The sexes are different in their strategies to get what they want. This difference starts early. Boys tend to be more physical and direct, demanding or playfully pushing another boy in order to obtain what he wants. Girls don’t seem to like this sort of method. Girls are more likely to use words or relational means to get what they want. Boys tend not to respond to this. Neither sex seems to be too keen on the other’s modes.
To get a better idea of how boys and girls differ in this
way, lets look briefly at the anthropological research of Ritch Savin Williams
observing an adolescent summer camp.17 Groups of boys and girls aged eleven to
fourteen were housed in their own cabins. Let’s look at the boys’ cabins first.
Very soon after arrival, the boys started challenging each
other, sometimes telling each other what to do, sometimes putting the other
boys down. Each of these were maneuvers to try to attain higher dominance in
the hierarchy of boys. Pushing and shoving was not unusual nor was making fun
of weakness. In fact if weakness was exposed, the other boys would sometimes join
in to mark their own dominance. Some boys barked orders and others followed,
while some put up a challenge. The boys’ pecking order, their hierarchy, was
being made clear to all and it happened fairly quickly.
Savin Williams found that both boys and girls used ridicule
and name-calling as a means to create higher dominance. But there were some
strategies used by the girls that were very different. Unlike the boys, Savin
Williams says that the girls maintained a sweet and agreeable attitude for the
first week, making friends and being nice. But after the first week was up the
girls started their own ploys to gain dominance. Their modes were more relational
and less direct. Girls would ignore someone, or appear to “not hear” another
girl in order to maintain dominance. Other tactics included gossip, social
alienation, misinformation and withholding eye contact.
The boys’ strategy seems to be overt and out in the open.
They seem to lack concern for the feeling reactions of their friends and are
more likely to throw their weight around with bravado in order to be higher on
the hierarchy. They just don’t seem to care as much if someone gets hurt in the
process. The important thing is to be on top. We can see this sort of thing
when boys are together with their friends and they will openly put each other
down. Moms get upset with this but it needs to be understood as being their way
to navigate the hierarchy. This does not mean that we shouldn’t help boys find
kindness towards their friends; it does however mean that we need to understand
these behaviors in their context.
The girls’ strategy seems more passive and clandestine.
Savant Williams tells us that the girls, unlike the boys, seem to want to be
perceived as “nice” and maintain that image whenever possible thus they take a
week to build alliances prior to starting to use dominance tactics. Their
dominance strategies are designed to be stealthy. Their strategies are often
easily denied as not being “on purpose” or by claiming they had no motive to hurt.
All the while the hurtful behaviors flow via social alienation, gossip,
exclusion and other means.
Both boys’ and girls’ strategies leave some chaos in their aftermath, the boys’ more overt and the girls’ more covert. Both strategies are designed to create and maintain dominance over their peers. It is easy to see how these very different strategies don’t mix very well. This may play into what we will look at next, the very different ways that boys and girls choose to play.
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This is a guest post from Moiret Allegiere. He has a great deal to say about our plight as men in today’s insane misandrist world. You can find his blog here.
My first inklings that life was a dismally unfair thing came in a blast during my years of secondary education. It was during those years, as the pre-pubescent freedom of childhood-bliss flew away to be replaced by puberty, hormones, madness and perpetual crisis; as my boyish body first manifested clear signs of manhood, that the first properly understood symptoms from the infection of feminism showed its face in classrooms as clear and as brittle as glass.
Of course; the signs were there that the girls were preferred and protected by teachers prior to this. Yet – in the prepubescent bliss of childhood, we are close to sex-less as no sexual characteristics are on display. At the very least not obviously so. The most obvious signs of sex and gender and the differences therein came from the mouths of us boys and girls who, in our childish innocence, believed the opposing side to have cooties. This made for some good moments and fond memories of chemical gender-warfare, as both sides did their very best to spread their cooties into the other camp and so infect them. In order to create spies willing to divulge the strategic and tactical secrets of the other side so that the war could be won and ended once and for all, I suppose.
Looking at it in hindsight and with that peculiar gleam of nostalgia that tend to come post-thirtieth birthday, it is clear that this was nothing more than the onset of puberty, the moment where we understood something which we could not properly articulate at the time – that is; the other side is as intriguing and fascinating as it is terrifying and kinda icky, and if I could only understand where the fuck these strange and conflicting emotions stem from I might be able to process the information properly. Besides; I never yet realised how beautiful her hair was and what in the hell does all this mean; those strange butterflies, that weird skipping of my heart, that strange and primal attraction? Better punch her in the shoulder and run away, laughing. Boys will be boys.
And so, fare-thee-well innocence, welcome confusion, welcome inner turmoil. Welcome puberty. Welcome gender-war tacticians in the shape of teachers speaking in twisted tongues, teaching all about the serpent cult of feminism. The oracle and the spectacle, the feminist ideology, the -ism told in twos and threes and twisted tattle-tales. Not as yet mentioned by name, but lying there still, coiled at the feet of the altar in front of the dismally black black-hole black-board where nimble spinning tongues and fingers spun nimbly spinning half-truths or full lies spat into our open mouths and minds that lapped it up as truth-without-a-doubt; an altar upon which we were placed as a sacrifice to the -ism, to remodel and restructure our biology and our sexuality as the horrid beasts of masculinity that we were then on the verge of becoming.
And here I find myself caught in a crossroad, with many a road to follow. Figuring out which road to walk down is a difficult one. I could express the weird confusion felt from schools telling me that what I experienced within during puberty was a social construct; that what I knew to do in order to express my blossoming masculinity was not something innate to my nature, but something learned from this society wherein all things gender is a construct and we are all blank slates.
I could explain the further confusion created as the teachers all insisted that the girls matured faster and better than the boys, even if all things gender is a social construct and so – really – there should be no differences in the level of maturation where the brains of boys and girls are concerned.
Not to mention that, if all things are a social construct, as we were told, then maturation is also a social construct and not anything to take seriously. Or that this train of thought further whisper to me that the only thing these statements meant, when taken to their logical conclusion, is quite simple: gender is a social construct. We are all blank slates. The girls mature faster than the boys. Even when maturation is also a social construct. The schools have chosen the feminine as the norm, as the way to measure maturity and the proper way to teach and to learn, in other words… This difference of maturation, this apparently incredible evidence of the moral, intellectual and emotional superiority of the girls were mentioned as often as possible, beat into our adolescent minds to make sure that we understood and remembered this so-called fact.
I could pick out single instances, single anecdotes of obvious preferential treatment of the girls – to the detriment of boys – and tell them in full. I have many of these anecdotes, many memories stored away of very clear discriminatory behaviour from the schools and from the teachers, that no-one gave a fuck about seeing as it was the boys in entirety that was singled out for social execution and shame and not the girls. See, I am cursed with a very good long-term memory and a terrible short-term memory. Might have to turn this into a series of sort. We’ll see.
…or I could try and explain how this dark cloud of shame that was forced down over the heads of the boys manifested in me personally.
…I could tell tales of how feminism wormed its way into the girls of my class and class-room-fancy, turning quite a few of them into footsoldiers for the explosive feminist revolution wielding such ridiculous arguments – hung up in the corridors of our schools come international women’s day as hand-made posters, funnily enough with loads of glitter and pink as I recall – that a female nurse earns less than a male doctor, and that this is a clear sign of gendered discrimination.
I am not making this shit up.
Opposition to this nonsense, this clear political activism was met with protest from teachers and students alike, making it very clear which opinion was OK to hold and which was not. Even when the argument presented on the preposterous posters was not one of logic or of reason, even when the argument presented made no sense at all. Disobedience is not allowed. One must not go against the holy grain and coffee-stain of feminism, lest one be shunned and publicly shamed for doing so by teachers wielding the magical double-speak staff that says that all voices shall be heard, as long as it is the voices of the girls that scream feminism in your ears and immature minds that are heard.
I remember one particular instance in a physical education class. One of our resident “mean girls” – and you all knew this girl growing up, I fucking guarantee it – the queen bitch, the bully and tin-pot tyrant, Ms. Queen bee supreme who looked down her nose on everyone and treated everyone like shit if they were not within her immediate circle of friends, buzzing around her magnificent form and shape as she wreaked bloody havoc on everything and everyone… yeah, you know the girl, you know the trope, you know the stereotype. The tropish stereotype is there for a reason, shining bright in every single high-school comedy or drama we have ever seen, just as true and magnificent as are the jocks that surround her and beckon to her every wish and demand.
