Porcelain Altar»

I don’t usually do responses. This is a response, after a fashion, to this piece: https://www.nytimes.com/2019/09/17/style/women-poop-at-work.html

The New York Times (hallowed be their name!) have seen fit to inform us that women poop and that women are ashamed to poop at work. This is astonishing information. I was previously unaware of this. I just assumed that women did nothing but fix their make-up and/or gossip intimately with close friends whenever they went on one of their week-long trips to the bathroom. Now, I have only ever once set foot within the confines of a public restroom for women. And that was only because I had five minutes until my bus left and the men’s restroom was occupied. I was stunned to find that there were no campfires, no tents and no sleeping bags to be found anywhere on the premises. Considering the often obscene amount of time women spend in public restrooms, I assumed there would be. I also pictured divans, couches, lounges, a fully stocked bar and a servile non-gender specific manservant or butler to cater to their whims. There had to be, there has to be, I remember thinking. For there can be no other reason than that for them spending all that time in their sanctuary.

Of course, there is a likelihood that some manner of chromosome scanner or other hidden in the arching doorway of the restroom scanned me and found me to be a foul male and so hid all that stuff in order to keep it a secret known only to women and some token gay friends. I will never know, and I have accepted this fact. Even if it is a hard fact to accept. Some things, I suppose, men are not meant to know. Such arcane wisdom and occult secrets of the arcaniest, occultiest kind are best kept from the ragged hearts of men.

Esoteric knowledge aside, the fact remains that I stand flabbergasted, my world-view and entire life altered and damaged beyond repair by this sudden information. Do women poop? I mean – for real? It’s not just something they say for gender equality? Well, now, ain’t that something. Astonishing. Incredible. Damn near unbelievable. But there you have it.

Of course; women not feeling all that comfortable with taking a shit at work is the fault of the patriarchy. As we all know, the patriarchy does have some of their goons and lower-tier employees, which of course mean “women”, checking in on the bathroom stalls with some regularity to make sure and make certain that nothing untoward should happen in there. This includes pooping. Given, of course, that we of the patriarchy were previously unaware of the pooping of the female, we were led to believe that any odour lingering were the result of some male infiltrator. Which would, of course, be absolutely horrifying. We of the patriarchy are very pleased to learn that this is not the case, despite this putting us at odds with our previously assumed state of omnipotence. We will take this up with Dave from marketing.

The sordid affair does not end there. Oh no, not by a long shot. Would you believe it, but it turns out that women spend more time in their restrooms than men do in theirs, and that the lines to women’s restrooms are longer than those for the men’s restrooms. This is a terrible state of affairs, according to our much beloved yet, unfortunately, high-strung and neurotic whamens. Far be it from me, a small piece of the patriarchy-pudding, to pass judgement on such an item on the agenda. It seems to me that the reason for the long lines to the women’s restroom are a simple one – merely that women spend a long time in the restrooms. Now, as admitted previously, I assumed that these rooms were some luxurious resort, some hang-out where women could withdraw, have a quick drink and a chat with some friends. I assumed this to be a space for women to relax without these horrible men manspreading and mansplaining in their vicinity. As recent information have told us, however, it becomes quite clear that much of the time spent in women’s restrooms are spent pooping and covering up the tracks of said pooping. We would have furnished the restrooms with proper air-conditioning and fans to remove any proof of pooping, I suppose, were it not for the fact that these terrible tools of the patriarchy have been deemed sexist and as such are an affront to the much beloved and, yet, hated women of the patriarchy. The question then remains: what can men do in order to make women spend less time in the restrooms or in line for the restrooms? For it is obvious, women having no agency of their own, that this is something that must be mended and remedied by the governing patriarchy.

*

You know… I am supposed to be a writer. And a visual artist. At this point in my life, I was supposed to have published several novels. And collections of poetry.

I should have made some manner of name for myself within the chaotic realm of art. And writing. Those were my plans.

I am 33 years old, god-damnit. Not exactly old, not exactly young. Just closing in on middle age. And I have to sit here and tell grown-ass god-damned fucking adult women that no-one but them cares that they poop.

