Blair Naso, who writes at Return of Kings, has some pretty definite ideas about the state of gender relations in society, and he is unabashed at holding men just as responsible as women for the mess we are currently witnessing. There are a few people in the Manosphere who are convinced that I am an evil traditionalist woman raping my husband of resources and giving him nothing in return (except for the 3 well-mannered, loving biological children, a comfortable, welcoming home that is appreciating in value because I take care of it, healthy, nutritious, delicious food three times a day, clean clothes and frequent sex, but who cares about that stuff, amirite?), and I tend to just avoid the debate for the most part.
I have had my say on whether I am a traditionalist, and I will engage in the debate no further, because it really isn’t a debate, as far as I am concerned.
There are a lot of things that Blair says that I heartily disagree with, and many more things that I do agree with, but ultimately we are unified in our thinking that something has gone very, very wrong with modern relationships between men and women. Blair not only lays the smackdown over at Return of Kings, but he writes creative works of prose and poetry as well.
I can’t tell you how often I browse bookshops, picking up titles that have all kinds of awards and praise plastered all over them, only to read a blurb that says something like “after divorcing her husband of 20 years, Susie takes her children…. blah blah blah” and my response is always ugh no thanks with this single mother destroying her children bullshit. I don’t want to read crap like Eat, Love, Pray. It disgusts me. It’s not empowering or enchanting or even interesting. It’s sickening.
So for all those men who have chosen MGTOW as a philosophy, or even just men who are interested in poetry and prose, but who do not want to read gynocentric Princess drivel, I present to you The Death of Ideology by Blair Naso. This book is an eclectic collection of poems, lyrics, parables, fables, short stories and even an email that discusses love, relationships, sex, gender and life from the perspective of the Manosphere. It doesn’t hold back on the satire, irony or sarcasm, and Blair pulls no punches when it comes to treating women like delicate flowers in need of protection. His words can be sharp and his portrayals of both men and women rather cutting, but underlying it all is a longing for a world in which men and women can love and respect one another beyond ideologies about how men and women should be. Blair is not interested in how men and women should be.
He is interested in how they are.
Here are three short pieces from The Death of Ideology, reprinted with permission.
The Physics Of Relationships or Chemistry Is Not A Science
To every sin there is
An equal and opposite reaction,
So was mine the one you expected?
Were you expecting smiles and puppies
In exchange for deceit?
It’d be nice to say that
I’m glad your friends approve of you,
But the reality is that
You’ve turned them all into enemies.
A Story For The Tavern
Once there was a merchant who was of a certain age when men begin to look to marry. There were two women to whom he was prospecting. One was very beautiful, but very evil. The other, her sister, was very ugly, but very compassionate, and both very much loved him. The man could not choose to whom he should marry, so he decided that they would draw straws. The lot fell on the ugly sister, and so the wedding arrangements were made.
The beautiful sister could not stand this, and so she went to see the Fool, who lay drunk in prison. He was not really a court jester, but he had always been thought of as out of his sanity, and everyone enjoyed making jokes at him, so gradually he became known thus. He was rarely sober, but since he had inherited a coal mine to the west, he had no need to work. The Fool had always loved the Beauty, as did everyone, but she could not feel the same about such an unstable man. Nevertheless, being very evil, she did have some purposes for him every now and then. Today she asked, “If you love me, then kill my ugly sister.” “Iʼll do anything for your pleasure, my lovest.” “Uh, sure…just make sure no one knows I told you to do it.” And then she quickly left, seeking to be as distanced from him as possible.
So after he was sober and freed, the Fool went into the marketplace to find the Ugly. And when he did, he shot her in the back with his revolver. Everyone was shocked at this random shooting. Women fainted and an infant began to cry. The Ugly did not even see him, and the Fool had said nothing. The Beauty saw everything, and only smiled approvingly. “Someone arrest that man!” cried a townsperson. The constable seized the Fool and took him back to jail.
The Groom, of course, was obligated to avenge the Uglyʼs death. And so he called the Fool to a duel, as was the usual custom in those parts. This greatly worried the Beauty, so she went again into prison to see the Fool. “If you love me, then empty your gun and fire blanks so that my Groom will not die.” “Iʼll do anything for your pleasure, my dovliest.” “Right…just remember your promise.”
Meanwhile, the Groom was having second thoughts. Who was he to take a life? Was that not the responsibility of the government? He was just a civilian. No, it would not be right for him to kill the Fool. But he could not back out from the fight, for, if he was to abstain from the fight and marry the Beauty, he through his great-grandchildren would be shamed throughout the whole country. No, he would not fill his gun and instead take a hit, and thus people would cry instead of laugh at his funeral.
The next day, the two men lined up to duel. The whole town came to the village square to watch. A street vendor was selling turkey legs, and another had wooden toys to be bought by children. Suddenly, the Fool realized that he forgot his revolver at his house. “Wait!” he cried. “I will send my boy to fetch it.” So his slave ran off to get him his gun. But when the boy found it, he realized that there were no bullets inside. ‘Silly masterʼ, he thought. ʻHe forgot to load his gun. I will do it for him.ʼ
The gun having been brought back, they lined up again with their backs to each other. They took ten steps as a snare drum rolled, and then they turned around to fire. The Groom fell dead, and the Beauty ran to him, tears down her face. “My love!” she cried. “For whom now shall I hope? My future is my past!” And she took his switch-knife and cut longways her wrist. The brass band continued to play, and the crowd took no notice. A journalist went around asking important people questions, and the mayor said something about the impact this will make on something else.
The Fool saw this and began to twitch neurotically. His purpose lay dead by his own doing. He checked his gun; it was fully loaded. ʻHow!?ʼ he thought. ʻDid I forget to unload it? Surely I havenʼt made such a grave mistake!ʼ With nothing left for which to live, he put another bullet into his head, and he, too, fell dead.
And so the moral is this:
Donʼt waste your short life,
Already full of strife,
On a vain woman,
An emotional omen,
For emotionʼs a blooded knife.
Daddy’s Little Girl
Daddy’s little girl is gonna be a slut tonight.
She’ll put on the drag for the big game.
There’ll be a dance afterward,
And then she and Hot Johnny Rocket will run.
Here is the park where she used to play
As the sweetest little girl in the first grade.
There is the Baptist church where Mama
Played the pipes and daddy smelled
Like mint and oak. She’d be dressed
Up in bows and beauty like a Southern queen.
Hot Rocket’s burning, and he lays her down
On the picnic table at the park.
Across the street, the church looks dead.
Groaning, the wood is uncomfortable.
She can’t stretch her back right,
But Johnny has to have his prom.
Mama gave it to Rick before she married Craig.
Daddy took it from Sarah in a tent,
Like the cherry on the top of a perfect rush.
Burning faster, Hot Rocket finishes and laughs
With a tint of embarrassment.
“Wasn’t that fun?” he pretends. And it was.
The Sunday School flower girl fell in love tonight.
Hot Rocket knows how to spread his fire.
She’ll graduate and marry Bill,
Then shit out three kids and be the greatest
Youth football mom ever. Her sons
Will grow up to rape cheerleaders
And her daughters will let themselves be raped.
The Baptist church won’t even notice.
Want more? Feel free to buy the book, and indulge in some wicked and often wickedly amusing writing, brought to you by Blair Naso.
Lots of love,