It just so happens that one of her victims of perpetual bullying and mean-girl ways and vices had finally had enough and struck back. Not in any physical way, gentlemen as we were indoctrinated into being – one should never hit a girl, no matter what, you know – no, he had responded in kind to her snarling lips and on-going, for at least a year, systematic bullying with a vicious insult. I can not remember what she said that triggered his comeback, nor can I remember what he said. I was not present at the moment. No doubt, it was trivial – as these things go. Yet, in the vice-grip of confusing puberty, as we all know, nothing is ever trivial.
In this P.E. class, our entire class was made to stand to attention and listen as Ms. Queen Bee supreme stood behind the teacher, crying. Obviously, the tin-pot tyrant’s first instinct at opposition was to run crying to our teacher, playing victim. And we all had to stand there and listen as our teacher confronted the one who had done nothing but reply in kind; berating him and telling us all how horrible he had acted, how there were limits – even in hell – as our teacher, who of course was a woman, put it. DARVO-ing is learned quickly and it is encouraged brutally.
Absolutely astonishing, I thought then and I think now. If it was not made evident prior to this, it was bloody obvious after this that the girls were untouchable, no matter what they did. And I looked at the face of the one who had replied in kind as he was dumbstruck, completely aware that whatever he said, he would come out the loser and the scapegoat and that she – the bully and the instigator – now stood free to do what ever the hell she wanted to do and he could do nothing, nor could he expect justice served from those who were supposed to serve justice at our school. The stacks were stacked against him, as they were stacked against all the boys for the single crime of being nothing but boys, for the crime of becoming men. As expected, this incidence also let loose the ever-present shaming of the boys and their lack of maturity. For some reason, this was clear-cut evidence of the moral and emotional superiority of the girls; of their incredible maturity. Or the teacher just wanted an excuse to brow-beat us boys a little more for her own personal bias and satisfaction. Which I suspect to be the case, as you can always count on a dyed-in-the-wool feminist to use any opportunity to go on a petulant tirade about her most preferred topic – that is, the evil that men do.
There were many instances of this nature. The ideology of feminism shone and shimmered and enveloped all of our school and all of our schooling within its web and in its cocoons.
I remember being yelled at by a female pupil for having the gall – the audacity – of being born at the eight of march, which is international women’s day, and about as much fun as one can imagine.
That I – a foul male – would dare celebrate my birthday at this day of all women was an affront to the holy forces of fragile femininity; just that I was born on that most fateful day was enough to pull her g-string over her head and deliver an atomic mental wedgie. Such a terrible act on my part; such a display of toxic masculinity this, to dare be born on that most hallowed day! Of course, she was nothing but a bitch and an insufferable cunt caught just as much in the confusing mud of puberty as I was. But she was upheld and guided by the primal rage of feminism taught in school. And that is where the problem lies. I would not remember this as clearly now, all these years later, were it not for that fact. This was learned behaviour; accepted behaviour within the walls of our indoctrination-chambers that told her and taught her that she could act like this, with impunity, as long as the victim of her fury and her frenzy was a boy, was becoming a man, was someone who was not a woman or becoming a woman.
Yet, it was during sexual education that the searing misandry was made the most evident. Or, I should say, the most blatant. For beneath that roof and between the scarred and broken thighs of our indoctrination chamber, the ugliness and brute simplicity of male sexuality was made clear to us, as was the beauty and divine complexity of female sexuality. In a flash and a heat and what could quite possibly be referred to as a series of temper tantrums by our teacher, men and their lack of care and compassion during sex, as well as their lack of knowledge of the female body and sacred female orgasm was brought us as communion wafers; foul smelling pieces of bullshit served on a silver platter that we were made to swallow whole and make part of our one and our all. Where male sexuality was concerned, it was so simplistic – apparently – as to be waved away in a token hand-gesture; pull her, prod there, ejaculate and finish. Men, you see, did not necessarily have any manner of emotional connection to the more-or-less willing victims of their simian sexuality. Quite the contrary; ours was a philosophy of pump-and-dump. As opposed to women, whose sexuality was driven by emotional connection and nothing more and nothing less.
Sexual education was nothing but female sexual liberation and male sexual incarceration in front of the holy black-board, behind a make-shift altar of prophylactics and planned parenthood. The birds and the bees and how pregnancy works and all that jazz was mentioned, of course, as though it had to be done quickly and be done with. The purely biological reasons for sexuality, for fornication – that is – the urge to procreate – and how all that stuff actually works was mentioned briefly, and then forgotten in the rush to whip the boys with the nine-tailed cat of sexual shame for our simpering sexual simplicity.
For, you see, it was made out to be the fault of men – that is the patriarchy – that women and girls didn’t masturbate as frequently as boys and men did, that women and girls didn’t know their own bodies as well as they – apparently – should by that point in their lives.
And I can not help but think that maybe these poor and pitiful victims of a lack of masturbation would flick the bean with more regularity were they not told that their bodies and their sexuality was something sacred, something hallowed that was not to be given away or touched willy-nilly, but something to be savoured and treated as some peculiar sacrament.
Were they not told that sex is given to men and done to women, but told the simple truth of the matter: that fucking is one of our most basic primal instincts and that sex is – at the same time – the most profound and the most simple pleasure of life.
See, it sounds very traditional, does it not, that sex is something done to women by men and given to men by women? It is a very gender-stereotypical view of things; men can not control themselves and women must be protected from men. Would a chaperon be a good idea, perhaps and perchance? It is a tale as old as time, and here it was presented as something new, something profound, something liberating for women. It boggles the mind. But, it is as these things are: those who do not understand history are doomed to repeat it. It is the same-old-same-old packaged and presented as something new. Same shit, different day.
I am no prude, and I have no issues with talking about sex and sexuality. Quite the contrary – I find it to be a very interesting topic of discussion. One of the reasons for this is that I find it incredibly funny how much stock we put in it, how much of a protected and sheltered thing this very basic urge, need and drive is. For all manner of birth control has made it so that fucking is now a frivolous pursuit of pleasure more than it is a need and drive to procreate. As an aside, I would very much like to state that this does not bother me. Not in the least. The thing is; as odd and weird as it is, turning it into pleasure first and pregnancy second has made it even more protected, even more holy. Despite all our ham-fisted talks about sexual liberation and sexual revolution and what-nots and what-alls, we seem to be more neurotic in regards to sex and sexuality now than we have been for quite some time.
Almost as though one would be inclined to believe that a meaningless and pointless pursuit of immediate pleasure in one-night-stands and topless tinder-dates with no strings attached and no responsibilities lined up poisoned the well some and made for some hell-hath-no-fury-scenarios, where a lover scorned or a lover’s regret the day after a frivolous session of in-the-moment fornication made for feelings that were not shared in kind and a further shaming of male sexuality for doing just as his date did.
Men are terribly irresponsible when having no-strings-attached sex.
Women are not; they are liberated.
And if both man and woman are drunk and have drunken sex, the man is a rapist and the woman is raped. And the world is such a weird and peculiar place that confusion does not even cover it. For sooth, I do fear, sire, that we may have over-complicated matters to the point of complete and utter absurdity! I do fear that we have lost the plot ages back, that we have descended into guttural chaos and base-level desires that are never fulfilled even when we are told that this is what is needed to fulfil it. We are living in a Monty Python sketch, where one absurdity is explained with a higher level of absurdity. It is layers upon layers of absurdity, and I would be laughing my swinging dick and pendulous balls off, were I not quietly weeping in the corner. But I am getting better, I swear. I only break into hysterical fits of crying and babbling three times a week these days.
Anyhow; in those sexual education classes the boys were shamed for the girls not masturbating and not knowing their own bodies. This despite none of us knowing their bodies either, and should we wish to know their bodies we were beasts with only one thing on our minds. Not to mention that the same shame of not knowing a man’s body was not laid in the palms and prickly nipples of the girls. Odd, that. As though men are the ones who are supposed to run the show, from initiating dates to initiating sex. Or begging for it, more like…
And still; wanting sex, as a male, was a horrible thing and wanting sex as a woman was not a horrible thing, but a natural thing. Though the sex wanted by women was an emotional thing and the sex wanted by men was a primal thing, a thing of domination and subjugation. It was a confusing message sent and delivered. Sex was nothing to be ashamed of, yet it was at the very same time something to be deeply ashamed of.
We were told how incredibly complex female sexuality was, and that men would never properly understand it. Of course, the complexity of female sexuality was the complete opposite of male sexuality; simplistic enough to warrant barely a mention in front of the dismal black-board.
