Morgoth's Review, April 8th, 2022: I've Reached Peak Trans-Saturation

I find it difficult to put into words just how sick to the back-teeth I’ve become with the trans-agenda. I’m not sure when it began but I seem to have arrived at a place where, without being conscious of it, I’ve begun retreating from the main discourse.

I’m retreating in the same way the survivors escaped at the end of Jurassic Park when the T-Rex triumphantly roars his return to life and dominance over his domain. Except in my case it isn’t a T-Rex but an obese slob in a poorly fitting wig, it’s discussions around men in women’s cycling tournaments and swimming competitions. I’ve seen screenshots of women who lament that their only daughter died in an accident but she’s comforted by knowing her son looks like he’s going to ‘‘transition’’ as soon as she sorts out the psychiatric evaluations which mean he can’t choose for himself. 

I’m in my 40’s, I’ve thus-far lived an eventful life and been around quite a bit. Yet I’ve never, ever met anyone who expressed a desire to change sex. There was never any late-night drunken confessions among men that anyone thought, or had even heard about, somebody being born as the wrong sex. Even growing up in the rough and tumble environment of a North Tyneside council estate, nobody was accused of being in the wrong body out of malice or even through gossip.

Outside of academia the trans issue simply did not exist.

Within just five years, perhaps less, this non-issue has been so thoroughly rammed and shoved into the public consciousness that we appear to have reached a point of complete saturation. Politicians now awkwardly squirm at being asked to define ‘‘woman’’, a question which they think of as sly and underhanded.

The priestly caste who rule over our power centres and institutions seems determined to remove every girl’s breasts and every boy’s penis and if the current legislation and overwhelming degrees of social indoctrination, threats and outright brainwashing are not enough then the dial just gets cranked up to a higher level. 

Transsexualism is the dominant issue of our age, it consumes every other social issue, and yet I have pairs of socks which pre-date it. 

People discuss it in terms of progressivism, or being ‘‘woke’’ and, more philosophically, as it being a new incarnation of Gnosticism. But fundamentally when we get right down to it, what it is, is a cult of sterility and death.

A teacher at a school in Texas recently revealed that out of 32 fourth grade pupils 20 had ‘‘came out’’ as ‘‘identifying’’ with something on the LGBTQA+ smorgasbord. In other words, 66% of the pupils at that school now have no intention of forming healthy relationships and families in a natural way.

Our masters have socially engineered society into a hellish incarnation of an archaic death-cult wherein the trans lunatics get to play out their roles as demented ‘‘kings for a day, fools for a lifetime’’ by lauding it over civilizational norms. They wear their mutilated organs which can’t engage in sex or procreation as abominable parodies of fertility. The very essence of life is mocked and derided in a warped frenzy of malicious narcissism and hatred of normality. 

The world-planners must be proud of their trans-creations in the same way Australian farmers were once proud that the Myxomatosis virus had taken hold in the first few rabbits. People who manage land and animals have traditionally done so by shooting and culling pest populations manually or with traps. Myxomatosis relied on a different strategy which involved infecting rabbits with a virus which slowly and gradually blinded and gelded them. If the disease killed too quickly it would be less efficient because the virus would not have the chance to spread.

How proud those farmers must have been of that first batch of rabbits where the longevity of the disease and the lethality were in perfect equilibrium. It is of course entirely counter-intuitive to nurture the sick and malformed, the toxic and poisoned. It requires almost the purest form of utilitarian calculation and coldness we can imagine; Oh sweet little thing, you will die, alone and in pain, but you are just too useful to us, have another lettuce.

What will future historians write about our cultural Myxomatosis as represented by the rainbow flag? Will it be described in terms of the last act of liberalism seeking to free the individual from all material realities? Or perhaps more cynically in terms of a top-down euthanasia project. Or, dare I say it, depopulation agenda. 

The Mayan civilization in its end stages gave us images of wild-eyed maniacs atop blood-splattered pyramids cutting out the heart of a hapless victim. The further the Mayan cities expanded the more forest was cleared, the more drought-ridden and barren the land became. 

The Maya didn’t know this of course, instead they believed that their Gods were displeased and needed human blood and sacrifice to quell their anger. 

In James Frazer’s The Golden Bough, Frazer exhaustively details various customs and archaic superstitions of tribes, cultures, races and nations across the world and how much they have in common. Frazer details the relationship between fertility, life and human sex. It was common practice in many cultures for couples to have sex at night in fields of corn to increase the yield of the crops by symbolically spreading their own fertility. Here the feminine became associated with earth (mother) from which life comes, and the sun becomes the symbolic representation of the masculine, the bringer of fertility. 

Spring, then, marks the return of the union of the two primal forms from which life will be brought into being. They are of course entirely distinct from one another but exist together within a metaphysical plane. I’ll return to Frazer’s The Golden Bough in more detail another time, but to stick briefly with him here on the subject of the feminine representing earth and the masculine the sun, and the symmetry between the two; how then can we describe their abolition in any terms except that of anti-life?

Are we not now back atop the pyramid with the lunatic clutching the beating heart, vainly hoping that life will sprout from the sun-blasted cracked earth below?

Many Mayans actually left the frenzied death-cult of the metropolis to head into the rain-forest, to choose life and not death. 

And this I believe, is where I began the article.