I have to write this strange and twisted tale of woe and worry, telling adult women that the reason for them spending time in line for the fucking toilets are women spending more time on the fucking can than men do. That this is not the fault of men, but of women. I can’t understand it. I really can’t.

You want to know what a feminist looks like? You take an adult woman. Then you strip away all manner of agency, all manner of self-determination, any semblance of a personality, anything that resembles self-awareness, add a dash of daddy-issues, a smidgeon of thinly veiled misanthropy, a solid chunk of narcissism and all the hysteria in the known universe. Then you are getting close.

It is absurd and it is ridiculous. Anything. Any-fucking-thing, no matter how trite, how childish, how small and petty, how insignificant, has to be blown up and shown to the world as some horrible affront to womanhood, no matter if it is not a gendered issue. If women in any way, shape or form can be made to look as though they are suffering some hardship, it is held forth as supreme proof of some grand patriarchal conspiracy meant to shame them for… something they themselves individually feel ashamed for. And it is not them that are the problem. No, no, no! They don’t need to work on themselves – heavens forbid – this is men’s doing, and something men need to fix. Because women must never fix anything within themselves. Men must fix it, and men must look within themselves and see how they can make women feel less insecure about taking a shit in a restroom for women where no-one but god-damned women would be to shame them for pooping. And yet, a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle. In the holy name of Eris and various other assorted deities of chaos, corruption and madness – you want to be viewed as strong and independent? You want to be taken seriously as an adult human being with agency, self-determination, independence and so-and-such? Then stop acting like a spoiled fucking child throwing a temper tantrum because something in your morbidly hysterical world did not go exactly as you wanted it to go. Take some fucking responsibility for your own life and stop complaining to men that women spend more time on the fucking toilet than men do. Just stop spending a bloody eternity on the toilet, and everything shall be as you wish it to be.

This is what we are reduced to, gentlemen. This is what we have become. A terrible joke of a civilization, society beyond satire, satire beyond satire, even. And beyond redemption.

I would never, in my worst anxious and neurotic, twisted and insomniac nigh-terror fever-dreams believe that I would sit here now, a grown man, writing a response to – supposedly – adult women complaining about pooping. Still, it is a fitting image of our day, I suppose, that our once functional and grand societies have devolved into nothing but a hedonistic, narcissistic poop-and-fart-joke, filled with petty squabbles and personal tales of neuroticism and shame from women that are somehow the fault of men.

I was going to write great works of art. My inspirations were Dostojevskij, Frank Herbert, Tolkien, George Orwell, John Steinbeck, Dante Alighieri, John Milton, Edgar Allan Poe, Hunter Thompson, Charles Bukowski and various other greats. A wide variety of influence and styles that would somehow be blended and melded and moulded in my mind into something of my own creative output. And I was going to illustrate these great, sweeping epics of mine – or these short, angry young man novels of mine myself. Using my own art, such as I knew to make it. With the ever.-changing, yet constantly static raw rebellion of rock ‘n’ roll and punk as it once was running through my art, the one red tread of dyed yarn that would tie it all together in a conscious and coherent literary/artistic world.

But now – now – I am slowly drifting away from the angry young man. I am becoming a grumpy old man, pushed away from the joy of creating and the joy of fiction for bearing the knowledge deep within that the world – the real world – is stranger, more absurd and more surreal than any work of art, than any work of fiction could ever become. Dystopian novels are a thing of the past. Dystopian fiction is dead. Because we are living it. We are writing dystopian history, falling deeper and deeper into the trappings of decadence and fall and collapse and tyranny.

Not with a sudden fall, but with a thousand small cuts does society collapse. I could have written such beauty, such fantastic fantasies. I could have moved an entire generation to tears with but a stroke of my pen, with a word chosen with the same amount of care and dedication, passion and love as a father placing a kiss upon the brow of his first-born.

But I have to sit here, and write about women pooping. I have to sit here – I am compelled to sit here – and tell adult women that no-one but themselves can fix the time they spend waiting in line for the toilet. And I am compelled. Because ignoring these petty squabbles; allowing these miniscule problems to go unchallenged renders them untouchable. And that would be incredibly dangerous. Because, were they not challenged, it would be swallowed hook, line and stinker as truth-without-a-doubt. The petty tin-pot tyrants would be the ones that wrote history; would be the victors to whom goes the spoils. Even if I fear that this will happen regardless, at the very least I will go to my grave or to the gulags knowing that I did what little I could to challenge this.

