New Video -- Misogyny is a Feminist Production - Part 2
In the second part of this series, the talk continues to peel away the layers of deceit surrounding the feminist buzzword "misogyny".
And man's best friend makes a cameo appearance! ;)
The female-supremacist hate movement called 'feminism' must be opened to the disinfecting sunlight of the world's gaze and held to a stern accounting for its grievous transgressions.
"Men, too, join in the criticism of the proposed Centre, one curiously warning that it may “become a highly masculinized space.” Another cautions that the project risks creating a “heteronormative space,” while yet another critical male dismisses the Men’s Centre as simply, “a room with a PS3 and a bunch of douchebags playing games.”
"Bravo, students. . . . . you have effectively demonstrated why such a space is so very necessary. At present, there is only one other Canadian campus with an official support centre for men — the Men’s Resource Centre at the University of Manitoba. Judging by the crass sociology catch phrases in the aforementioned video, the consensus is that young men don’t need community resources or support."You know, the douchebag who made the "douchebags" remark quoted above, ought to volunteer for some Maoist self-criticism sessions, don't you think so? (Seriously, that shit sounds like David Futrelle in the early days of his blog, before he wised up and learned to mask his attitude more effectively.)
The Ryegrass Summit took place in the Spring of [ . . . . ] Church reckoning, year 19 of the 50K plan.
Notables [. . . . .] arrived from far and wide, since the word had gone out in its usual mysterious way. The venue of this meeting was a certain high point along the interstate auto route between Ellensburg and the Columbia river. This high point is called “Ryegrass Summit”, and we just had to give the identical name to our meeting!
The Ryegrass Summit was a bit more crowded than some of our other Church gatherings; I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many distinguished Shudaic luminaries in one place at one time. Even the subprophet Luigi Logan was there in his weatherbeaten Ford Econoline van, looking completely unchanged since I had last seen him.
The meeting was unheralded in the mainstream media, as is fitting. The initial staging point was a popular highway rest area in the midst of this classic western American landscape in what are called the Northern Marches of Shudaea. When I arrived in the early grey of dawn, a number of vehicles were present, along with an assortment of bicycles chained to various posts. Yet being of such inconspicuous makes, models and colors, they were practically invisible.
I parked, I locked, and I hefted my rucksack. The locale was deserted at this hour, and the small barbed-wire fence was a minor obstacle. Directly, I was striding across the open range toward a distant ridge crest -- which lay to the northward. The familiar and well-loved fragrance of sagebrush enveloped me, and as I inhaled this, I reflected upon the classic line, “consider the sagebrush of the arid plains.”
Not a trace of wind was present. Apart from the highway traffic, sparse this [illegible. . .]
I ambled and shambled up the slope, and the crest grew near. I paused to look back at the roadside rest area. This had dwindled to tiny dot by the highway, [which was] itself a thin grey line away down yonder. The amplitude of these Shudaic spaces ruled, and I didn’t mind the lingering presence of that other world, now so dwarfed and distant, because I knew I had the power (physical or otherwise) to banish or recall it at will.
“This sure quite a church I belong to”, said I out loud to myself. And I [. . . . .].
Shortly, I stood atop the crest. The moment was well-timed, for no sooner had I reached the summit than the first stray finger of sunlight broke loose [. . . .] the [. . . .] sun's full disk topped the horizon as ragged clouds gave place to widening patches of blue.
“How sweet to be to be a cloud, right against the eastern gate, where the great sun begins his state.”
From quite nearby came twittering birdsong -- a horned lark, if I am not mistaken, and a spiralling trill it was! I sat down on a small boulder and cinched up my shoelaces.
Dead ahead, the slope descended once again. A hollow lay before me, carpeted with the usual ryegrass [. . .] sagebrush.
