First of all, let me tell you something about hatred. You think that hatred is equal with calling a woman a silly bitch? No, that is just banter, with a cup of grains of truth. It is humorous. Well, friend, hatred is nothing like that.
Hatred is how death feels? Have you ever experienced sheer terror while running for your life and sanity? Have you ever and squeezed the life out of it? Did you ever take a walk through a and open yourself up to the works of the most miserable losers of life?. Do you know
Have you taken your time to study the underbelly of human life, confronted darkness with nobody at your side?
Have you suffered quite enough, I wonder, to understand the deep and intense nature of hatred?
Maybe you have
Indeed, who am I to take pride in hatred, as if it made me special? Is hatred a value in my life? Everybody can hate. You may hate, too, and feel it arrogant of me to claim ownership of hatred with my eloquence. Maybe you hate more than me, I do not know.
I have already pondered, in the past, what hatred is. Why would you hate? Hate speech is a term today, making it sound like a crime.
Is rational hatred not only the feral instinct to protect that which you love? Or to destroy a source of harsh pain in your life?
I bet you that the Jews hated Hitler for farting them to death in ugly chambers. Was their hatred justified?
The primary object of my hatred is my mother, who brought me up alone. What crime was she guilty of? Let me tell you.
Hatred can be just
Today, I read an old article from Danger & Play. It was about the life a boy deserves. As I read it, I had tears in my eyes:
Right now my relatives back home are working on cars that they are going to drive in a demolition derby. Their women will have a meal ready when they get home from goofing off with their man friends. When it’s time to “get out that male aggression,” men will smash cars into each other. Their women will be cheering them on. They’ll get drunk at a pig roast and then have wild, drunken, Paleo style sex.
My whole childhood was Paleo. We just didn’t call it that. We called it growing up in the country.
We didn’t have the helicopter parents that city slickers had. We rode our bikes until it was dark outside, got into fights, climbed trees, jumped off of roofs (when mom and dad weren’t around, we climbed out of our bedroom window to get on top of the roof), played baseball, went to creeks, tore up corn fields, and generally raised hell. We would lift up trees to find snakes and use our hatchets to chop the heads of snakes off. We shot stray cats and birds with BB guns.
The first thing that came to my mind was an overwhelming desire to live that life. It feels right. So right to live those masculine things, that I would probably not even care about women so much. They would just be a part of it. But as I live today, women may be the only possible way for me to feel like a man at all. If feminists do not manage to drown any masculine notion of sex.
But that desire for such a life is a lie. What I desire is having lived that life. I am now 26 and that would have been the life necessary to shape me into a confident man. It is gone now, of course. There is no place for child stuff in an adult’s life. I have to mourn and let go.
Sure, that article is about living in the country. I am a city rat.
But it is also about male influence in one’s life and about adventure. It is not only the desire of having lived it that I have to bury, it is also the man that I would be now, had I had that kind of past. My single mother was not able to fill that role.
What can I do today? I can learn to imitate. I can walk straight, hold eye contact, bump into people in the streets so that everybody fears me. That feels good. But it is mechanic, there is no play to it. I can grin at another man and it will look like we have something in common. But while he thinks back of times of raising hell, it is an empty gesture for me, there to be exposed for the lie it is.
And it is usually apparent. I meet men who had that past. Sometimes I just write with them. And they know. It is like a stink that is on me that I can never really shake off. I can become strong and stand by it and beat up everyone who does not like it, but I can not lose the stink. It will always be apparent that there is something off about me, if just through the way I have learned to think.
Am I whining about it? I am not sure I am. My intent is to express pain, not necessarily to ask for pity. I know that whining will not change anything, but this article is not about changing. This article is about hatred.
I hate my mother for the fact that she failed. I hate her for her incompetence. Is that fair? Is it her fault? Is she not just a woman? Ah. So I hate women?
So fucking what. I just bumped into a girl on the street who did not go out of my way. She asked me whether I was crazy. I turned around, flipped the bird at her and yelled at her to fuck herself.
It is never nobody’s fault. You fucking leftists do not get it. Of course everybody always has their reasons. You can have compassion with a murderer.
But hatred is not about understanding. Hatred is about identifying the source of your pain and destroying it. All the masculine love and joy I could have had in life was destroyed by the choice of my mother. Did she mean evil? No, she was full of love. Naturally, women are always full of it.
But the intent does not fucking matter. What matters is what somebody or something did to your life.
My mother’s choice to bring me up alone did irreparable and desastrous damage to my life.
She never meant evil. That makes it even fucking worse! Women will just stand before the mess they made and act like innocent children: Oh, but I did not mean it. Fuck you! Wrap your good intent and your positive emotions around a dildo and stick it up your ass.
I not only hate my mother. I hate single mothers. Because they are an abstraction of the thing that did so much damage to me.
Every time I see a single mother proudly proclaiming how hard she tries and how she must be valued for it, I feel the hatred take control of me. My hands start to shake and my voice becomes brittle. I see her rationalize away her inherent feminine inability and unsuitedness for the task just in order for her to get a chance to try and prove it to herself and I see pure evil in front of me.
My life was sacrificed because my mother needed to be a heroine and needed to indulge in her instinct to nurture.