Even if that reduced a planned artistic career to writing articles about women pooping.

  • Moiret Allegiere, 21.09.2019
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My book – 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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Truth in the age of Deceit:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this by any means.

And that is the truth.

For that is the nature of deceit.

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  • Moiret Allegiere, 14.09.2019

My book – 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
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Gazing at the Harbingers of «Female Oppression»

Lonely trainstation blues lowres

Illustration: «Lonely Trainstation Blues», Moiret Allegiere, 2019

Some time back I was served a good old fashioned chewing out by a feminist acquaintance. My crime was one of the most horrible crimes a man could ever commit. Such a terrible display of toxic masculinity and male entitlement was this trespass of mine that I was sure that whatever was lurking in my future would be nothing but brimstone and hellfire. No choir eternal to lull me safely into the long and deep sleep of death and the beautiful grace of the afterlife. No halo to be placed upon my head and no graceful angel-wings upon my back. Pitchforks and damnation eternal awaited me beyond the veil and my long toil on the mortal coil.

So, what did I do to warrant such an exquisite and most justified chewing out?

Simple and easy.

I gave my wife a compliment on her appearance. This is not something I am supposed to do, as one would expect. This is not something any man is supposed to do in this crazy post-apocalyptic wasteland of ours, come to think of it. To the eyes and mind of this frail flower of feminine feminist virtue, this could not mean anything other than me valuing only the physical appearance of my wife and nothing but that.

Granted, my wife is bombshell-hot, wielding an alluring sex-appeal that would turn both heads of any man in any room and – apparently – turn any woman in any room into a boiling cauldron of unfiltered jealousy, making her manufacture any way possible for her to climb to the top of the feminine pecking order. By, for instance, chewing me out for giving my wife a compliment on her appearance. As a point of severe interest, I must add that the feminist in question was in her mid-forties at this point, and my wife in her early twenties. Chew on that for a little while. Might have something to do with it.

Now – the reason given for this chewing out is exactly what one would expect. In the embittered cage of jealousy, spectacle and wonder that was – and, I suppose, is – the mind of the feminist in question, me complimenting my wife on her appearance meant that I did not value any other qualities of my wife. As if her physical appearance was all that mattered to me, and any other quality be damned. A simple compliment must therefore – on feminist insistence – include all manner of other compliments relating to her intelligence, her spirit, her personality, her very soul, including but not limited to any and all prior incarnations of her undying soul as well as any other talents and abilities she must have underneath her bombshell appearance, vintage pin-up looks and alluring feminine grace.

And those other qualities of my wife – those that are not her stunning looks – are plentiful. Of this, there should be no doubt. I am not so stupid as to marry someone solely for their looks. Even if that is how feminism views male romantic interest. I think it would be safe to assume that the feminist in question could see no other qualities in my wife than her appearance. And her youth. Also, I feel quite certain in saying that my wife would probably be a bit peeved if I suddenly stopped complimenting her on her appearance.

Of course, what my wife thought of the matter was completely irrelevant to this single-minded simpleton so hell-bent on ruining this singular compliment. She felt offended at this horrible act of mine, and so she saw fit in her see-saw ways to defend the honour and the grace of my wife. As we all should damned well know by now, any woman not falling in line with the feminist orthodoxy must be a pawn of the patriarchy; an unwitting and un-awakened slave of societal constructs placed upon her against her wishes from which she must be emancipated lest she contribute to and willingly participate in her own oppression. Unknowingly, of course. A very whimsical and witty way for the feminist hordes of salivating salvation and holier-than-thou platitudes to parade their enlightened forms across town. Saying, in so many words, exactly this: “I don’t care what you believe – I know better than you what you feel deep down inside, and if you would only listen to what the sisterhood says it would all be clear to you. Meanwhile, I will just ignore everything you say. Because: as a simple and enslaved woman, you could not possibly understand any of this.”