Five of us marched back to the highway, while three of us ascended a neighboring ridge. The first five milled about, walked due south for ten miles, then returned to the original meeting spot by hopping on one foot for the entire distance, an expedient [. . .] understood as a kind of test upon the reader’s whimsical threshhold, [. . .] literary artifice [. . .] mental keyhole exercise inducing a paradoxical mind state [. . . .] not entirely serious, yet not entirely playful. For some [. . .] irritation, for others an inclination to giggle and then turn to other occupations [. . . ] One in a thousand would stride gracefully through that keyhole to the rolling hills and rivers valleys of that transcendentally [. . .] New Life. But in this case [. . . ] customary sagebrush -- which isn’t half bad, either!
We conversed, as Shuhites customarily do. And we rambled -- another venerable Shudaic custom. Over hill and over dale. Apollo’s chariot, having issued from the coachyard, mounted the upward highway. The morning grew warmer; all clouds were gone but for a wisp here, a wisp there.
“ Aw, shucks! It hardly matters where you begin: When you stand in Smithic Shoes, all roads lead to......YAKIMA. And if you don’ t
These words were spoken by a young Shuhite, a recent arrival to the Church. I remembered seeing him a time or three before...but maybe not. His face was distinct, and yet non-descript. Unforgettable, and yet I find it hopeless now to call it to my memory. But I got the feeling that I “remembered” him from somewhere. I suppose he was one of the Nameless Ones, yet I shall give him a name. I shall call him “the New Shoe”.
“You make it sound as if there are two different Yakimas,” remarked one of the others present, with sage and ryegrass in his voice.
“Indeed I do. This is savoured and salted Smithic Doctrine, is it not?”
“Friend, you speak truly. For it is written here......” And the speaker rummaged in a rucksack for a moment and produced an old black leather binder that held a goodly sheaf of papers . I think we all had such binders in our backpacks on that day.
The New Shoe chuckled: “It is good to see that we come prepared with Smithword! As do I. And I shall anticipate the passage in question.” The New Shoe brought forth his own black binder and flipped through the pages.He appeared to adjust his spectacles fussily upon his nose...although I can’t recall that his lynx-like eyes were encumbered by any spectacles whatever.
The New Shoe was the very soule of Classical High Shudaism. He spoke in a clear, calm, [. . . ] refined voice. There was no snobbish insecurity about him; [ . . .] true natural aristocrat [. . . . ] life energy [ . . .]of the New Shoe.
“Properly speaking,” he read aloud to the assembled apostles, “it is not Yakima that we revere, but rather, our own private Yakima, a place which is in fact closely indexed and cross-layered with the Yakima of Actuality˝ and even identical with it at various points of contact. “
A meaningful murmur and a shared smile made the rounds. Someone declared; “Yes, that was indeed the passage in question.” The New Shoe waggled his slightly bushy eyebrows and continued reading:
“”Yes, our own private Yakima. Here, the operative word is ‘our’. Yakima is a place that we KNOW. This knowing is a thing that we SHARE. And this sharing helps us to index and cross-layer ourselves with each other, in the sanctitude of our own heads.”
The New Shoe paused again and looked around. “Yes,” he said slowly, “There are indeed two Yakimas. And all roads lead to one or the other of them.”
One of the soules chimed in: “I know Yakima well enough. I was THERE only 5 hours ago. It’s a gritty little grey armpit and no mistake!”
“And that”, the New Shoe rejoined smoothly, “is the Yakima of Actuality. It is a place that we all know....well enough! For indeed we are STUCK there, like it or not. Superficially, it is the city of Yakima, but more esoterically, it is the city of this world!”
No thunder followed that last phrase. The sky was serene, the sagebrush dead silent. And yet, we all heard the thunder anyway. Ah, the city of this world....
Somebody spoke: “Tell it like it is, Augustine!” And a chuckle rippled its way around.
The New Shoe smiled like one not about to be thrown off his stride -- a poised smile.
And he responded: “Your reference to St. Augustine is just a tad ambiguous. Your tone, sir, could be taken as either encouragement or sly mockery. Knowing [. . . . . . . . . . ] both.
The New Shoe stepped up to a small natural platform in the hillside -- a rocky bench with more densely packed sagebrush all around it. He stood for a minute or two, gazing skyward....and nobody said a word.