On the internet, I read articles from single mothers who actually portray themselves as victims of those who stigmatize them. . For them, custody is about their right to enjoy having a child. . They once more attack patriarchy. Why, it can not be females unable to bring up a boy! It must be poverty, caused by the gender pay gap! Well, my mother received more than enough money for a more than worthless job, bitch!
When a person says “my mother played the role of mother AND father” they are not just being trendy. They are speaking an authentic truth about their experience.
No, and fucking no. You may convince yourself and even your kid that you are doing that, but you are not. You can not. It is not your fault that you can not, but it does not change the fact.
You women want to prove that you are equal and can do anything a man can? Why? You are not men. My mother eventually gave up and gave me away to the state, because she could not handle me. Fucking great! But is that so much worse than a mother who can not even admit that ?
Those fucking whores destroy millions of lives without a care in the world and make you feel guilty for it. They wreak havoc and do not take the slightest amount of responsibility. They do not care about the effects of their decision, but about the unfairness of the way society treats them for it.
Put me in one room with such a person, guarantee me that I will not be prosecuted and I will not hesitate to take a bayonet and hack her to pieces until her brain and intestines are all over the floor. I will utter a desperate primal scream and spit on the corpse. Piss on it, until it mingles with the blood and shit and all the disgusting stuff and make it absolutely improbable that she will stand back up again. Only then will I feel calm and safe from this monstrosity called mother’s love and the big betrayal it is.
That is hatred.
Single mothers are monsters
I did a film project with a kid and his single mother and a man who played the father. The boy, around 11 years old, was supposed to bug the father about wanting to eat something. He was too shy to do it. He literally did not manage to raise his voice, shyly laughing. His mother found it cute.
I know a dating coach here in Munich. He too grew up without a father and eventually figured that it was hard for him to get girls, so he did some pick up and became a coach. He is also a somewhat successful actor. He is also insecure, meek and uncomfortable to be around.
I know a guy who grew up without a dad, but with a rather harsh mother. He is good with girls after having learned pickup, but the slightest things hurt him, which he compensates with control. His girl on the phone tells him she feels bad and he becomes totally obsessed with it and cannot accept that she does not want to talk about it. He goes to cinema with me and I tell him that I will go there by bike, but he wants to go there by train, so I say that he wanted it and can hopefully make a compromise. To which he says: If you think you are doing this for me, we better not do it at all. Fucking weakling.
I know a bunch of brothers who grew up with a nice, simpy dad. They are all shy and have social issues which they partly are able to break out of. Two of them have become mindless Scientology drones. Not to say that , but these two guys see it as the solution to everything and . Zealots.
I talked with a mother of a boy who lives with his father. She said that she likes that he has a father to bring him up. I told her that I was glad that she was thinking of her boy in this matter. She said that this was not the reason and that the boy merely lived with his father for financial reasons. She said she would not have given him away. I clenched my fists.
Single mothers will point at their kid and say: Look, I mean, it is not that bad. And I will always love him. Well, of course you will always love him, bitch. Like an artist loves his own inept strokes on the canvas, unwilling to admit his own incompetence.
Single mothers will destroy a boy’s life at the tip of their emotions. They will feel that idiotic love and feel their idiotic need to nurture and leave all reason behind. If it feels good, it must be good. Boy, you should respect me and love me back, because nobody will ever laaaaav you like I do.
They separate a boy from his father if the father is a violent man, oblivious to the fact that men are violent in nature. Then they are helpless when faced with problems of a boy’s life and give useless advice from a female perspective, like being nice to girls. When confronted with their ineptitude, their feelings are hurt. Their feelings. A single mother’s boy will be left in agony, alone with his problems, . But it is all about her. And after she fails, she wants a .
And of course she hurts and suffers. How would she not,. But , not rewarded.
Single mothers are reckless, irresponsible and blind to the damage they do. The only thing they think of is their desire to have a kid for themselves. It is irrelevant whether they mean well or whether this condition of their thinking facility is their fault. They must be stopped and they deserve your hatred, because they destroy lives.
Hatred is a weapon
Hatred is directed pain. An outlet. More than that, it is the power your organism grants you to prevent further harm, based on harm you have experienced. Anger is a milder form of it.
Hatred can not possibly be wrong, because Jews are allowed to hate Nazis. SJWs are allowed to hate misogynists. Their passion is all but cold and serene. And there is nothing inherently wrong with hatred.
The truth is, though, that hatred really is blind in and of itself, like any emotion. Your organism directs it at whatever is identified as source of a pain you have. Finding out the source is the rational task that is on you.
It took me a while to go from a naive Elliot Rodger-like hatred of women who do not want to sleep with me to a hatred of the concept that caused me to be unmanly in the first place. Every time I was rejected, I felt reminded of some horrible pain inside me. But the rejection in itself was not the big issue, turns out. It is a life of suppressing who I am, with the noble intent of pleasing women – pardon, my mother. But getting punished for it along the way.
The point is, hatred can be directed through reason and conviction. Identify some kind of source of your pain and isolate it and you have an outlet. If that source happens to actually be a negative social force like single motherhood, the better. You can use hatred for good. Your hatred gives you a source of energy you would otherwise not possess.
What else does the manosphere do, in the end?
Hate single mothers with boys. The offspring they produce is useless and miserable. Hate their guts. Shame them. Make it so fucking intolerable for them to be single mothers that no woman will ever risk it.
Women are just women. You can not really blame them for not being able to raise boys. But neither must you allow them to try.
So hate the guts out of those who do.