Forgetting, for the moment, what is implied in the original offence taken – that is that a man can not possibly enjoy anything in his partner other than her physical appearance and what this says about the feminist view of men – I would like to take a look at one particularly terrible part of the feminist poltergeist philosophy. That is their insistence that the private must be political and the political must be private. For this, I believe, is the reason why the hive-mind feel as though they are entitled to intervene in a personal relationship and the compliments given by a husband to his wife.

It is preposterous.

Any personal relationship has to fall in line with the feminist philosophy and their whimsical ways and vices. This is to such an extent that they feel they have the obligation to be moral busy-bodies, poking their powdered and upturned noses into the private lives of everyone. Neighbourhood gossip-mongers given free reign to spy on and interfere with their neighbours. And you can be damned fucking sure that they will do this at the moment someone does not tow the party line. And what is it that does not tow the party line? Well, now, that depends on the feminist in question. If one but gazes beyond the veil nailed to our eyes by decades of feminist indoctrination and power-grabs, one will be able to see this busy-body poking and prodding everywhere. It is commonplace now.

Of course; given that our societies are beholden to a deliberate and – to my eyes – absolutely absurd celebration of celebrities, to such an extent that their private lives are something of a public spectacle, it is no small wonder that the peeking and peeping and attempted control of the private lives of ordinary people are not noticed as much. We seem to be far to busy with the virtue-signalling, moral grandstanding and constant displays of hypocrisy, nonsense, constant crisis and severe debauchery of celebrities to notice this peeping and prodding and poking into our own – by comparison – uneventful lives.

This does not mean that it is not there, however. If a married couple makes it known to the world, be that merely their friends and family, that they live a traditional life – that is wife at home, husband at work – I will bet you that one or more of the frazzled and bedazzled horde will poke their noses out of the cesspool that is social media to make it clear and to make it known that this is not the way one should chose to live. And people will buckle down and they will listen and they will apologize and mutter and stutter something along the lines of “yes, yes, I know, I know, it’s not entirely correct, but this is how we do it”. Thereby giving an admittance of guilt where no guilt exist.

…I am reminded of the “Big Bang Theory” starlet who made a horrible dent in the fabric of the space-time continuum when she said in an interview that she enjoyed cooking for her husband. Being a housewife was something she enjoyed. And this, it was made perfectly clear, was not something she was allowed to enjoy. This is not acceptable to the domineering sisterhood, and the high priestess was most displeased at this heresy. The social media harassment that followed was enough to prompt her to apologize for her wayward ways, throw down her sword at the feet of the feminist conquerors and swear fealty to their cause and their ways. For a woman – any woman – to enjoy something that is not of the feminist dogma is a terrible trespass upon women’s rights and must be fought by any means necessary. The woman in question does not matter. Her choice, her wishes and her enjoyment of anything does not matter. Only the collective matters – the sisterhood – the feminist collective of guilt and shame and attempted remodelling of the personal lives and doings of people whose lives they have no business interfering with.

The most frightening – and I think sobering – part of this privately political and politically private nonsense is of course the loss of personal freedom, liberty and responsibility. Allowing for a political movement to poke their noses in wherever they want in order to interfere and remodel the personal lives of other people – often strangers – is thinly veiled tyranny. It is an obvious attempt to govern what ordinary people do within the confines of their own homes, reaching into their lives and into their minds by telling them that if they do this, it is wrong. Teaching them, through the pain of shame, that they have to sort out their personal affairs, their family dynamic, to put their house in order in a way that pleases not them, but the movement, the ideology, and – in the end – the state. Barring violence and abuse, there should be absolutely no reason nor allowance given for anyone but the people involved to figure out how they want their interpersonal relationships to function. What works for them should work for them. What works for their neighbours should work for their neighbours.

This should be obvious.

But in the era of the collective, in the tribalizing societies we inhabit, this individual liberty and individual responsibility is forgotten – by will and by power – to be replaced with an ideology so determined at tearing down anything slightly resembling their chosen enemy that nothing matters but the tribe and the collective. And that is tribe and collective assigned by value of sex and gender, by random chance of birth. If a woman does something that is not considered suitable by the elders of the tribe and the collective, she must be shamed until she complies. And the same goes for men – doubly so, of course, or more, since he is the de-facto patriarch of his home and the one who has forced his partner into a subservient state of being in which she is valued only for her looks and her cookery. According to the elders of the tribe and the collective, as well as the high priestesses of immediate and visceral femdom.