And were it mentioned, it was always with the barely-concealed snarl of wild mockery and disgust. This, in turn, rendered every god-damned unwanted erection a source of shame. And unwanted erections in those days of puberty happened once every ten minutes. You could set your bloody clock to it. There was nothing but spontaneous erections and a longing for some privacy and a few minutes to jerk off and be done with it. That is – if the erection came as a result of sexual desires, which it did not always do. Nor does it always do so. This is something lacking in common knowledge, as I understand it. Considering the mangled menagerie of feminist thought-and-action, an erect penis is nothing but sexual and shows nothing but sexual desire in the moment. Even when it is not. Of course; a lack of erection necessarily must mean a lack of sexual interest and something the woman should be insulted by. And the man be ashamed of. Just as he should be ashamed of his erection, he should also be ashamed of his lack of erection. The penis is there for the woman, and that is that. Objectification ho?
This is where sexual education is lacking, in their brow-beating of the male. For spontaneous erections were never mentioned or properly explained. Not as such. Erections meant nothing but the male being ready and willing to go, and that was that. It was a means to an end. For all the god-damned yammering and clamouring and claims that men don’t know shit about women’s bodies, women sure as hell know next-to-nothing about men’s bodies. Evidenced in the absolute lack of knowledge as to how erections function. Or how they do not function, for that matter. For, you know, a man can not be forced to penetrate. If he had an erection, he must have wanted it. This is the argument presented, time and bloody time again, to explain how a man can not be raped by a woman. I had a girlfriend once who honestly believed I could get an erection at will, just as if I were flexing a muscle. She was flabbergasted that this was not the case.
As much as I do believe that any sexual partner ought to know their way around their partner’s body, this is not something that should only apply to men. Yet, here we are, living in a culture where men are shamed for not knowing diddly-squat about the female body by women that do not even know that an erection does not equal sexual desire on part of the man, nor that a lack of erection does not equal a lack of sexual desire. It is far more complex than what these cretins believe.
And I lay a lot of the blame for this on the lack-luster sexual education in schools whose main focus in my day was the deification of female sexuality and the vilification of male sexuality; whose main train of thought was to teach the boys that their natural sexual urges was something to be ashamed of and to teach the girls that theirs was not. And as much as I agree with the latter, it is something that should apply to both or none. There should be no shame in sexuality, be you a man or a woman, there should not be any shame attached to wanting to fuck. Yet there were and there was, as long as it was sent in the direction of the boys.
Which is as evident now as fucking is natural, given the ongoing shaming of all things masculine from the girls and boys who grew up with this message imprinted in their developing minds and personalities and now only parrot the points they never questioned or dared looked behind and beyond, to repeat the mantra and carry on with the shaming and the glorious cuntural revolution of the feminist hive-mind; the breaking down and dismantling of all things masculine. The cloud of shame hung over the heads of the boys for which they must repent all their lives, bend their necks and their heads, kiss her ring and make amends for being such lustful and primitive primates as we are.
And this – this shaming, this perpetual demonizing and vilification of men and of masculinity – is presented as something that is supposed to help boys and to help men grow beyond the confines of traditional masculinity. Which is what, exactly? That depends on the feminist in question and the heat of the moment. But that don’t matter at all, the moment one is able to understand that nature plays more of a part than nurture does in how men act and how men behave, in how women act and how women behave.
This is not to say that nurture does not play a part. Because of course it does. We can not help but be a product of that which surround us as we grow up. We can not help but be infused with the ideas and the lessons we learn. We are a product of our surroundings. To a certain extent.
Yet; to claim that it is only nurture and not nature is to go against basic biology. It is to look at the state of nature, to look at the behaviour of animals and state that humanity is above and beyond that.
The problem of boys and men is not that they are boys and men, is not that they have been told to be boys and to be men. The problem of boys and men is that they are not being told that it is OK for them to be boys and to be men. It is that we are living in a culture that has not a kind word stored away anywhere for boys, for men or for masculinity. We are living in a culture in which we are told and taught that masculinity is something that must be done away with, that it is behaviour that is toxic, that it is learned behaviour that must be dismantled. And in its place the feminine shall thrive. In the guise of something gender-neutral. For feminism have us all shackled and in chains, have infested and infected our schools and our societies to such an extent that their philosophy is considered the norm and the guiding light. By their hands and their hands alone, the masculine shall be dismantled and the gender-neutral take hold. Just a god-damned shame, then, that what they propose to be gender neutral is remarkably feminine and that femininity is supposed to be some sort of saving grace for boys and for men who want nothing but to be free to be boys and to be men just as we fucking are.
So many times I have heard from frustrated women who explain that when they need a loved one to listen to their situation, the man in their life seeks instead to “fix” things. They tell me that this leaves them missing that loving connection that comes from being heard and all too often leaves them with the fear that the man just doesn’t really care so much since he is more interested in fixing things.
Right. But wait. What doesn’t she know about men?
What the women are missing is that men have a natural tendency to want to fix things. Why do men want to fix things? Because it helps them feel better. I could tell you plenty of stories of working on an old car and being frustrated in getting one bolt out. I try and try and no matter what I do, it just won’t budge. Then when I figure it out and successfully pull out the offending bolt I am hit with a wonderful blast of feeling good! Men know this elation. It feels good to solve and fix things and men simply want to share that good feeling with those they love. When she tells him a problem he wants to give to her the same feeling he gets when things are fixed so of course he tries to fix it for her. He’s doing this because he cares, not because he doesn’t.
After explaining this to the women in therapy I let them know that there are things they can do to help this situation. One effective approach is to be sure the man knows exactly what you want. Be clear with him whether you want a consult or want to be consoled. If you want to be consoled tell him he doesn’t need to do anything, that you simply want him to sit with you and listen.
When women talk to their men about this good things happen. When he becomes aware that she doesn’t want a solution and simply wants him to listen he can relax! I have seen this repeatedly. When this is explained to men they are relieved to know what is wanted and make an easy shift to simply listening. Most men find this much easier than the responsibility for fixing.
Here’s something to try:
If you are a woman talk to the man in your life about being consoled versus being consulted. Work out ways to let each other know when you need each one. If you are a man, talk to the woman in your life and let her know you need her to be specific about what she wants from you.
When both know what is needed, good things usually happen!
This is a guest post from Moiret Allegiere. He has a great deal to say about our plight as men in today’s insane misandrist world. You can find his blog here.
There is nothing better, in
the humble opinion of this sleepless cripple, than the satisfaction
of finishing some project or other. This goes for most everyone, I
would assume. And it applies to any project one could imagine, from
the artistic to the mundane, from the impractical to the practical.
I will focus on the mundane
and the practical in this ramble, I think, following on a bit from my
piece on hobbies. That is to say, I will try to the best of my
abilities, seeing as my current struggle with insomnia leaves me a
bit unfocused and weirdly scatterbrained.
I was fairly pleased with the
piece I did on hobbies. That I was pleased with it tend to mean that
very few enjoyed it. One of those strange quirks of the realm of
artistic illusion, I suppose. In this realm, the pleasure of the
artist does not necessarily translate to the pleasure of the
beholder. The opposite also hold true; when I find myself severely
displeased with some artistic project, people tend to enjoy it. It is
really strange. Not that it matters all that much.
In some way or other, it evens
out. I think it is a fairly funny observation, though.
In the dark days, in the
long-ago time, when I still inhabited Facebook I posted a picture of
some wooden planters I had built from the leftovers of another
project I had been building. My caption for these photos were
something like: “I built this using primarily my beard.”
I very much enjoy working with
plants, tending to them, watching them grow from seed to fruit and
everything involved in this process. I also very much enjoy working
with wood, and would do so much more than I currently am doing had I
only the room. The picture of these wooden planters were very well
received. Particularly by women on my friend-list. This is something
I found to be very interesting. Especially so since a few of these
women, one who commented in particular, presented themselves as
ardent feminists. The feminist in question who happened to comment,
commented something along the lines of “Your wife must love your
handyman projects!” There is absolutely nothing wrong with this
comment, of course.
Quite the contrary.
I found it incredibly
interesting, however, that it came from the hands of a feminist,
seeing as it is very much gendered stereotyping, is it not? Wife
enjoys her husband fixing and building things around the home, while
the husband enjoys the wife doing whatever it is a wife traditionally
does.
I am given to believe that a
lot of the differences in the choices men and women make, as well as
the interests of men and women, are driven in no small way by us
being differently wired biologically.
There is nothing wrong with
this either, of course. Were we only able to accept this tender
little factoid instead of assuming some manner of discrimination
every single time these different choices and priorities, strengths
and weaknesses present themselves as differences of outcome. That is
to say: were we only to accept, cherish and nurture these differences
for what they are instead of fighting against them at every turn.