The New Shoe broke his silence abruptly: “St. Augustine”, he said, “was quite a hell-raiser in his day. But one day, he did a complete flip-flop and became a... Man of God. As for myself; I have never been a hell raiser, nor [. . . . . ] be noted.”
“This is getting good,” someone said. “I am interested to see where you’ll go with this line of thought.”
“You shall see indeed. As for St. Augustine, well, he was something [. . . ] a very different cult from ours, [. . . . . .] points of similarity.
“No [ . . . . ] this crowd, I don’t think.” Everybody seemed to concur with that, including the New Shoe, who grinned and carried on.
“No, I reject any personal comparison with St. Augustine, even though I concur with his ‘two cities’ doctrine up to a point. And that brings me once again to the two Yakimas. Have you ever wondered why this Church is so keen upon the concrete particularity of the actual city of Yakima, Washington, as such? “”One may well chuckle at such a quizzical doctrine. Yakima? Why Yakima? Is there some magical quality in the air above the city? Is there some occult meaning embedded in the asphalt of its very streets? Is there some ancient manuscript of awesome power, squirreled away in the cobweb-festooned crawl space above bales of cardboard or fiberglass insulation [. . . . . ] railroad tracks [. . . . ] grotto on the yonder slope of Yakima Ridge just north of Mt. Delectable? Yakima? Why Yakima??”
Someone spoke: “The conventional answer is simple enough.”
“Ah, the conventional answer. How well I know it! Let me rattle it off: Yakima is special and unique because [ . . . . . . ] conducted his ministry there! Because the Panlogos, in an odd display of particularity, commanded [. . . . ] to go there! Because the first Arctureans touched ground there! Because the mighty Shudakii of Ancient Days tended their three-horned flocks of proto-sheep within the reaches of the Vale before the Diaspora struck them! And most of all...because the Precise Mathematical Center of the Universe lurks only a few short miles outside the present city limits.”
“Those sound like, uh, pretty darn good reasons,” someone else said, with a twinkle in his voice.
He continued: “Yes, they are excellent reasons, but are they believable? I mean, would any reasonably intelligent person actually take such stories seriously? And while I’m at it, does anybody HERE take them seriously?”
Here, somebody roared: “BLASPHEMY!!”. But it sounded like a stage roar.
The New Shoe took it in stride. “Yes, you’re damn straight it’s blasphemy. And yet I say it anyway. But, getting back to my own question: Would anybody take such stories seriously? Or would they treat the whole thing playfully? Would they take it as a cool, sardonic jest?”
Somebody spoke: “Everything I say is a lie, including the present statement.”
“BINGO!!” The New Shoe said this. Then he paused for a few seconds.All at once, with no apparent transition, he was holding up a sprig of sagebrush. Nobody saw him grab it -- he was just holding it.
The moment was [. . . ] magical, one might say -- electrical. We knew exactly where he was coming from. Not just one of us, but all of us.
A brief yet animated discusssion followed among the auditors. Then somebody spoke again: “Yakima, Washington, is NOT a fantasy. It is real; too real, you might say. It is archetypally dessicate. And yet we drink it, paradoxically, without truly imbibing it. Even as [. . . ] so much else the world foists upon us.........”.
As I listened to these prose-like words, I reflected that Shuhites from everywhere on earth occupy their heads, to some degree, with Yakimaica -- even if they have no “earthly” reason for doing so. And they are persistently amused by this very procedure! Such is the serioplayful discipline of our faith.......
What the New Shoe said next clinched it all. He said: “We are IN this world, but not OF it [. . . . . ] Yakima [ . . . . . ] found in a publically shared timespace matrix that few would question. And it holds no romantic appeal in the customary sense, therefore, it issues a clear challenge to our powers of transcendence!”
Here a voice rang out: “Yes, but why Yakima?”
The New Shoe replied: “Why not Yakima?” At this, everybody roared with laughter -- I had never heard anything like it in my whole life! When the laughter settled, the New Shoe continued.