…and in turning the political private, any personal grievance – however petty – experienced by a woman must be heard and given time and given due consideration as though it is the experience of every woman everywhere, even if she is the only one experiencing it. That is, of course, if the women just so happen to be a feminist, if she stands bold-faced and wearing warpaint within the ranks of the conquering army. Otherwise, she will be ignored and forgotten unless she allows herself to be engulfed, swallowed and subsequently digested by the tribe and the collective.

People in general want to be good, they want to do good and they want to be seen as good. People, by and large, wish for nothing but the acceptance of the world around them and the society which they inhabit. People, in general, don’t have the time, the resources or any particular interest in looking into things in great depth and detail. And so, when they have been told that feminism is a force for good and for equality and only that, they swallow it hook, line and stinker. And they do their best to fall in line. When being shamed by feminism – whose prime focus is naught but equality, you know – they consider their point of view from the point of view that feminism equals equality, and equality is of the good and so they must have done something wrong if the feminist horde are angered. So they whimper and let loose an apology for doing nothing wrong but arrange their lives in such a way as they see fit, but as feminism does not see fit to accept. There is no more powerful force in the world to bring an ordinary man to his knees than being shamed at the hands and lips of a woman scorned and offended.

What people ought to do is to let loose a barrage of anger and hostility towards those who are so rude as to suppose that they know better than the people in question how they should live their lives. To shame them into the shadows for being so solipsist in their view of the world that only their way of life works, that nothing exist beyond the barricades of their minds and the ideology infesting it. These people – these petulant peddlers of personal grievance and mangled word-treachery – should be shown, time and again, how rude, how inconsiderate of other people, how egotistical, selfish, narrow-minded and foolish they are. They should be told to leave other people alone. To not stick their shit-stained noses where they don’t belong. Or they should be ignored completely. Simple as that. They should not be given anything but a cold shoulder and a dunce-cap, to be sat in the corner of the grand classroom of the world to weep at their perceived wickedness of the world. Then they should be told to grow some balls and respect the privacy of other people, since this seems to be something they are absolutely and completely incapable of doing. Little by little, or with a full frontal shotgun blast of reasonable truth and individual liberty, they should be told – simple as it is – that the lives and affairs of other people are not their business, and that they should keep themselves to themselves and allow other people to do the same. Otherwise, fuck them.

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   – Moiret Allegiere, 07.08.2019

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Deliberately obtuse and lazy; hiding behind drivel to ignore facts:

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Illustration: «Gazing at the Future Backwards», 2017, Moiret Allegiere

Being woefully, wilfully and deliberately obtuse does not befit anyone. It is not a good look for anyone, nor the tribe of anyone. Laziness is not a good character trait, especially when someone uses this trait in order to dissolve opposing sources shown to frantic virtue-wavers flagging their flannel-shirted self-flagellating morality atop ivory towers wherein lie the indoctrinated, inoculated, sheltered and echoing chambers of self-assured moral superiority.

For someone who is supposedly educated, who is supposedly intelligent, to act and to behave in a manner successfully proving the exact opposite is not exactly behaviour that generates any manner of trust in the soft-spoken or angrily shouted words of vain cotton-mouthed slurred-speech-enablers of the tongue-tied-and-twisted-variety.

And yet, when reading debates on the animosity of the sexes; on the victim-cult of social justice wherein self-proclaimed academes of supposed academic rigour stand silhouetted against the divine light of decades long studies on the emancipation of the mind and spirit through intellectual curiosity, the internalized, the mad and brilliant self-imposed obtuseness floats underhandedly to the forefront of their shiny and pimpled forehead, painting themselves as lazy and incompetent manufacturers of mindful fault lines within the messy mind of echo-chamber rhetoric where arguments that do not fall in line with their orthodox religion driven soul-lessly by dogmatic conviction are never once considered, never once taken into account and added to the vast databank that holds all their prefabricated retorts.