This is not to say that one
should accept every difference as a rule, nor is it to say that you
either have to do this or you have to do that, are you a man or a
woman. I am not a fan of rigidly enforced social rules, norms and
regulations as a general rule. With exceptions, of course.
What I mean to say is that
people should be free to do with their lives as they wish to do with
their lives, be they male or female. That, whether people chose a
traditional path or not, it should be accepted as the choice of that
person and that person alone. Of course, in regards to relationships,
it should be accepted as the choice of that couple or that family. It
is not the place of anyone else to force someone to do something they
do not wish to do. And it does not reflect well on any movement when
a movement attempts to tell someone that their choices are the wrong
choices. As feminism is known to do, should a woman chose something
particularly traditional – or something that she wishes to do that
falls outside the very narrow realm of accepted professions for a
woman as feminism sees it.
Which brings me to my point in
regards to the comment left by the feminist – whom I know to be a
feminist, because she stated as much quite a few times. As feminists
are also known to do. That point being: at the moment I showed some
manner of practical ability, some manner of doing and making, the
distaste feminism usually shows in regards to the traditionally
masculine and the traditionally feminine – man provides and
protects, woman receives and is protected (in excruciatingly simple
terms – I am aware that this dynamic is far more complex than this)
– evaporated and gave room for what I would dare say is some manner
of admiration. And that is admiration for traditionally masculine
traits, in essence: protect and provide. There is nothing wrong with
this admiration. Nor is there anything wrong that men lean towards
this, or take pride and enjoyment in the admiration gained from doing
things of this nature. Or take pride in these kinds of projects as
they are, for that matter.
This sort of behaviour from
the feminist, this small and – on the surface – insignificant
thing did actually significantly alter my way of thinking where
gender and feminism is concerned. It fixed, cemented and set in stone
my conviction that people refer to themselves as feminists by default
because they have been spoon-fed this hideous lie that it is the only
force working towards equality between the sexes, and that is all
that it is. So why not label oneself a feminist? It’s only muh
equality, ya know.
But, yeah, my scatterbrain
scattered its seeds and took me in a different direction yet again.
I’ll do my best to get back on track. It was the pleasures of doing
things yourself I wanted to ramble about a bit, and that strange
sensation of fulfilment and pride that comes from being able to take
care of oneself and whatever family one may have through doing so.
From small projects to big projects, it does not really matter –
the satisfaction remains the same. It does, in no small way, make one
feel a bit manly, a bit masculine. And this is a good thing. That
feel-good testosterone fuelling that toxic and fragile masculinity;
that horrible urge to protect and to provide and to be able to do
things on ones own. Terrible. Just terrible.
I am of the humble opinion
that doing things yourself is the best course of action to take for
most things – provided one has the know-how to do so. Or the
ability to learn how to do so. And most things, I believe, one can
learn for oneself.
Granted, this DIY-ethos of
mine may very well have trickled down from the first time punk-rock
filled my soul and body with all its wondrous tricks and
trance-inducing rage and riot against the establishment.
What better way to tell the
establishment to fuck off than participate as little as possible in
the well-trodden paths; that is to say: do as much as possible
yourself and be self-reliant, self-sufficient and self-fulfilled,
needing little help from the established powers-that-be and any
authority left therein? Which, in the end, may very well be a
naturally well-established path for men to take. Interesting, is it
not?
For full disclosure – I am
receiving disability from the government for my severe chronic
illness.
So I am not self-reliant in
any financial way.
Which is a bother and a burden
to me and to my toxic and fragile masculine pride (trademarked). My
main wish, or hope, or goal, if you will, is to somehow manage to
make enough money on my art and writings to be able to make a living
off it. I am absolutely certain that it will never be enough to live
some high-and-mighty life of overabundance. But a modest living is
within the realms of possibility. Through hard work and sacrifice.
And, rest assured, this art and writing I do requires a lot of hard
work and even more sacrifice. I have lost friends and family due to
the topics I have chosen to write about, and this is no fun.
No fun at all.
No matter how much it hurts,
it will be worth it in the long run, as the topics I chose to write
about are incredibly important to write about, talk about and learn
about. And speaking honestly is good for the self. My choices were to
write honestly on these topics, or succumb to clinical insanity from
bottling all these thoughts, speculations and knowledge within.
No good fight is fought or won
without sacrifice. And the sacrifice is most often severe and most
definitely personal.
And were I not entangled and
entwined in all this god-damned gender-stuff, all this strange and
peculiar culture-war-stuff, I would be writing far more on various
DIY-projects. With home-brewing and plants being my main focus, as
those two are what gives me the most pleasure and consumes most of my
time where DIY-stuff is concerned. With woodworking and carpentry
most likely being a close second, the moment I get enough space to
really start going to town on projects of that nature. In a couple of
years, we will be buying a small farmstead. There will be room enough
then. Room to breathe, to move around. Not infected by the inevitable
stress and insufferable horror of city-living.
Raising a plant from seed to
fruit and then using this fruit in various home-brewed concoctions
that will be stored and matured for a year, in order that it is ready
to be enjoyed when next years batch is being made is one of the
greatest of small pleasures in my life. Of course; foraging plays a
part in this, and picking plants in the wild for use in home-brewing
or in teas or for food or whatever is a fantastic endeavour to embark
upon. There is so much growing out there in the wild ready to pick
and use in whichever way one would like that it boggles the mind that
so few actually do things of that nature. In nature. And it is done
by oneself. By hand. Bit by bit and piece by piece; projects that
require patience and knowledge.
Patience being one of those
things that seem to be dwindling alongside our attention-spans as our
civilization descends ever more into the void of immediate
gratification, into the nether realms of instantaneous satisfaction
in place of delayed gratification. Fuelled, of course, in no small
way by the dopamine-addictions shot into the central nervous system
by social media, the tyranny of the stopwatch and various similar
maladies of the modern era.
Long-term projects, projects
that are determined by, and reliant on, the seasons is a great way to
train patience, to cultivate patience as a virtue, to teach oneself
to delay gratification and push away the press and desire for
immediate satisfaction. Which of course, in itself, is a long term
project. For if one has first fallen into the trap and succumbed to
the allure of social media likes, clicks, shares and various
harbingers of immediate joy and happiness-boosts, the path away from
it is long and easy to stray from.
Patience is absolutely one of
those virtues which I find to be the most important and the most
lacking in society as it stands today, both on an individual level
and on a societal level with the immediate and the instantaneous
taking precedence, becoming more important than long-term plans and
goals.
And here I speak from
experience.
For some years back, in the
throes of medicinally induced psychosis, I fell into the claptrap of
social media addiction myself – completely and utterly sleepless
and with faulty wiring in my brain making me erratic, I sough solace
in the immediate and ultimately hollow boost of happiness and comfort
earned from virtual clicks and likes gathered from social media
nonsense. It brought nothing but further despair, making me dig the
grave for my shattered glass-sanity ever deeper and, more like than
not, prolonged the psychosis and made the path toward stability and
sanity, healing and functionality a longer and more winding path.
There is neither rest nor solace to be found in social media. The
technology itself is neither good nor bad, of course. It is as
technology is – completely neutral and dependent upon those that
wield the tools and how they act and behave. It is a damned shame,
then, that people tend to not know how to use their tools. Or their
brains. Because the brain is most definitely a tool that can be
sharpened and put to good use, were people only able to let go of the
external world and the perceived happiness it brings for a little
while to seek solace and happiness within, through meditation and
deep introspection. And solitude. People, by and large, tend to
gather their happiness from the input of other people. And only that,
social pack-animals that we are. We are scared of solitude. This
neglects the other, far more permanent and important happiness, which
is finding solace and comfort in oneself, being safe and secure in
who one is and – hacky as it well may sound – knowing oneself
completely.
This also includes knowing
ones abilities and what one is able to do. Or not able to do. Which
of course translates into various DIY-projects. Having the strength,
the belief in oneself that one will be able to complete the task at
hand is not necessarily something that comes easily and fluently. In
particular in these days, where mockery is thrown about at all things
traditionally considered masculine.
I don’t think it is too much
of a stretch of the imagination to imagine that traditionally
masculine tasks, tools, abilities and so forth and so on is not
something young men subjected to the ridicule of all things masculine
on a daily basis cultivate all that easily. It is far easier to throw
the traditionally masculine aside, to neglect and forget it as some
shameful relic of the past than it is to cultivate it. That is to say
– far easier to do on a superficial level. On a deeper level of
consciousness, however, I fear that it is not all that easy. For the
urges, the drive, the longing for the – for lack of a more fitting
word – divine will still be there, festering in the subconscious,
gnawing and biting and burning for wanting to come out and play, to
be unfolded as the natural part of himself that it truly is. And all
this and all that and all of the other which he has been told and
taught as the gospel according to the feminist hive-mind is wrong and
is bad and is poor within him lies neglected and dying for lack of
nurture and sustenance, for shame and ridicule and all the clucking
of the hive-mind, the buzz and the drone.