“Let the Others call it what they will, but face [ . . . . ] where great mytho-historical events occured....but THAT is almost an afterthought!.......”
The New Shoe took a drink from his water bottle. He smacked his lips contentedly and replaced the cap.
“Well, after all, this is pretty dry stuff I’m talking about. Just like the Shudaic homeland, and the Shudaic situation on earth. Truly, we are desert nomads, navigators of outer darkness....yet we are tough, and we will outlast them all! But anyway, about Yakima: It is a gritty grey little armpit, a trou perdu as they would say in France...and it might as well serve as [ . . . . ] symbol [. . . ] way of 'facing reality’ is to be extremely objective -- so much so, that we turn their entire game inside out! They deny us our subjectivity? Fine! We deny them theirs. OUR Yakima conjoins THEIR Yakima only at the level of visual inventories, legalistic protocols, courteous driving, and an honest day’s work. Beyond that, it is verily a different universe. Yes, we aim to to eviscerate their reality, and leave only the hollow shell of commonplace fact. Such commonplace fact is the sole foundation for our co-existence with them-- no more, and no less. And into this hollow shell, this... vacuum, we might thereafter introduce words for their edification.But only if we have nothing better to do!”
Somebody spoke: “So what about the Two Yakimas then?” ****
“Yes? What about the Two Yakimas? Isn’t that clear enough already? We reverence our own private Yakima, and our own private Yakima resembles their [ . . . . .] already a dark cloud grows, unnoticed today, but in a few short years[. . . . .]
A further pause.
“Hey, let’s make it simple. They have a certain group mind, and we are NOT a part of it! I repeat, we are not a part of it!!”
Someone called out:”You mean, that we are conscious of their collective unconscious [. . . .] not part of it?"
The New Shoe replied: “Well said, my friend! Well said!”
Then he took another swig from his water bottle. “This water, by the way, comes from the very same rain that fell upon the head of the THE PROPHET in August of 1981, at the moment when he channeled the Seminal Sentence.”
Then the New Shoe grinned toothily and said:
"It's holy water!"
----- Original Message ----- From: __________ Sent: 05/16/12 05:27 AM To: firstname.lastname@example.org Subject: I hope you don't believe all woman are like that
I hope you don't think all females are feminist. I am not. and the whole feminist movement has made it very difficult to be able to take good care of my son. I think nothing has been more counterproductive to females and family than the feminist movement. It is true that some things weren't very correct in society like the victorian age of breaking ribs etc into 16 inch waist but the feminist movement isn't good either. What that movement means to me is that I am not allowed to be a woman and that is a very sad state of affairs indeed.
Thank you for your message. I understand very well that not all women are feminists, so you are preaching to the choir here! ;)
So. . . we need to mobilize the women who are Not Feminists, and build a coalition against feminism, among all groups in society that can be recruited for that purpose.
And in order to do THAT. . we need to reach a general agreement about what feminism *IS*. (Target consensus, as I call it.) That way, we know exactly what we are working on, so we will not waste our efforts at cross purposes or get into "friendly fire" situations.
Then we can go to work on feminism from many sides, and chew it down into nothing. Like an army of termites!
The non-feminist revolution. It's a big job, but what an adventure it will be!
"The Partner Violence Reduction Act accords first priority to victims of physical violence, curbs false allegations, removes discriminatory practices, encourages partner reconciliation when feasible, requires accreditation of educational programs, strengthens the research basis, improves accountability, curbs immigration fraud, and reinvigorates constitutional protections."
"Title amended to avert illegal discriminatory effects."
“Certify that all training, education, and public awareness training programs and activities, including each of its instructional manuals, curricula, handouts, and other informational content, are currently accredited by an independent Training, Education, and Public Awareness Accreditation Organization, as defined in Section 3(a)(29) of this Act; that the Training, Education, and Public Awareness Accreditation Organization is allowed to conduct audits of said training and education sessions; and that evidence of said accreditation is made publicly available on the organization’s website.”