Self-choosing and picking paths to walk that are easily stumbled through by shouting regretful tear-duct-rape forced upon their bleary eyes by having to read something with which they disagree on a base-instinctual level, on a plainly emotional level, no matter how true or factual – they fall into lines of shivered spinelessness and pretend to misunderstand the argument or the facts and sources presented within the argument so as not having to take the act of disagreement based on truth into their cataclysmic cranial apocalypse.

Purposeful misunderstanding of the lines presented as a counter to their repeated-ad-infinitum statements makes sense within a tribe of people whose very being is existing in a state of permanent dishevelment gently prodded into their throats and gutless guts by years of indoctrination in lavish halls of lackademia.

The notion that anything might go against the grain of their ideology imprinted in their minds with hammer-and-sickle would mean that all that they have been taught, all that they have been told and all that which they have paid – or their parents have paid – exorbitant amounts for have been either false or heavily biased bile meant to drive a social movement forward, not the curious nature of man.

The arguments – or plain facts – disproving their metastasized cancer ideology can not properly be filtered through their lens of intolerant orthodoxy, and so can not properly be understood, and so must be wrong or they must have heard it wrong or it must have been written wrongly, giving cause for confusion in their minds so sprained from the free-form association of faulty academia that they stand unable to comprehend the perceived gibberish from opponents to their teary-eyed view of the world as is exactly as they experience it, nothing less and nothing more.

…Or exactly as they have been told that they experience it. Whether this tale of experience is true or not becomes completely irrelevant when ones mind and processes of thought have been beat into compliance with the governing rule of the lackademic tribe, all shining armour and trembling battle-cries, whose first and foremost governing rule is that those who take offence are always right if their tribe happen to align with one or other of the supposedly marginalized tribes of rampant hysteria and hypocrisy.

In not wanting to show any manner of intellectual weakness in the face of such a horrid thing as truth-fact-reason, truth-fact-reason of course being the name given to the three-headed dragon of their mythology; a fabled beast who is sent to bring forth Ragnarok and crush underfoot all who oppose evil and its mighty influence upon the world of men, they refuse to read the sources presented them that disprove their toxic victim-ways and calls for power and complete dominance. Thus, they feign being too lazy to read the sources just at this moment presented them so that they do not have to take into their laundromat-minds anything countering their fruit-flavoured views on the governing topics of the day.

Because being seen, deemed and considered lazy by all who live and work and interact with and around oneself would be a far better prospect than having to alter ones deeply ingrained views of the world and how the world actually functions, that being in wondrous and mysterious ways.

Being a lazy and dishonest bastard then becomes a virtue in and off itself, something to celebrate as it completely shelters one even more from the radical and frightening consideration that the world is far more nuanced and complicated than they or their tribe would like to paint and present it; a dubiously checked and lazily sealed envelope containing lavish words and long, ridiculous sentences full of mirth and fluff, saying nothing at all but giving the illusion of saying something profound.

Cheap excuses to hide the imminent truth somewhere in the back of the mindful and painful cavity that is their mindless minds, within the vortex created by the constant gnawing doubt in the back of their birdlike flutter-by minds created and maintained by the rigorous rigmarole of their echo-chamber and the dilettantes that spit and splutter in their footsteps to be granted inclusion into the holiest of holies, into the inner sanctum of acceptance and inclusion gained from the tribe and from the cult and the orthodoxy which constantly generate new rules of conduct, new dogma to adhere to in a constant flow of self-assured assuredness where no other thoughts or ideas are considered but the ones that their blatant blooming mediocre laziness pick-and-chose from the nebula generated in their black-hole-halls.

Such is the ways – in free fall – of cult-like thinking and behaviour; an absolute and absurd inability to see anything but that which is right at the tip of their noses, that which they have been told repeatedly is the only truth there is, which they have been shown repeatedly as being the only thing that exist, patting themselves on the back for their cleverness and closing their eyes and ears and mouths to anything not confirming their ways, their view, their world and their hollow holiness; their saintlike ascension into the highest reaches of their wordly paradise, a paradise wherein supreme morality reign supreme – that being supreme morality viewed through tribal allegiance and collective guilt, stating quite clearly and succinctly that my tribe good eternal, your tribe bad eternal, and may nothing ever change that view, that truth, that simplicity, amen.

 – Please like, share and subscribe

 – Moiret Allegiere, 03.08.2019