This becomes, of course,
particularly confusing when he is told one thing and then shown the
other. That is: the traditional expectations is still very much alive
and well where men are concerned, enforced and rigidly expected by
women he may wish to date and the society which surround him.
Chivalry is expected. He shall still provide and he shall still
protect, even as he is shamed for doing just that. He shall not,
however, expect anything in return where the traditional gender-roles
are concerned. He shall be enslaved to the role which he is shamed
for wanting to fulfil. And she shall be free to do whatever, lest he
be labelled a foul misogynist and abuser of his partner or
prospective mate.
Should you be interested in
some elaboration on these ideas, I delve into it in some rambling
depth in my piece: ”What makes a man suicide? Rambling on
traditional expectations and Suicide.”, which you can find on
my blog or on YouTube or – preferably—BitChute.
I am aware that it may seem
like a bit of a stretch, going from DIY to traditional expectations
and shaming of all things masculine. The way I see it, it is
interconnected and intertwined, which I think the comment on Facebook
which I mentioned above points to directly. For feminism claims the
eradication of traditional gender-what-cha-ma-call-its whilst
expecting, and in no small way celebrating, the traditionally
masculine… when it benefits women, and only then. Which, of course,
protect and provide does. Now, obviously, a small planter built and
small plants grown is not the biggest example of protect and provide.
It still is an example, though, as I showcased my ability to build
something that would hold something that would provide my family with
food, even if it was not much food. And even if it was used for
home-brewing. Home-brewing is, at the heart of it, only a week or two
of fermentation removed from a reliable source of food.
And there is the thing of it,
in my mind – men are drawn to these kinds of practical projects, in
no small way due to their biological drive and innate desire to
protect and to provide. This is not to say that men don’t do these
things solely for themselves or merely for the pure enjoyment of it.
That is not at all what I am speculating.
What I am speculating is that
this drive to do things for oneself is a desire firmly rooted and
embedded in the biology of men, a way to show and to prove that they
are prime examples of their species, much like the Bowerbird and the
nests he builds to impress and attract a mate. (Which is something of
the most astonishing beauty; more amazing than I believe I have ever
seen before.) We are really not as far separated from animals and
from nature as we believe ourselves to be. Evidently so, if one but
opens ones eyes and watches the behaviour of most animals and compare
that with the behaviour of humanity at large. Particularly when
attracting a mate. This goes for both men and women. We showcase our
strengths based on what we know, deep down on a biological,
reptilian-brain level, that any potential mate would desire. And we
hide our flaws and weaknesses based on the same. We accentuate
strength, beauty, youth, fertility, self-reliance, etc. etc. etc. in
the most primitive, the most primal manner. Whilst subduing and
hiding weaknesses, various faults and flaws, etc. etc. etc.
Simply put; some of the few
things that separate us from the rest of the animal-kingdom is our
intellect – which, more often than not, creates three new problems
for every solution – and our nebulous, vapourwave-like
civilizations and societies that are, as these things go, here in a
flash and gone in an instant. It is built and it falls to ruin. And
we believe that we have learned something the next time we rebuild.
Then the process repeats.
All the while we believe
ourselves separated from and, ultimately, superior to animals and to
nature, never realizing that we are of the same thing.
All the while, we take things
so incredibly serious, so absurdly seriously in fact that we feel
some strange and peculiar need to categorize everything, to fit
everything within neatly labelled boxes of this or of that. And we
have the gall, the absurd arrogance to believe that smaller and
smaller subcategories will fix all our problems when it, in reality,
only creates more problems. For every category, every simple label
and neat little box need its own sub-categories, need its own neat
little labels that need their own and need their own, and so forth
and so on. And every label, every category, every nefarious little
box artificially creates and inflates a problem that must be solved
through more labels and subcategories within subcategories.
So men doing what men tend to
do, and women doing what women tend to do in general need their own
labels, their own categories. And these need their own, and those
need their own. On and on and on. And that must be fixed and mended
in some way, because we are just as opposed to labels and categories
for the simplicity that they bring as we are drawn towards them for
the simplicity that they bring.
And all this instead of
accepting and cherishing things the way that they are; instead of
going with the flow of nature, the stream of time, the way of things
as things are. Instead of accepting and celebrating, we slice, split
and divide to infinity and beyond. We overcomplicate where we should
just accept. Then we fight what we have made overly complicated, then
we complain that things are so complicated, failing to realize that
the only reason things are so complicated is because we made them so
complicated in the first place.
And the solution is simple.
Let people do as people do. Let people live as people wish to live.
Go with what is natural. Don’t shame masculine behaviour in men.
Don’t shame feminine behaviour in women. For that is the natural
flow-and-glow of things; that is the river, the wind, the Tao, if you
wish. Conversely – do not shame feminine behaviour in men or
masculine behaviour in women. A real man does exactly what the fuck
he wants. And so does a real woman. If that is traditional or not,
who the fuck has any right to meddle? Or to care? Life is far too
short for these small petty grievances, far too short to let it be
bogged down by fighting things that come natural, by splitting,
dividing, sub-dividing and so forth and so on. For, in the end, it
does nothing but create more complication, more conflict, more
ridiculously unnecessary time wasted that could be spent more wisely
on something more constructive than fighting what is, in essence,
biology and nature.
We tend to do as we tend to
do, which is to say that we tend to do what we are wired to do. The
differences between the sexes are evident in all animals. And
humanity is no exception. We have just grown so smart that we have
allowed ourselves to become arrogant in our proclaimed cleverness to
the point of complete and utter stupidity.
This is not to say that one
should accept everything from everyone based solely on the argument
that “it is my nature that drives me to this destructive
behaviour”. Of course not. That would be absolutely ridiculous. We
are responsible for our own behaviours, in the end. And that includes
how we treat others – man, woman and animal alike. We have grown
clever enough to not run on pure instinct. This does not, however,
mean that the instincts are not there. Ultimately, the main purpose
of any biological organism is to reproduce before they die. Which
means that, on a deeply subconscious level, most of what we do is
done to attract a mate of the opposite sex.
And needlessly complicating
matters does nothing but complicate matters needlessly. If there is
one thing that you can count on humanity to do, it is to complicate
matters to the point of absolute ridiculousness.
This is a guest post from Moiret Allegiere. He has a great deal to say about our plight as men in today’s insane misandrist world. You can find his blog here.
Stumbling through the dark
corners of the internet one fell morning, attempting to do research
on the subject of domestic violence interspersed now and then with
one of my dogs barking at some odd happening outside every two
minutes, I crawled through the muddiest sludge of the world wide
wonder-web to exhume this piece of preposterous writing:
https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=2790940
.
Within this piece of writing,
aptly titled: The Feminist Case for Acknowledging Women’s Acts
of Violence, we
find clear and concise evidence
in the form of them admitting
it that the feminist
movement, or the women’s movement or whatever label one wishes to
ascribe to it, built the domestic violence movement upon lies at
worst and blatant
misrepresentations at best.
Of course, this being a
feminist movement it goes without saying that the entirety of their
hogwashed bullshittery is based upon either outright lies or
snivelling misrepresentations of clear facts presented with the most
serpentine of forked tongues, quivering
lips and trembling forms, saying in a childlike voice designed to
mimic the most awesome
form of Neoteny: “Please, I am such a frail and
powerless woman – help me, big strong man whose strength and
protection I don’t need but will manipulate at want when I
need it. Even if I don’t need it, really.”
I
am not going to divulge the
information within this incredibly illuminating piece of writing in
great depth or detail in
this particular
ramble. I
think this fantastic piece
deserves a ramble all on its own, to go through it in such depths as
I am capable of, being neither an academic nor a scholar. Now,
being an academic clearly doesn’t mean much in this terrible
post-apocalyptic haze of the current year. This should be
self-evident by the sluggish beasts residing within the overcrowded
halls of academia. So:
rather than delving
into this paper in depth here
and now, I will take a look
at a few proper studies
on intimate partner violence and
see how the data contained therein correspond to this amazing
evidence of feminist skewed
statistics and lies most
worthy of the immense judgement and
subsequent thunder of our
grand societal ban-hammer.