"Many DV-related training, education, and public awareness programs have been found to lack accuracy, balance, and truthfulness, thus biasing the workings of the criminal justice system."Well now! It is bad enough that SAVE wants to correct inaccuracy, untruthfulness, imbalance, bias, and everything else feminism has worked so hard to instill upon us. Yet they would also stack insult upon injury by forcing the DV industry to operate with open books and public accountability.Oh how this grieves and sickens me! But if Morris Dees and his band of Southern Poverty Law heroes had their way, none of these abominations would be permitted.
“. .Grantees must certify that they do not endorse, promote, or follow any predominant aggressor or primary aggressor policy, except for a policy that endorses the law enforcement practice of identifying the party who first offers violence or who threatens to strike the other.”And by what contrivance does SAVE rationalize such a moral outrage? Have a look. I'm not making this up!
"Predominant aggressor policies represent a bald form of sex discrimination."Words fail me. Don't these people realize that under patriarchy, sex discrimination against men is impossible? Or do they simply hate women? But wait, here is more grotesquerie:
“. . Grantees must certify that they do not endorse, promote, or follow any ‘no-drop’ prosecution policy or practice, or any other prosecution policy that does not follow probable-cause evidentiary standards."Dear God! Don't they understand that men commit 95% of all domestic violence for patriarchal reasons, so that most men are probably the guilty bastards most of the time? Don't these sexist pigs know that just being male is "probable cause" all by itself?? Do these SAVE people seriously want to undo the good feminist indoctrination which has made this clear to police, prosecutors and judges, and helped ensure that men most always get convicted without that silly old "presumption of innocence" garbage? I don't understand how the SAVE people could even dare to show their faces after making such proposals. And yet they have the brass-faced bigotry to proffer THIS in their defense:
"No-drop prosecution policies are unethical, and have been found to place victims’ lives at risk."I am stunned. Simply stunned. What more can I say?
---------- Forwarded message ----------
Subject: The First Protest Ever of Its Kind In Sweden: The Children’s Rights To Both Their Parents Date: 11 maj 2012 10:35
'Now we finally have the chance to stand up in a common call for all children in Sweden's right to both parents. This is thanks to Niklas Sundqvist who is the initiator of a joint protest. The first of its kind. It will be held in Stockholm on 13 May 2012. Do not miss this unique opportunity to show the leadership that we have had enough of their incessant violations of our and our children's right to family life. The demonstration will be held in Sergel Square in Stockholm. ... May 13, 2012 - Collection 12:00 Demonstration 13:00 to 16:00
Organizer: Niklas Sundqvist Link for notification:All right, so I'm only an agitator. But believe me, if I were able to hop on an airplane right now, and fly to Sweden, I would join that crowd in Sergel Square, Stockholm, and carry a picket sign for a few hours. Then I would return to the USA with material for some good juicy articles.
News submitted by Ulf Andersson PappaRättsGruppen
Anonymous said...Indeed, I am right about the non-feminist revolution. The only way to overthrow feminism is by a revolution, and if I don't miss my guess, this ought to be the "non-feminist" kind of revolution -- as opposed to the feminist kind. Don't you think so?
"I'd go a little further and suggest that the agitator is more avante-garde than the activist. He's the flying bombardier to the activists infantry.Yes, the settled muck of bad ideas, within a culture, can build to a frightening depth and solidify as hard as rock. And so it becomes as hard as rock to blast it loose again. And the worst of this is, that those calcified layers become the only intellectual raw material available to us, the only "stuff" by which or through which we are able to process reality in the first place. And so the muck of bad ideas defines the limit of what we are able to cognize or imagine, the proverbial box which we cannot think outside of.
"Failure to properly agitate results in a continuing buildup of settled bad ideas that become harder and harder to remove as time goes on. The result is that less and less space is available for new ideas and the culture stops developing, eventually becoming stagnant and rotten. Agitation is necessary to re-suspend settled notions and flush out the muck.
"I don't think it's possible to change a culture until the settled muck has been shaken loose. We haven't yet reached the bottom layer of feminism, or smelled its foulest odors so, to my mind at least, the agitator's role is of primary importance."