Because
this piece of writing, gentlemen and ladies, is
of such incredible importance to understand the way our ramshackle
societies view instances of intimate partner violence through
the black and white, tried,
true and
incredibly faulty lens of
male perpetrators and female victims that
I can hardly contain my glee in stumbling across it. Even
if I read it with a certain anger boiling in my throat, gut and
groin. In the pages of this
tome of inadvisedly applied “knowledge”, it
becomes painfully clear that the feminist movement combined with the
domestic violence movement cares not in the least for the victims of
domestic violence, be they male or female. It becomes evident – by
the constant reference to the
“movement” – that it is the feminist movement that matters, the
women’s movement. Not facts, not truth, not reason and not the
individual victims
of intimate partner violence.
The movement above
all.
The serpent cult is alive and
well.
…And only the cult matter in
the grand scheme and schism of things.
It
should have been common knowledge from the 1970’s at least that
intimate partner violence is not a gendered issue. Once again, I
would like to refer to the work of that fabulous Loving Grandmother
to Us All, Erin Pizzey and her tremendous work in
regards to family violence. I
recommend – once again – that everyone read her story, listen to
her speeches and marvel at the treatment she received at the hands of
irate feminists who had an agenda to push that was driven not by any
concerns for victims of domestic violence, but by
a concern for their own
movement, their own dogma and their own hydra-headed serpent god of
false tongues
and venomous fangs. She
concluded, already back then, that intimate partner violence was
reciprocal in most cases, built on escalation and
a pattern of abuse that was generational from
both sides of the dysfunctional family.
She
quickly learned
that the women in her shelters were just as, if not more, violent
than the men from whom they fled. And so saw fit to build a shelter
for abused
men as well, for which she was disowned by her feminist cohorts,
harassed and harangued and bullied until she had
to flee the country.
Obviously,
this is a condensed version of the story.
All
this came to be merely
because she wished
to actually help those who suffered instead of
pushing an agenda that was as blatantly false as it was completely
monochrome in its approach to the problem.
Women
are angels and saints and men are the devils
lurking at the outskirts of our civilization, ready, at a moments
notice, to wreak bloody havoc on all that
we hold dear.
That is to say: on all that
women hold dear. For, should we believe the feminist dogma, men can
not hold anything dear but terror, tyranny, violence, beer and
rape. Preferably at the same time.
Now,
closing in on fifty years later, researchers are attempting to view
the problem of intimate partner violence through new and fresh
lenses. Gazing at it,
as it were, from a vantage point not driven by ideology and
subjective opinion, but on facts and objective observations.
Imagine
now, if the powers that be had listened to Erin Pizzey when she first
began speaking truthfully and
honestly on certain matters
having to do with
dysfunctional family matters.
Should-haves, would-haves and
could-haves are not great tools for intellectual quests, I will have
to agree. And resentment and bitterness helps little in furthering
anything. But this fraud and sham of a movement has done such
tremendous damage where intimate partner violence is concerned that I
can not help it. This new
research is not anything new. Not as such. And that angers
my blood and boils my brain, slowly reducing it to snark and
frustration, anger and resentment.
Think
of what could have been done to help both male and female victims, as
well as their children. Imagine
how much work could have been laid down to stop the generational
cycle of abuse – to break the vicious circle of replaying past
traumas in ones own family of
origin.
Instead,
the domestic violence movement saw fit to ensnare society within its
tangled web of feminist
patriarchy-theory and
gibbering nonsense, painting men as the perpetrators and axe-wielding
maniacs of immense power and violence.
That it was the subjugation
of women at the hands of both men and the state that caused intimate
partner violence, and that it
was men and only men who were violent both within and without the
family, given the authority
to do so by the nebulous and never-seen forces of the tyrannical
patriarchy, the
reptilian illuminati-annunaki
of the feminist tin-foil-hat wearing swashbucklers of truth and glory
filtered through
mass-hysteria and quaint
quantities
of hysterical ovary-acting
worthy of a hysterectomy or
two.
Driven
now by a longing for facts and for the feminist nonsense-mongers
to remove their stranglehold on the discourse where
intimate partner violence is concerned, we – as a society – need
to wipe our faultily
prescribed myopic
lenses and put actual
prescription glasses in place to view these dysfunctional family
matters in an
objective light,
not tainted by ideologues who care for the movement and the goals of
the movement, replacing the
needs of the actual victims
and sufferers in the process.
And
so, new research floats to the top of the stagnant pool that has been
the discourse for decades. From
the septic tank of feminist-infused fuckery that has dominated the
discourse, rises a noxious
gas that may now be lit aflame and blow the whole thing up where the
way we view family violence is
concerned.
For:
what should matter – what
should always have mattered – is lending
help to the individual
victims first and foremost, disregarding
the gendered view that feminism has put in place. Which
they so clearly
admit to have put in place. Secondly,
the root cause of family
violence should be understood
so that the cycle of abuse may be broken. In
order to understand it, one has to admit to and understand what both
Warren Farrel and Erin Pizzey have
been saying for decades; that
damaged people damage people, and gender be damned. Gender
should not factor into it. Especially not in these societies which we
inhabit in which the claim is that gender never matters. Except when
it does, of course. And when it does, it is always when it may in
some way, shape or form supposedly
help women. It is tempting to
say that the root causes should be the first thing that matters. But
that would then be done without lending help to individual victims in
their immediate need. By
lending help to the individual first and foremost, the root cause may
be discovered and removed as one would remove a tumour.
It
becomes glaringly obvious that
their “containment” as they put it in
the first paper
linked,
of female offenders and male
victims has done a great disservice, not only to the men who have
fallen victim to intimate partner violence, but to any-and-all
attempt to grab the serpent
by its tail and so refuse it to become the Ourobouros, perpetuating
its cycle of abuse
through generations of
families uncounted. By
pushing to remove female offenders, they
have willingly allowed the snake to go uncaught.
They have driven wedges ever
further into the fabrics of our societies, into the trust and
co-operation between men and women and sat fire to the entirety of
the family dynamic. By their
own admittance, they have neglected
to catch the serpent, they
have willingly destroyed the nuclear family and
given birth to an industrial complex known vaguely as the domestic
violence movement in which
male victims – as we shall see soon enough – are not believed,
are shunned, ridiculed, often arrested in place of their abuser
and removed from their own
home. For being beat and
abused by their spouse.
All
in the name of “equality”; that fantastic term that means
everything and nothing all at once, depending upon the view of the
feminist at the moment,
depending on the position of
the moon, depending on whether or not Uranus is aligned with the
swinging cock of Mars to be
sodomized at a moments notice
and so forth and so on.
In
the feminist dictionary, words do not mean what you think they mean.
They change and they alter and they evolve all the time within the
framework of their ideology, as
whimsical and fluctuating as anything ever could be. And
so, the joke lies there and I must use it: “At
the flimsy will and
whim of a woman”.
Thank
you.
I’ll be here all week.
These are the jokes, people!
***
Looking on another study
now, and of course I need to put in an addendum here – I am always
a bit careful when looking at studies like this, given that I am not
an academic and as such not all that versed in traversing these kinds
of studies – this study is titled Differences
in Frequency of Violence and Reported Injury Between Relationships
With Reciprocal and Nonreciprocal Intimate Partner Violence.
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1854883/
.
In this study, they
analysed data on young adults aged 18-28 years in the US. The results
showed that almost 24% of all relationships they looked at had some
violence. Just about half of these were cases of reciprocal violence.
In cases were the violence was not reciprocal women were the
perpetrators in more than 70% of the cases. That is quite a lot, if I
am to be honest. More than the feminist hive-mind and various
do-goodie virtue-signallers would ever admit to. This does not matter
to these people, though, as they will hold forth as arguments that
this does not matter due to the fact that male perpetrators are more
likely to inflict injury than are female perpetrators. If I
understood the study properly, however, instances of reciprocal
violence was more likely to result in actual injury than were
instances of non-reciprocal violence.
This was found to be
regardless of the gender of the perpetrator. I found this to be very
interesting when taking into consideration that the study also tell
us that “Reciprocity was
associated with more frequent violence among women”.
From my understanding of this quote, women were the instigators more
often than men in cases of reciprocal violence. Thus leading the men
therein to reply in kind. Given the greater muscle-mass and bone
density of men in general, and the lesser muscle-mass and bone
density of women in general, I do not find it all that surprising
that women suffer injuries more in cases of reciprocal violence. It
would, perhaps, be a good idea to not attempt to beat someone bigger
and stronger than oneself.
Understanding that boys and
men have been told since time immemorial that they should never –
ever – hit a girl or a woman, no matter the circumstances, it is
little wonder that the sympathies of society at large go to the woman
in these scenarios, never-minding that she may very well have been
the instigator. I think it would be prudent to also keep in mind the
probability that people in these kinds of relationships where
reciprocal violence occur are more than likely damaged people who
keep replaying the same scenarios time and again, drawn to each other
by a kind of mutual and subconscious desire for destruction and
self-destruction, feeding into the generational cycle of abuse from
ages past. Re-playing what they learned at the hands and feet of
parents for all eternity. I can not imagine a worse doom than this.
The study also tell us that
“the percentage of relationships in which there was reciprocal
partner violence ranged from 45% to 72%”. Further evidence,
then, that reciprocal violence in highly dysfunctional relationships
and families is the norm more than it is not. Kinda ruins the
pictures we have been painted and presented for ages now of the
stereotypical wife-beating man; a drunkard and a brute with violence
encoded in his DNA, allowed by both society and the patriarchy, weird
deep-state shadow government that it is. A faulty image handcrafted
by feminist ideologues whose interests and passions are to maintain
this stereotype more than it is to solve the problem. Because solving
the problem would mean that they would have to admit – as they have
done in the first paper linked – that women are also violent, that
men are also victims, and that violent relationships are more often
than not a two-way street where there is no clear victim/perpetrator
dynamic to be used in furthering an agenda.
And the agenda is also
something they would then have to admit to; burying facts for sake of
their ideological convenience and the advancement of the movement,
the movement being, at the moment, in a state of siege as more and
more people are questioning the societal narrative which we have been
spoon-fed for decades; their toxin forced down our throats and
injected into our veins from powerful institutions of education,
mass-media and more.
This state of siege, I
assume, is the main cause and reason for the first paper linked –
the fear of loosing their stranglehold on the conversation, the
debate and the topic forcing them to change tactics so as not to be
shown as the bigoted and ideologically possessed and blinded serpents
that they are.
There is this radical
notion that has been with me, you see, part of my world-view for all
my life, based as much on personal observations as it is on objective
analysis, that both men and women are capable of tremendous good as
well as tremendous bad. That is to say: women are just as capable as
men. And men are just as capable as women. For good. And for evil.
This goes in stark opposition to the dominant cultural narrative of
our societal psychosis – that men are evil and women are good by
default. An awfully traditional view of things, one would have to
admit.
The study further states
that “In fact, men in relationships with reciprocal violence
were reportedly injured more often (25.2%) than were women in
relationships with non-reciprocal violence (20%); this is important
as violence perpetrated by women is often seen as not serious.”
Gee Whiz! I wonder why it is
not seen as serious. Could it possibly be due to the massive
influence from the feminist movement in regards to this, I wonder, I
ponder, I think and I consider as I sip my coffee and listen to the
soothing blast beats and throaty screeching of black metal of the
foulest and meanest sort? Note also, that I take my coffee as black
and soulless as my metal. It helps with the anger, releases the venom
and soothes the mind something fierce. It also wires me up
magnificently.
…Could this possibly also
have something to do with the gynocentric nature of our species,
wherein women are to be protected and as such are given excuses and
quite a bit of leeway in regards to the abuse they may inflict upon
their spouse and their children? It is a meme at this point, but I
think it wise to repeat it here: women’s act of violence prompts us
to discuss matters of mental health. And it prompts us to manufacture
excuses. Such as that she was abused, either as a child by her father
or by her spouse, which forced her to carry out her acts of abuse and
violence. Men’s violence, on the other hand, prompts us to demonize
all men, telling all men that they need to take responsibility for
ending this, starting with looking at themselves in the mirror. It
also sparks discussions on toxic masculinity and other such nonsense.
When men are violent, it is because they are men. When women are
violent, it is either because of men or because of mental health
issues, urging us to feel sympathy for her and give her
understanding.
What a beautiful shell of a
world we inhabit. The post-apocalyptic wasteland is nothing like what
I was lead to believe through the movies I grew up on.
Were I not cautiously
optimistic, I would have turned into a raging misanthrope by this
point in my life. Better to channel that rage not unto humanity as a
whole, but onto ideologies that purposefully and cleverly have taken
control of the discourse, have tied a noose around the necks of our
societies and our civilization, have swarmed their way into our
collective consciousness as the truth-speakers, the enlightened and
empathetic ones seeking only to establish gender equality, despite
proven to be filthy, rotten, tongue-tied-and-twisted liars time and
again.
I think it wise to end this
part of the ramble with another quote from the study in question,
which makes it easy for me to segway into the next segment of my
incessant rambling: “Regarding reporting biases, there has been
much discussion of whether there are differences in reported IPV by
the gender of the reporter. A meta-analysis of the reliability of the
conflict tactics scale concluded that there is evidence of
under-reporting by both genders, and that
under-reporting may be greater for men.”
Small wonder, that, as men
are not believed more often than not. Small wonder, that, when men
are ridiculed by the forces supposedly put in place to help victims
of domestic violence. Of course, in light of the glorious feminist
revolution, victims of domestic violence automatically mean “women”.
As such, close-to all resources available are merely there for female
victims. This based on the false belief that only men are violent,
only women are victims, for ever and ever, hail Dworkin, praise
feminism, eternal glory be to the collective, amen.
The last study to gaze upon
is also the one I think is of the most interest. It is titled “The
Help-seeking
Experiences of Men Who Sustain Intimate Partner Violence: An
Overlooked Population and Implications for Practice” and
can be found here:
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3175099/
.
As
one would assume, given the title of the study, it looks on the
experiences of men when seeking help
because of
domestic violence. Unsurprising
to any who have delved into the weird and wacky post-red-pill world,
but
probably surprising, bordering on unbelievable to any who have not,
the
study show that men experience barriers when calling domestic
violence hotlines. It
contains some very interesting quotes from men who have been foolish
enough to attempt to seek help and understanding from the resources
available. I
will look mainly on their quotes, as the stories of men who suffer
intimate partner violence are so often neglected and never told.
Also
– I would like to make it clear that
I do not use the word “foolish” lightly. Nor
do I use it as a slur against the men who attempted to seek help from
the resources available. I use it to define – to underline – the
severity of the issue. I
use the word “foolish” for the simple reason that, as the world
and the web in which it is ensnared stand, it
is a foolish and futile endeavour. This
is due
to
the domestic violence industry being
so tainted, so poisoned, by the might
of the
feminist
industrial complex that one would be hard-pressed to find a more
wretched hive of scum and villainy this
side of the good part of Star Wars.
As
this quote from a man contacting a domestic violence agency would
attest to:
“They
didn’t really listen to what I said. They assumed that all abusers
are men and said that I must accept that I was the abuser.
They ridiculed me for not leaving my wife, ignoring the issues about
what I would need to do to protect my 6 children and care for them.”
…but
it is not about hating, shaming
or blaming
men, you must understand. It is all to do with equal treatment of the
genders, as the feminist furies would have you believe, with all
their piss-pottery and slack-jawed yodelling.
Because
those who hate men are not real feminists, ya know. And they don’t
like sugar on their porridge, either. Strange,
then, that these feminists who are not the real feminists are the
ones who have decided the rules and law of the land where the
mistreatment of male victims of intimate
partner violence
are concerned. The
not real feminists, apparently, are the ones in control of the
movement, are the ones who control the discourse, change the laws,
neglect male victims and their children and do nothing but further
the narrative that women can do no bad and men can do no good. The
real feminists, however, are the ones that do not do this, the ones
who do not wield any power or influence within the movement which
they subscribe to. The
leaders of the movement are not real feminists. The
ones who have laid the foundations for the movement and steered us
all into these days of apocalyptic madness and rampant misandry
enforced by law are
not the real feminists.
And
Hitlerism, you must understand, is not real national socialism. Real
national socialism is something quite different. And
on and on the circle goes. Where it ends, no-one knows. Nor where it
begins.
I
am given to understand that there exist no real feminists. Because
this is the excuse whenever these hateful, bigoted purveyors of
nonsense and neglect
parade
their hatred of all things male and masculine around town; that
they are not real feminists. And
when the leaders of a movement are not real adherents to a movement,
it is safe to assume that there exist no real feminists, and that it
is all a washbasin
filled with toxic waste, vaginal
sludge and
phlegm.
It
is fucking nasty, is what I am getting at.
Time
and again, these excuses pop up. And people believe it, all the
fucking time, people believe it. That the leaders of the movement –
the movers and shakers of the law of the land – the ones
implementing all manner of vile treatment
of men and
preferential treatment for women based on naught but sex – are
but a vocal
minority, a
loud-mouthed gangrenous
few who do nothing and accomplish
nothing and are thusly of little consequence to the movement as a
whole, despite the
fact that these
trademarked not
real feminists
are the ones responsible for male victims of intimate
partner violence,
as well as their children, not only not being believed, but not
receiving
help at
the hands of
the plentiful resources available to victims of intimate
partner violence.
Given that the real
victims, ya
know,
are women and women only. But
no – that is not real feminism. They just wield all the power and
influence in the name of holy feminism and
its wriggling, spineless serpent-goddess.
And
those who are supposedly real feminists do nothing to stop these
so-called fake feminists. How very weird.
You
know what?
I
don’t often say this, but I will make an exception.
Fuck
you!
Fuck
you right in the ear and
the nostrils with a barbwire-dildo laced with ferret-piss and
honey,
covered in angry ants!
“This
work shows that men often experience barriers when seeking help when
calling domestic violence hotlines, for instance, men who sustained
all types of IPV report that the hotline workers say that they only
help women, infer or explicitly state that the men must be the actual
instigators of the violence, or ridicule them. Male help-seekers
also report that hotlines will sometimes refer them to batterers’
programs. Some men have reported that when they call the police
during an incident in which their female partners are violent, the
police sometimes fail to respond. Other men reported being ridiculed
by the police or being incorrectly arrested as the primary aggressor.
Within
the judicial system, some men who sustained IPV reported experiencing
gender-stereotyped treatment. Even with apparent corroborating
evidence that their female partners were violent and that the
help-seekers
were not, they reportedly lost custody of their children, were
blocked from seeing their children, and were falsely accused by their
partners of IPV and abusing their children. According to some, the
burden of proof for male IPV victims may be especially high.”
Now,
colour me prickly surprised and
oddly titillated
– could it really be? Well, yes, of course it could really be. The
most infuriating bother of it all is that feminists will go out of
their way to claim that this treatment is the fault of men, of toxic
masculinity and of the patriarchy and
that feminism is the force needed to fix it. This despite them being
the reason for this sad state of affairs in
the first place.
At least now we have an admittance from their own filthy and
bloodstained hands that they have knowingly “contained” – their
word – instances of male victims and female perpetrators, so one
would be inclined to believe that this excuse would no longer work.
Yet,
it will still work.
It
will still be presented
as being the fault of men. Whilst
in actuality being a combination of the succubi
forces of feminism and the gynocentric nature of our species
designing
a cultural cutlery narrative that
women are victims, even when women are the perpetrators. I can
imagine no harsher punishment – no harsher and more foul treatment
– than being arrested for being assaulted by ones partner, adding
insult to injury one snakelike slither at a time, with
the godawful
feminist dogma whispering in his ear that this is the fault of men
and of himself by extension.
A
few quotes from the paper, which I think is of interest:
“They
offered to listen if I wanted to recount what had happened, but
indicated that no support services were available”.
“I
was mostly just doing research after the occurrence to find out what
I should do. I found mostly female help sites and was turned down by
several so I gave up.”
In
regards to law involvement:
“They
determined she was the aggressor but said since I was a man it was
silly to arrest her.”
“Told
me to get her help. Told me to spend the night in a hotel.”
“They
saw me as a large male and… took her side. I was at the hospital
with bruising and burned eyes from hot coffee thrown in them. They
didn’t believe that she did this… and refused to arrest her…
The next incidence… the police… saw me bleeding they charged her
with felony DV, but later dropped it to misdemeanour assault because
we are not married and do not live together.”
Well,
now, ain’t that interesting in light of the first paper linked? I
would dare say that in the line of duty, neglect of the male is right
there up front and centre for all the world to see,
were they only willing to do so. Clearly,
it
is incredibly difficult to see
after
decades of feminist lobbying and implementations – or alterations –
of law made to define Domestic
Violence
in a light spun neatly by the web of feminist dogma, such
as the Duluth-model for dealing with domestic violence. But more on
that later, as I keep saying whenever I bring it up. I think –
quite simply – that it deserves a ramble all on its lonesome.
When
all things are placed within the framework of an ideology that
presumes women to be the oppressed and men to be the oppressors,
violence
can only ever go one way. And that way is down from the top – from
man to woman. Women
who are violent against their male partners are thus given leeway for
her supposedly being oppressed for being female and nothing but. The
domestic violence industry has handcrafted this fairytale on
feminist insistence, where the big bad wolf is the man and everything
done to fight the big bad wolf is of the good, even when that means a
man being arrested for his
horrible
crime of
being assaulted.
And
so, the girl cried “Wolf”.
Because
he must have done something to her that caused her
to lash out at him.
Because
the story
told and the image
presented for decades has
been
one in which women are never the main perpetrators, nor the first
instigators. It
has been presented as being so simple, so lacking in nuance as to be
black and white; that is the ever-popular Men Bad – Women Good. I
know I repeat this often. This point needs to be hammered home with
all the persistence
and subtlety
of a rampant AK-47 in
the hands of a drugged-out-of-his-mind chimpanzee.
When
faced with this – that male victims are arrested – the feminist
hive-mind does, in my admittedly
anecdotal
experience one of two things. They defend the woman, stating that he
must have done something. Or they claim
– as they always do – that this is the fault of the patriarchy
for viewing women as weak and helpless, forgetting
for convenience the fact that all this is the fault of feminist
lobbying. That
this is the fault of feminism is made evident – clear and bright as
the dawning of a new day – when
looking at the first paper linked, or looking at the interview with
foul and filthy Katherine Spillar in the documentary
the Red Pill,
wherein she states that “it is not girls beating up on boys, it is
boys beating up on girls” and that “Domestic Violence” is
nothing but a “clean-up word for wife-beating.” Imagine
my bedazzled shock!
If
this is not neglecting male victims and containing female
perpetrators for
the movement and the ideology and nothing but that,
I have no idea what is.
This
does not matter much, however, within a culture that is so decided
upon viewing women as permanent victims of the tyranny of men that
we willingly ignore all facts to the contrary of the cultural
narrative. And
that is a narrative that has been pushed and prodded and presented as
absolute
fact for decades, despite being at the best falsely presented
statistics, and at the worst downright lies.
The
worst part – to my eyes at least – is not the narrative being
presented of only men being perpetrators and only women being
victims. The worst part of it all is that this one-sided narrative,
this bitterly
unnuanced view
of things, stand directly in the path, blocking what
would be the best attempt at remedying the problem. And that is
looking at the core reason for violence, which seems to be linked
intimately
with family of origin issues.
That
is to say – the sins of the father will be visited upon the son.
Adding, of course, that
the
sins of the mother and father
both
will be visited upon the son and the daughter both,
in equal measure.
Doomed
to repetition is the generational cycle of abuse.
For
are not our behaviours – our patterns
of behaviour in adult life very much a reflection of that of our
parents, be they our mothers or our fathers? Being
able to see this pattern – this circle of abuse clearly, would
mean being able to consider the instigators of violence, the
perpetrators of violence within
a family, be that reciprocal or not, in
light of the abuse they suffered at the hands of their parents. Not
as a manner of excuse for their behaviour, but as a way to teach them
ways
of working through the trauma from the abuse that is not them
re-playing it time and again, regurgitating
the same generational sins as their parents and their parents did,
and so forth and so on.
It
would mean grabbing the serpent by its tail, understanding that it is
a far more complex issue than the feminist hive-mind and their
various sultry snake-cult priestesses
would
have it presented. This
way of tackling the issue, however, would of course mean that the
feminist movement as well as the domestic violence movement, which
is, to be honest, more or less the same thing at this point, would
loose not only the stranglehold they have on the discussion but also
a wealth of funding and
control.
Which
I, of course, consider to be a godsend.
But
which they clearly do not – hence the first paper linked, wherein
they present arguments for acknowledging female perpetrators of
domestic violence in order to further the agenda of the movement, not
the help or protection of the individual victims of
intimate partner violence,
nor the families destroyed by it.
Which
just goes to show that feminism cares neither for women nor
for men, but their own agenda. Whatever
that agenda may be at any given moment.
It
is definitive proof that feminism as a movement cares for naught but
their movement. Women that oppose their movement and
the dogma of it all
– Erin Pizzey, for instance, can
burn in hell for all they are concerned. And men can go to hell as a
collective no
matter who they are or what they have done. Or
what they haven’t done.
Where
there should be compassion shown to those who are abused no
matter their sex,
there is naught. All there is is a movement so entrenched in its own
ideology and orthodoxy that they willingly – and admittedly – lie
in order to further this orthodoxy. At the expense of victims, be
they male or female, adult
or child.
And
that is that.
No
individual matter.
Only
the party matter.
All
else is naught but sacrifices for the serpent-god.
